Page 17 of Blue Line

“I’m a photographer. That’s my job.”

“She’s a damn good one, too,” Weston says.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. We have one of her photographs hanging in our house. It’s lovely, but as a hobby. Not as a serious career.” She throws her hands up. “It’s not a long-term plan.” She shakes her head. “It’s not reliable. Who would marry her knowing they’d more than likely have to support her?”

Way to talk about me like I’m not here.

This time, Weston does growl. “I’m marrying her.”

Mrs. Montgomery’s mouth drops open, and she wrings her hands. Probably embarrassed. Good. But Weston isn’t done.

“Any self-respecting man would be proud to call Hadley his wife. But I guess that means your Henry isn’t self-respecting. His loss. My gain.” Weston stands to his full height, and Mrs. Montgomery starts to speak, but he beats her to it. “Come on, Hadley, let’s go.” He takes my hand and turns to leave.

Mr. Montgomery has gone pale; at least one of them has enough decency to be ashamed.

“Definitely glad I dodged a bullet not marrying Henry.” I shake my head at her before letting Weston lead me away.

Thankfully, no one stops us, and Henry and his fiancée are nowhere to be found. Once we’re out in the parking lot, I breathe a sigh of relief.

“What the hell was that?” Weston asks, opening the passenger side door for me. “Is that how they always acted toward you?”

I shrug, climbing into the seat. “Not in the beginning. But I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s go find that ice cream you promised me.”

He laughs. “You’re the one who promised me ice cream. Although I think I might need something a little stronger after that.”

He shuts the car door and hurries around to the driver’s side. I pull out my phone and search for nearby ice cream shops.

“I found one,” I tell him, hitting the Directions button on Maps so the navigation starts talking, and Weston puts the car into gear.

Twenty minutes later, we’re walking out of the ice cream parlor with our desserts. I opted for chocolate peanut butter in a waffle cone, and Weston went with a scoop of pistachio and a scoop of strawberry in a waffle bowl.

“That is the oddest combination,” I tell him as we take seats at one of the tables on the sidewalk outside the shop.

He holds his bowl out to me. “Try it. I promise it’s not that weird.”

I grimace, wrinkling my nose. “No thank you.”

“Come on, Hadley Jane. I promise I don’t have cooties.”

“What are we, in elementary school again?” I snatch the bowl from him.

He holds out his hand and gestures for my cone, and I reluctantly hand it to him. I take a bite of the ice cream, trying not to think about the fact that he just had his mouth wrapped around the same spoon. What would his lips feel like against mine? I bet he’s a great kisser. He seems like a take-charge-of-the-kiss, of-the-moment, type of guy. Yes, please.

Nope. I give myself a small shake. Can’t go there. I force myself to focus on the ice cream, and damn him, he wasn’t kidding. It is good. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of admitting that.

“Not bad, but I still prefer mine,” I tell him, giving him his ice cream back.

“Your ex is an asshole,” he says after a few minutes of silence. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, though.”

“Maybe they have a point … Maybe photography is better off as a hobby.” The words come out as barely a whisper, and I wonder if he heard me.

Callie is the only person I’ve told this to, and I don’t know what made me tell Weston, of all people. Maybe because of the way he stood up for me tonight.

He tilts his head, studying me. “Don’t listen to them and their bullshit.”

My shoulders fall, and I stare down at the table. “How do you know when it’s time to give up your dream and admit defeat?”

“Hadley Jane, don’t let them get to you. You’re a fabulous photographer.”