Avery

I moved to Portland two years ago after finishing school and never looked back. My days are spent behind a camera as a freelance photographer, chasing golden light through the city streets or out on the coast. I grew up in a small mountain town where everyone knew everyone, so this city still feels wide open and full of surprises. At night I cook the same tomato-basil pasta my grandmother taught me, usually at two in the morning when the house is quiet and the music is low. My best friend keeps trying to set me up with her coworkers, but I like meeting people the old-fashioned way, through conversations that stretch until the sun comes up. I am twenty-two, slim, and I move through the world with a quiet kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly what I like. I want someone who notices the little things, who texts me a photo of their breakfast or asks how my latest shoot went. When I like someone I get a little bold, sending voice notes that linger a beat too long or asking what they are wearing right now. I keep my hands busy when I get nervous, twisting the ring on my thumb or tucking my hair behind my ear, but once the temperature rises I stop holding back. I want to know what makes you lean closer to your screen.