Dillon & Jennifer

We photographed Dillon and Jennifer over two January evenings in Beverly Hills, beginning beneath a glossy red sculpture of two hands meeting in the shape of a heart. Dillon wore white linen, Jennifer navy and white, and they tucked themselves inside that bright frame while a row of palms leaned into a pale winter sky. The light on the twentieth of January was silver and forgiving, the kind that makes a Los Angeles winter feel like a quiet secret.

From there we drifted deeper into the park, where a tiered fountain rose behind them and the pond held their reflection along with a hundred palm trunks. We stood them against a wall of green leaves so dense it swallowed the background whole, and later found a stone walkway lined with cypress where they sat close and let the evening go soft around them. They held hands the entire way, laughing between frames like people who have long since stopped performing for each other.

The second evening brought new clothes and stranger plants. Jennifer changed into a dark floral dress and Dillon into a pale button down, and we tucked them between towering blue cacti and the swollen trunks of ponytail palms, an unlikely desert in the middle of the city. We finished at a carved wooden door beneath a white stucco arch and on a white bench under the magnolias, where Dillon pressed a kiss to Jennifer's temple and January, briefly, felt like the warmest month of the year.