Ice Cream

It starts in the park on a perfect summer afternoon -- Hayley Marie Coppin in a floaty white dress, her long blonde hair swept loosely up, a tan leather bag over one shoulder and an orange ice lolly in her hand. She strolls along the lakeside path with the easy confidence of someone who knows every passing glance belongs to her, the warm breeze catching the hem of her dress and the swans gliding by entirely unbothered. She works through the lolly with a slow, deliberate attention that has absolutely nothing to do with the heat, and everything to do with the way she looks doing it -- lips parted, eyes half-closed, completely in her own world.

Back home, the white dress comes off and the real mess begins. By the open window, in warm afternoon light, Hayley lets the last of the ice lolly melt its way down her bare skin -- a drip of orange tracing a slow, cool line across her chest as she tilts her head back with a smile that is equal parts wicked and wonderful. The dress ends up on the floor, the lolly stick gets tossed aside, and Hayley is left standing in nothing but the sunlight, golden and completely gorgeous.

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