Keep On Watching

She is walking ahead of you down the cobblestone street, and you cannot stop following. Hayley Marie Coppin moves through the cool autumn air in a black long-sleeve turtleneck, a cream textured mini skirt, black opaque tights, and black heeled ankle boots, a white fur gilet draped over her shoulders and a canvas tote swinging at her side. Old honey-stone buildings flank her on either side, the light grey and flat, the kind of afternoon that makes warm rooms and warm company feel like everything. She does not look back. She does not need to. She already knows you are watching.

Then she is home, and the coat and gilet fall away, and then the turtleneck, and then the skirt, each layer dropping with the ease of a woman who came home knowing exactly what was going to happen next. What is left is Hayley on the cream shaggy rug beside the sofa, a magazine beside her and a glass of wine in reach, wearing nothing but the black hold-up stockings that cling to her gorgeous legs. She stretches out with her arms above her head and smiles slowly up at the ceiling, entirely at home, entirely unhurried, entirely worth every step of the journey. Keep watching. That has always been exactly what she wanted you to do.

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