Just Peachy

Sophie Marie sits on the edge of a freestanding bathtub in a bathroom that belongs in a design magazine, white metro tiles climbing the walls, patterned cement squares covering the floor, and a rough-hewn wooden vanity holding a white vessel basin. She wears a peach-toned sports bra with tiny script embroidered at the neckline and matching cycling shorts that sit high on her thighs, the nude colour blending so closely with her skin that the line between fabric and flesh is almost impossible to find. Her dark hair hangs sleek and straight to her waist, her green eyes are soft and unguarded, and the ornamental ink across her midriff peeks above the waistband like lace. Just Peachy feels like a morning you never want to end.

Sophie stretches one arm overhead beside the matte-black bath fixtures, her tattooed ribcage expanding as she arches her back, then turns away to slide the peach shorts down past her hips. The view from behind is arresting: the dimpled small of her back, the tight curve of her bottom, and the dark hair falling like a curtain to one side. In the closing frame she faces the camera beside the vanity, stripped bare, one hand lost in her dark mane, the complex floral and geometric ink that travels from her ribs to her knee on full display against the clean white tiles. The bathroom's cool, spa-like palette makes every warm detail, the blush of her skin, the copper tones in the wood, the faint flush at her cheeks, glow a little brighter.