Some days are made for doing absolutely nothing, and Hayley Marie Coppin does nothing better than anyone. She curls up on the cream sofa in her favourite crochet top, the wide-woven white knit barely containing her curves as the warmth of the room and the pop of vivid blue cushions frame her perfectly. The living room has a lived-in cosiness to it. Warm lamp light glows across the wooden beams overhead, framed pictures line the walls, and she stretches out with the lazy ease of someone who has nowhere to be and nobody to impress. Except, of course, that the crochet is entirely see-through, and she is wearing it with a smile that suggests she knows exactly what she is doing.
This is what Hayley calls her "me time," though anyone looking closely would say it is more like "us time." She begins to peel away the sheer crochet top, its open weave catching the light as it lifts over her head, leaving her in nothing but soft blue briefs against all that cream fabric. She rolls onto her knees on the sofa, blonde hair falling forward, eyes playful and bright, looking every inch the girl you wish lived next door. The blue cushions make the most perfect frame for all that bare, golden skin.