I sniff noisily into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You didn’t, remember? I did.” He smells fresh and ever so slightly floral; and I imagine his laundry powder markets itself as sunshine in a box. But I can smell the essence of him too, and it’s comforting. He is warm and he is alive and the weight of his arms around my shoulders and neck is calming. I sink in further against him and enjoy the sense of shelter he provides. His chin rests on the top of my head and I feel his breath in my hair, warm. I feel like I could stay here all day, but then reality crashes back in.

“Shit.” I pull back.

“What’s wrong?”

“My makeup, have I ruined it?”

He smiles and uses one hand to tilt my head up toward him. Then he uses his thumb to rub gently underneath my eye. “No. You still look beautiful.”

I flush and look down, unable to remember the last time someone other than my mother called me that.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the cute ones.” He echoes my earlier words teasingly.

“You think I’m cute?”

“Stop fishing for more compliments.”

He laughs when I look outraged. “Come on. I need to get this last shot nailed and then get you back to your mother before she sends out a search party.”

“As much as I’d like to dismiss that as a joke, I wouldn’t actually put it past her.”

I follow him over to a patch of wildflowers at the other end of the field, near a fence that has a small river on the other side. If I wasn’t in a bridal dress I’d be tempted to go for a wade. In fact, if James wasn’t here, I’d be tempted to ditch the dress completely and have a swim. The water looks waist-deep where we are but I can see a bend further down where the river widens and the water darkens with depth. It looks cold, but that doesn’t scare me; I’ve had a thing for wild swimming ever since I was a child. My father will swim anywhere at any time, given enough water, and he’s passed that love on to me. I cast a longing look and debate whether it’s too deep for me to just hold the dress up, but then James interrupts my thoughts.

“OK, lie down right here, I think,” he says, gesturing among the long grass and flowers.

“Lie down?”

“Yes.”

“There?”

“Yes.”

“On the flowers?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“No, no. No problem.”

“There’s a higher concentration of flowers in this spot. More colors.”

“Until I squash them,” I mumble, gingerly trying to lie among the long grass and flowers.

“I’m sure Ruth won’t mind a few losses, for the sake of art, after all. Close your eyes.”

I do as I’m told.

“Look pensive,” he instructs.

“I’m not sure what that means.”