The late afternoon breeze brushed gently against your face as the sun began to set behind the mountains, painting the sky in warm shades of gold and orange. You were sitting on the wooden porch of the cabin, wearing that oversized denim shirt of his — too big on your shoulders, but perfect everywhere else.

Jon stood there, leaning against the doorway with an old analog camera hanging around his neck, that crooked smile on his lips — the kind that always seemed to know more than it let on.

"Stay just like that. Don’t move."

You turned your head toward him, laughing.

"Again, Jon?"

"You look beautiful when you’re not trying. And I have to capture it," he said, adjusting the focus. Click.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't stop the shy smile tugging at your lips.

He walked over barefoot across the wooden floor and crouched in front of you. His gaze was focused — almost reverent. You heard the soft click of the camera again, this time closer. He tilted his head and said in that rough, low voice that always made your heartbeat stumble:

"This one’s for when I miss you."

"And why would you miss me if we’re not even gonna be apart?"

Jon chuckled, ran his hand over your cheek and murmured, "Because I’m dumb enough to miss you even when you go to the kitchen."

Click.

You threw a pillow at him, and he dodged it dramatically before setting the camera down and pulling you into his lap.

"Now it’s my turn to keep you right here," he whispered against your neck, his scent mixing with the wood and lavender from the cabin.