***
Five minutes later, we leave the wooden boardwalk behind. I drop my sandals near a patch of sea grass and step onto the actual beach. The beach is quieter than I expected. A gentle breeze moves across the sand. I reach up and pull the clip from my hair, letting it fall loose around my shoulders.
Tom looks up from adjusting his camera strap. "Good. Leave it down."
I stand on the sand and cross my arms. Then uncross them. Then fold my hands in front of me. Then drop them to my sides.
"Where do you want me?" I ask.
Tom glances back. "Right there is fine. Just—" He stops, tilts his head. "You look like you're waiting for a performance review."
"I don't know what to do with my hands."
"Then don't do anything with them." He pulls the camera out, adjusts the light meter hanging from his neck. "Just stand there."
I stand there. The wind pulls at the dress. I feel the fabric against my thighs and immediately wonder if I should hold it down or let it move.
Tom raises the camera, looks through the viewfinder, then lowers it again.
"What's wrong?"
"You're thinking too hard." He gestures at me with the lens cap. "Pretend you're yelling at me for being late."
I blink. "What?"
"You heard me. Pretend I just showed up twenty minutes late with no text and a terrible excuse."
Despite everything, I laugh. "That's not hard to imagine."
"There." Tom raises the camera again. "That. Do that again."
"Do what?"
"Stop thinking and just look at me like I'm an idiot."
I shake my head, but I'm smiling now. The tension in my shoulders loosens half an inch.
Tom clicks the shutter. Then again. "Good. Now walk toward the water."
"Like this?"
"However you want. Just move."
I take three steps. The wet sand is cold under my feet. I glance back at him.
"Don't look at me," Tom calls. "Look at the ocean."
I turn my head. The horizon stretches flat and endless, the water a darker gray-blue than the sky. The light is starting to shift—golden at the edges, softer than midday.
"Now spin," Tom says.
"Spin?"
"The dress is supposed to move. Make it move."
I hesitate, then turn in a slow circle. The linen flares out slightly, catching the wind. I feel ridiculous and weightless at the same time.
Tom's shutter clicks in rapid bursts. "Again. Faster."
