Page 52 of Blue Line

Nope.

But also, packing for what?

I find the names of all the districts here so odd and inconsistent. A few of them are combinations of the main roads around them, but then you’ve got the Packing District or the Milk District, though that does make sense because there’s a milk plant nearby. Who the heck decided on how to name them? As if the tourists aren’t confused enough. I’ve lived here for a few years now, and I still don’t always know which streets someone means when they mention an area’s name. Not that I get out much, especially during the season when I’m traveling.

“I think so,” Hadley says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“John said it should be a couple of hours of photos plus an hour or two for hair and makeup.”

“So the rest of the day?”

“Seems like it.”

Is this conversation weird? It feels weird to me. And I hate it. I wish we could go back to the way things were. Even if it was banter. Not this weird awkwardness between us.

We lapse into silence for the remainder of the drive, and eventually, I pull into a parking space in front of a warehouse. We’re surrounded by rows and rows of white warehouses, a few with signs outside them and some with the garage doors rolled up.

“This is interesting,” Hadley says, taking off her seat belt.

“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair, watching a guy walk out of a bay that has a sign in front of it touting a tint shop. A couple of doors down, if you could call them that, two guys are unloading what appears to be boxes of tile or flooring based on the name on the side of the truck. At least there’s people around.

“This feels like something out of a horror movie.”

“Agreed.” I open the door and climb out.

She meets me in front of the Jeep, and I put a hand on the small of her back and guide her over to the warehouse marked Twelve A, the location John gave me. I pull the door open and gawk at what greets us. Half of the warehouse is set up like a living room, all ready for Christmas. A decorated tree sits in one corner next to what I imagine is a fake fireplace, because no way there’s a real fireplace here, directly across from a couch.

“Hi,” a young woman greets us. She consults the tablet in her hand before saying, “You must be Weston and Hadley. I’m the photographer’s assistant.”

“We are. Nice to meet you,” I tell her.

“Hadley, if you follow me, I’ll bring you to where we’ve set up hair and makeup.” She turns to me. “If you want to take a seat and hang out until we’re ready for you.” She points at the worn tan couch tucked into the corner of the front of the warehouse. “Happy to grab either of you a water or coffee or tea. Whatever you want.”

“I’m good,” Hadley says.

“Same,” I say.

Before I can go take a seat, Hadley surprises me by leaning up on her tiptoes and kissing me on the cheek. “Be right back, honey.”

She winks, and I hope like hell my mouth isn’t gaping open because we’re supposed to be engaged, engaged and in love. I should not be shocked by her giving me a little kiss. I quickly school my face.

“I’ll be waiting,” I tell her.

Forty minutes later, the assistant walks over to me. I’ve been chilling on the couch scrolling on my phone, searching for a place to take Hadley if I can work up the courage to ask her out. On a real date. Not one for social media content. Although I did have a good time on our fake date, and I got to kiss her afterward. Regardless, I want to ask her out on a date, one that’s just for the two of us.

“Ready for me?” I ask, locking my phone.

“We are. The stylist asked if you wanted him to do anything with your hair when he’s done with Hadley.” She gives me a once-over.

“Nah, it’s fine the way it is.” I run a hand through it.

“Right. If you want to come this way, we need to put some makeup on you.” I cringe. “I promise it won’t be noticeable on camera, but if we don’t, you’ll look like a ghost in the pictures.”

I rock back on my heels, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Okay.” Not my first choice, but I trust that she knows what she’s talking about and that the makeup person knows what they’re doing.

She leads me to the back of the warehouse, where a makeshift hair and makeup area has been set up. Damn, this place is larger than I thought.

I take a seat, and the makeup artist works her magic. It’s awkward as hell; I don’t know how women do it. Luckily, it’s over in a few minutes.