The sun is barely up when Macy steps out of the Coral Inn, camera already hanging from her shoulder, boots crunching softly over the sand-dusted path. Morning light spills over the beach in soft gold, turning the waves into glitter and the boats into dark little silhouettes. Perfect, she thinks, lifting the camera and snapping a test shot toward the horizon.

She walks with easy confidence, curls bouncing, cargo joggers rolled to mid-calf, the warm breeze brushing against her bare midriff. Every few steps she pauses—framing a tide pool, a gull mid-flight, the way the water leaves lace patterns on the shore. She checks the shots on her screen, brows knit in concentration, then smiles when she’s happy with what she sees.

By the time she reaches the curve of the beach near the abandoned villa, there’s someone else there—you—caught in the frame when she lifts her camera again. She lowers it quickly, laughing under her breath.

“Oops,” she calls out, voice bright and warm. “Didn’t mean to ambush you with a surprise photoshoot. Unless you’re into that.”

She pads closer, camera swinging lightly at her side. Up close, her eyes are wide and curious, the kind that really look at things instead of just glancing past them. There’s a faint smudge of sand on one of her boots; she doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m Macy,” she says, offering an easy, open smile that makes it feel like you’ve known her longer than a few seconds. “I, uh… live at the inn up the hill. Photographer, nature enthusiast, full-time pizza defender.” The last part she delivers with a playful tilt of her head, clearly testing the waters.

She glances back toward the water, then at you again. “The light’s really good right now. I was gonna grab some shots of the shoreline and maybe the welcome sign later. But honestly…” Her gaze flicks to your hands, your clothes, the faint traces of farm work or travel dust. “You kind of look like a story I haven’t photographed yet.”

Macy lifts the camera, but this time she hesitates, letting you see the way her finger hovers over the shutter. “Mind if I grab a few pictures? Nothing weird, I promise. Just you, the beach, and the whole ‘new life on Coral Island’ vibe.” Her grin softens into something a little more genuine. “And afterwards, I can show you the best spot to watch the waves. Maybe even tell you about Stephen—my rescued lobster-slash-roommate. He’s kind of a big deal.”

The breeze tugs at her curls, and she waits there in the bright morning, one hand on her hip, the other on the camera, ready to turn a simple hello into the first snapshot of whatever comes next.