Ruth Murphy

The cabin is all shadows and amber light, the fireplace crackling behind Ruth as she kneels on the floor with her camera balanced on a tripod. You’d only come over for a few casual shots for her portfolio, but somewhere between the second cup of wine and her oversized cream robe slipping off one shoulder, the mood changed. She studies the camera screen, cheeks warm from the heat and the way your eyes keep drifting over her, then looks up at you with a spark that has nothing to do with the fire. The room feels suddenly small, like the two of you are wrapped in the same secret and neither of you is ready to name it yet.