The light has changed. It's softer now, warmer, the kind of gold that only happens right before the sun sets. It sits on the surface of the water like a layer of liquid gold.
I forget I'm supposed to be doing anything.
***
I hear the click.
It's quiet. The shutter.
Then another click.
Then three more in quick succession.
I turn around.
Tom is standing fifteen feet back, camera raised. He's not adjusting anything. Not checking the screen. Just watching me through the viewfinder.
"What?" I ask. My voice comes out softer than I intended. "Did I do something wrong?"
He lowers the camera slowly. "No. You're perfect."
I walk back toward him, arms crossed loosely over my ribs. "Show me the shots."
Tom hesitates for half a second, then tilts the screen toward me.
I lean in. The first image is me mid-spin, the dress caught in motion, my face half-turned toward the camera. I'm laughing.
"I look ridiculous," I say.
"You look happy."
He swipes to the next one. Me running along the shoreline, hair flying, bare feet kicking up sand.
"This one's worse."
"This one's better."
I reach out and swipe the screen myself. The next shot is me standing still, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sky.
"Okay," I admit. "That one's not terrible."
Tom swipes again quickly. Too quickly.
I catch the motion. "Wait. Go back."
"It's nothing."
"Then why are you hiding it?"
He pulls the camera slightly closer to his chest. The screen is angled away from me now.
I step closer. "Which one's your favorite?"
Tom looks at the screen. His thumb hovers over the controls, but he doesn't swipe.
"This one," he says quietly. "But it's mine."
"Let me see—"
