Page 59 of Love in Focus

As I put my bag in the back of the car, I don’t miss Celeste’s eyes giving me a once-over, and I get a slight satisfactory thrill when her eyes linger on my chest the moment I take off my faux fur coat. Ispecificallywore this blue sundress because of the cleavage it shows off.

“You look beautiful as always,” she says, only taking her eyes off me to pull her car back into the flow of traffic.

“You look pretty sexy yourself.”

Celeste is impossibly cool in her black leather jacket, heather-gray sweater dress, and white knee-high boots. Along with her blue aviators, she looks like she could star in a car commercial herself instead of being the person who’d shoot one.

“Felt like dressing up,” she says, keeping her eyes on the road. “Even if it’s mostly a work trip for me.”

I shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with working in style.”

Celeste nods in agreement.

When we reach the coastal part of the road, she presses a button above our heads to open up the moon roof. The salty sea breeze pleasantly chills the inside of the car as we continue our drive up north.

“Sorry,” she says. “I should have asked beforehand. Is this too cold for you?”

“No, it’s nice. I have my coat.”

I’ve finished putting my coat back on when we reach the Golden Gate Bridge. In the previous times I’d seen the bridge, it’d always been covered, either fully or partially, by the fog. Today, though, the majestic reddish-orange arches are in plain view, taking my breath away.

I take a quick video on my phone as we drive across, and Celeste slows down—or as much as she can in the flow of traffic—so I can fully capture the view.

When we’re off the bridge, I tell her, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she replies. “Contrary to popular belief, not all professional photographers are condescending assholes who shit on Instagram.”

I laugh. “I noticed. Your account has so many followers.” The moment I say those words, I want to die of embarrassment. I can’t believe I admitted to Celeste that I looked her up on social media. But she’s the one whose cheeks turn red.

“You looked up my Instagram?” she asks, uncharacteristically sheepish. “Recently? What did you think?”

“It’s great! You have some very cool shots on it. And you have such great range, too. It’s no wonder you’re such a popular photographer. I got so proud just thinking about how you continued following your passion after college.”

“Thanks.” Celeste turns away from me and clears her throat. “Anyway. Sorry if this is rude of me, but can you do me a favor while I work?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Could you please find a good restaurant for us?” she asks. “I ended up having to do a few more things before I picked you up, so I didn’t have time to find a place. We can go wherever you want. And again, it’s on me.”

“Of course! I’ll be on my computer anyway, so it’s no problem.”

A few minutes later, we arrive at a small harbor with picturesque bright white yachts bobbing up and down in the greenish-blue waters.

Two gorgeous—and very tall—models, a man and a woman, stand in front of one of the boats. They both wave at us as we get out of Celeste’s car. The man is wearing a white tux, like James Bond, while the woman is wearing a red evening gown and Louboutins.

“So clearly I’m not the target demographic for this commercial,” I remark as Celeste parks the car.

Celeste grins. “Don’t worry. I’m not, either. I’m just here for the job.”

When we get out of the car, I take in the beautiful scenery. White mist clings to the mountains behind us, while on the other side of the bay, faraway and faint but still beautiful, is the San Francisco city skyline. Seagulls perch on the waves that brush against the yachts floating on the water. As far as winter in SF goes, it’s a nice, relatively sunny day, with the perfect setting to match.

“There’s a coffee shop that’s a five minutes’ walk away from here,” Celeste says, taking out her equipment from the back seat. “I double-checked this morning before my errands since I wanted to make sure you had a place to work. Text me if you need anything. And come back around sunset.”

“Okay, thanks.” I grab my bag from the car.

Celeste gives me a hug before we go our separate ways. It’s more than a little chilly, so I linger in her arms a bit more than necessary.

Small trees and quaint storefronts line the way to the coffeehouse, making me feel like I’ve stepped into another era. The ocean breeze stirs up the skirt of my dress, and I have to hold it in place to avoid a Marilyn Monroe moment.

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