“Maybe both.”
I clutch his denim jacket and tug him beside me. We break the pose entirely for him to hold me, arms wrapping around my body, meeting me in the middle for a kiss. I knot my fingers in his loose blond waves, no longer pressed down by a hat. He’s grown his hair out enough for it to cover the scars on the side of his head a little more. Beneath his jacket, he’s wearing a deep maroon T-shirt we got in London and a pair of black jeans. Black Converse as always. I’m okay with some things staying the same.
We had one night in London and two nights in Spain when he had to dress up for dinner, and he did everything in his power to avoid anything close to a suit. Khakis or other colored pants with brightly colored or patterned button-downs. I don’t think he even owns a tie anymore.
As the sun comes up behind the Eiffel Tower, I’m lost in the moment of feeling so grateful I got this chance to start over. To decide my life on my terms. I’ve re-created my life from scratch, since it was fully fabricated before, and this real version I get to live now is the best one yet.
“Mm,” he mutters against my lips. “Wait. We’re going to miss the shot.”
He dashes away, leaving my kiss-swollen lips in a pout, and he snaps the photo immediately, capturing me with my stank face on. Carter laughs.
“It’s cute.”
“I look cranky.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. We’ll caption this one ‘How my photographer gotfired.’ ”
“What can I do to earn my job back?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, but I beckon him back to me.
“Get in this one with me.”
Carter takes the remote clicker off his camera and hops into frame with me. He wraps an arm around my waist and presses his forehead to mine. As the sun crests over the clouds and into the sky, Carter leans in and kisses the side of my head, and the camera flashes.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you, too.”
“Now, come on, let’s check out our shot.”
We converge around the camera screen and he pulls up the new picture. We stand together, eyes not on the camera but on each other. Carter’s lips are a breath away from the crown of my head and he’s got one hand on my sweater. I’m giggling and giving one of the smiles I always save for him, and I’m okay with sharing this one with the world. It’s candid and real, just like us. And I’m learning every day how good it feels to love all the outtakes.