It begins innocently enough. Hayley Marie Coppin is perched on the glass-topped table in the bright, book-lined kitchen, her blonde hair swept up in a sleek ponytail, a white strappy vest clinging to every curve, and a food magazine open in her lap. The cream cake sits on the table beside her, loaded with fresh strawberries and swirls of thick white cream, and Hayley eyes it with the kind of look that suggests the magazine was never going to hold her attention for long. She traces a finger through the icing, brings it slowly to her lips, and the afternoon takes a very decisive turn. She says she loves being able to tease, and watching her crouch barefoot on the glass table while she stirs and prods and plays with the cake, her vest riding shorter with every shift of her hips, it is easy to believe she has always known exactly what she is doing.
What happens next is the kind of thing that makes this set an absolute favourite. The teasing escalates, the cream starts to fly, and Hayley throws herself into the whole delicious mess with complete abandon. She presses her palms into the cake, smears cream along her arms, laughs with her whole face, and by the time she finally plants herself barefoot right in the middle of the ruins, her white vest is streaked with cream and she has never looked more irresistibly gorgeous. She stands there on the table, bare legs, smeared and laughing, looking like the best kind of beautiful disaster. Every last bit of it was absolutely worth it.