Alice hears a boat and sees a single man with light brown hair in a vintage yellow vessel pass her dock, sounding a comically loud horn she remembers from when she was seventeen. The boat moors at the white house with the floating raft across the bay, but dusk keeps the man’s identity unclear. The sight and sound propel Alice indoors to retrieve a cherished photo she took sixteen summers earlier of that same boat with three teens aboard.

Alice studies the old image: a girl wrapped in a towel with gold swimsuit straps, a younger boy gazing at the girl, and an older, tan brother smirking at him. She recalls the shot was a lucky capture while photographing Luca and Lavinia, and how seeing it on her camera gave her a sudden conviction to become a photographer. Titled One Golden Summer, the photo anchored her school portfolio and impressed her instructor Elyse, affirming her potential and the purity of shooting for herself.

Reflecting that those eight weeks in Barry’s Bay were a turning point, Alice considers whether this summer could be another. She reviews two edits of her recent swimsuit shoot—one with smoothed bodies and one honest—and, after thinking about years of saying yes, women’s body critiques, and times she stayed quiet, she chooses the unretouched versions and submits them.

Energized, Alice tacks the yellow-boat photo to the fridge beside Charlie Florek’s detailed letter, using it as a reminder of unedited joy and authenticity. She rereads Charlie’s playful request for a reaction selfie and wonders if he is flirting. Catching her reflection with her wild, air-dried auburn hair, she steps outside her comfort zone and sends Charlie a silly tongue-out selfie.

Later in bed, Alice and Charlie trade texts: he jokes about the keys and demands a proper thank-you, sparring with a cocky warmth. The banter ends with Charlie claiming he is usually worse, and Alice falls asleep suppressing a smile, buoyed by the renewed spark in her work and the budding connection.