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“Thank you,” I said as I moved toward him to collect my camera. I was glad those photos were on my memory card.
“Don’t ever say you’re just a man who can point and shoot. You knew enough to snap that picture. You’re a photographer,” Terry told the man.
The man kindly nodded at his words and moved on.
We spent the rest of the day on the pier, letting our legs dry as we took photos. I took shots of little kids with cotton candy, mothers tying their children’s shoes, and the beautiful view of the pier. Terry, however, seemed to be hellbent on taking photographs of me.
“Why do you keep doing that?” I finally asked him as we were eating hotdogs and gazing out at the ocean. The sun was beginning to set, and we both wanted pictures of it.
“Doing what exactly?” he teased, bumping my shoulder the way he had in the cab.
“You know what I’m talking about,” I said, bumping him back.
“Taking pictures of you?” he asked. I nodded in confirmation. “Because you’re the most beautiful subject I’ve ever had.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage.
In that moment, the sun began to set, giving us the most incredible view. But Terry didn’t take any pictures of it. Instead, his camera was focused on me.
After the sunset, we picked up clothes at Terry’s and returned to our old apartment. We reviewed the photos we had taken before we lay in our old bed and made love. I fell asleep that night, tucked into Terry. It wasn’t the way I usually spent my Sunday evenings—or my Sunday, for that matter—but it was absolutely perfect. As I drifted off to sleep in his arms, I felt oddly content for the first time in a long time.
