Page 35 of Blue Line

“Hey. Hey.” He grabs the spatula and gently yanks on it until I let go. Then he takes the pan from my other hand. I hear a clatter as he sets them in the sink. “Hadley. Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing, Weston,” I say, gazing down at the floor and wrapping my arms around myself. “I’m having a bad day.”

Can this conversation please be over? I want to go to my room so I can cry in peace about not only the ruined dinner but my inadequacies as a photographer. I’m not even hungry anymore. I take a step away from him, moving toward the hallway.

“Hadley,” he says, stepping in front of me, his tone softening. “Look at me.”

“No, Weston.” I shake my head.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, bending almost in half so he’s peering up at me. “What happened?” His eyes dart around, and as if it dawns on him how close he is to me, he quickly steps back.

“Nothing. I’m tired is all. I think I’ll call it an early night,” I mumble as I push past him into the hallway.

When I’m safely in my room, I sag against the door, tears streaming down my face. Thank you, period hormones, for making everything feel even worse. I take a few breaths, trying to calm down.

“Hadley.” He knocks a few minutes later, startling me, and I jump back, staring at the door. I should have locked it, although I know he won’t come in without permission. “Hadley Jane,” he says, knocking again. “Can I do anything? Do you want me to call someone for you? Becca? Madison? Sutton?” I hear noises outside, and I picture him pulling out his phone and dialing one of them. Why does he have to be so sweet on top of being sexy?

With a sigh, I pull the door open, praying it’s been long enough that my eyes and nose aren’t red from crying anymore.

“I’m fine. No need to worry.”

“But I am worried.” He scans me from head to toe before grimacing and taking a tentative step forward. “What happened? The last thing I want to do is make you cry. I’m not mad that dinner was burnt. We can order takeout, or I can run to the store.”

“I overreacted.” I hang my head. “I was pissed I burned dinner. I cry when I get mad.” I throw up my arms. “It’s embarrassing. I hate it.” I leave out the whole spiraling about my portfolio part because it feels silly in hindsight.

“It’s okay. Did something else happen?”

I shake my head even though part of me wonders if I should tell him. But I feel like a broken record. I’ve already told him how worried I am about my career. How I don’t know if I’m good enough. What good would telling him again do?

“Nope. Just female things.” I wince. I shouldn’t be embarrassed admitting that to him, but I am.

“Do you want a hug?” He holds out his arms.

I hesitate. I kind of do, but I’m also afraid that if I hug him, we’ll start down a path we can’t come back from.

“Never mind.” He starts to move away.

“Wait,” I all but shout, my need for comfort outweighing my nervousness about crossing a line. “Yes, hug, please.”

I step into his embrace and immediately relax as he slowly strokes my back. My eyes flutter shut as a feeling of being home settles in my chest. That’s not possible. How can it be? I push the feeling away and give him one final squeeze before pulling out of his arms.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” He takes a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Can I do anything for you? I probably have a bar or two of milk chocolate in the fridge. There’s a half-eaten bag of gummy bears in the pantry. I need to go to the store to replenish my sweets drawer now that I’m back in town.” He pauses, glancing around. “I can draw you a bath. I don’t have bubble bath, but I do have Epsom salts. I can run to the store and get you some bubble bath.”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble …”

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. Plus, I’m your guest. I don’t want to put you out. I’m sure you’re exhausted, and now we don’t even have anything for dinner.”

“How about we order takeout and watch a movie?” My stomach chooses that moment to grumble, answering his question. He stares pointedly at it. “What do you want to eat?”

“Whatever is fine.”

“What. Are. You. In. The. Mood. For. Hadley Jane?” He levels me a look that says I better give him an answer, or else. Part of me wants to know what the or else is, but that’s never happening because we’re just faking it.

“Pizza.”