She’s also my PR girlfriend, but we haven’t shared that tidbit of knowledge with them, and I refuse to tell them and face scrutiny or innuendos. She held my hand once. Unless this is 1654, it means nothing.
Molly and Doug have an impressive knack for turning nothing into something.
“Just…protect yourself,” he advises. “I won’t tell you not to go for it if that’s what you want. Molly might, but it could be messy if it goes wrong.”
“But if it went right?” I find myself asking, even though I shouldn’t.
“Magical.” His focus zeroes in on his wife. “Every moment after would be pure magic.”
The blades of the drone whirl as he deploys, expertly positioning it for wide frame shots, then weaving closer to show the details of the wreck, the rust on the sides of the hull, and where the sand has consumed it after it ran aground.
I scan the footage from my phone, offering direction, and the scenarios of how to edit the footage appear like mini movies in my brain.
“Can you fly over the trees and then zip to the coastline over the wreck?” I ask, the visualization clear in my mind.
It may not work. Sometimes the shot is magnificent; other times it’s the worst thing we’ve seen, and I send it to the graveyard folder on my computer, where it goes to die.
He tries it, and the vision comes to life as he zooms closer to the water. Doug is the best drone operator I’ve ever met and worth every penny. Hell, I can barely get it into the air. I know my strengths, and operating a drone is not one of them.
That’s why he makes the big bucks.
We walk over to the shipwreck, getting close-ups of the waves meeting metal, and wait for the tide to roll in. The sun lowers, and we take our cue to head to the campsite before it’s too dark.
“Should we watch the sunset?” Sofía asks, wrapping her arms around herself as the wind picks up.
“Oh, yes,” Molly cheers, grabbing a few blankets from the trunk and laying them out.
While Sofía helps, I rummage through my bag and dig out a sweatshirt. There’s a spot on the blanket beside her, beckoning to me, and when I sit, I lay the clothing in her lap.
I squirm beneath the intensity of her gaze, bouncing between me and the sweatshirt. There’s a pinch in her brow as she plays with the frayed edges of the collar.
“You seemed cold,” I offer, if only to quell the churn of my stomach.
“Oh. Thanks.”
Cherry perfume travels with the sea breeze as she pulls the fabric over her head. The sun makes its daily departure, and Sofía records the magnificent colors. While she films, and as if nature knows she suffered today and needs one last pick-me-up, a wild dingo runs across the beach, close to the waterline.
Backdropped by the sunset, it makes for a phenomenal shot, and she squeals when she captures it, twisting the camera to me. I lack the strength to fight my smile or battle the electric jolt shooting down my spine when her body grazes mine.
A loud giggle slips from her lips when I wink at her, the apples of her cheeks glowing with warmth.
The recording ends, and she leans back on her palms, foot touching mine. In a low voice, she whispers from the side of her mouth, “Do they always showthatmuch affection?”
Tracking her focus, I land on Doug and Molly, who are so intertwined I can’t distinguish where one of them starts and the other stops. I shrug, and she rustles even closer, her shoulder grazing mine as she stifles a laugh with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
I shouldn’t enjoy the image of her in my clothing as much as I do.
“Always. Two obsessed, mildly nauseating lovebirds.”
“I think we’d be lucky to find something like that one day,” she admits. “But they do make it easy to mirror them for the fake-girlfriend plan. Should we take another photo for socials?”
“If you’d like.”
“Iamwearing your sweatshirt. Your fan club will eat this up.”
Mywhat?
I don’t have time to ask a follow-up before the air rips from my lungs when she presses against me, wraps her leg around my calf, and points her phone at us.
