7. Hadley
Chapter seven
Hadley
Taking a deep breath, I get out of the car, smooth down my dress, and walk around to where Weston is standing in front of the hood.
He holds out his hand to me, and I stare at it for a few seconds before taking it.
I like the way his palm feels against mine, a little calloused and rough, probably from playing hockey and working out so much, but warm and reassuring, a hug for my hand.
He squeezes gently, as if to say he’s got me.
At least that’s what I hope he’s saying.
“You ready?” he asks as we make our way to the front door.
“Yes, but we’re getting ice cream after this.”
“I’m down with that. I think I feel a coughing fit coming on.”
I can’t help chuckling and instantly feel a little more relaxed. He opens the door and guides me inside. It takes a second for me to adjust to the dim light, but when I do, I can barely hold my eye roll back.
I feel as though I’ve stepped into a movie from the nineties, or maybe even earlier.
This lodge or whatever it is hasn’t been updated in probably forever, based on the outdated decor.
Brown trim runs along the base of the walls, and the walls themselves are covered in wooden panels, but that weird fake wood.
The floors, well, they were probably white at one time, but now the tile, no, make that linoleum, is an off-white gray color from the years of people traipsing over it.
We make our way into the hall to find chairs and tables set out, and along one wall, what appears to be the food, although given all the mismatched dishes and the crock pots, I’d say it’s a potluck.
I scan the room, searching for any familiar faces.
“Are we in the right place?” Weston whispers.
Before I can respond, Henry walks up. “Hadley, you made it.”
“Hi, Henry.”
“You must be the fiancé,” Henry says to Weston.
“This is Weston. Weston, meet my ex, Henry.”
Henry holds out his hand. “I honestly wasn’t sure you were going to show up.”
“Oh?” Weston asks, taking Henry’s hand.
“Between you and me, I thought you weren’t real. Our girl has a very active imagination. Guess that’s what happens when you’re a photographer.” I hear the bite in his voice when he says photographer, as if it’s a dirty word, and I can’t help cringing.
Weston hums, glancing at me and winking. “Nope, real as can be. And I like her imagination. Keeps things interesting, if you know what I mean,” he says, still shaking my ex’s hand. Henry, you have met your match. I make a mental note to thank Weston for that later.
“Ah, well,” Henry mumbles, extracting his hand from Weston’s grip, and this time, I don’t stop my grin at the way he shakes it out. I usually hate when guys do the whole peacocking measuring dicks thing, but Henry walked into it.
Weston draws me into his side and kisses me on the forehead, and I swoon a little bit. Nope, must not swoon. No swooning. This is fake. I ignore the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. He’s putting on a show for Henry’s benefit.
“Speaking of being a photographer, how’s that going, Hadley?” Henry asks, his gaze darting between Weston and me. “Or did you finally give it up and get a real career?”
Weston’s arm stiffens around me, and I swear he growls. I ignore it. “Still a photographer.”
“What exactly is it that you do, Harry?” Weston asks, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snorting.
“It’s Henry. I’m a financial planner …”
“Ah, Harry, so you sit behind a desk all day. That explains a lot,” Weston says, looking him up and down, and I have to fight the urge to laugh.
“It’s Henry,” he repeats through gritted teeth, glaring at Weston. “And what is it you do?”
Did you not listen? I told you he was Holt’s teammate.
Weston squares his shoulders, standing up straighter. “I play professional hockey. I’m a defenseman.”
“Oh,” he says, glancing between the two of us.
“That’s nice.” He takes a half step back as if he’s finally catching on that Weston doesn’t like him very much.
“Well, lovely to see you, Hadley. Nice to meet you, Weston. I should probably go find my fiancée now. Help yourself to the food.” He points to the buffet before shoving his hands in the pockets of his chinos and strolling away.
“Well,” Weston says, running a hand down his face.
I’m grinning like a fool as I extract myself from him. “If looks could kill …”
Weston throws his head back, laughing, and the sound goes straight to my core. “He messed with the wrong person. Think he got the message?”
“I hope so. Let’s go see if there’s any alcohol. I’m going to need it to get through this.”
“I can’t believe you dated him.”
I glare at him. “Fuck off. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”
Weston chuckles, holding out his hand for me, and I take it, letting him lead me toward the buffet.
Unfortunately for us, we find out this is a dry party. There’s no alcohol to be found anywhere.
“Hadley, is that you?” a voice asks from behind us, and I turn around to find one of my high school classmates.
“Hi, Denise,” I greet her. “Funny seeing you here.” I tilt my head, studying her. She looks much the same as when we were in high school, except she’s sporting a pregnant belly.
She puts a hand on it, rubbing it, and my chest tightens.
“Adam, my husband. Do you remember him?” I nod because how can I forget Adam, the class clown? “He’s friends with Beth’s brother. What are you doing here?”
“Henry and I dated for a while.”
She laughs but quickly schools her expression when she realizes I’m serious. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” She shakes her head. “I know it’s been a while, and people change, but he doesn’t seem like your type.”
“That’s what I said,” Weston says, wrapping his arm around me and putting out his hand to Denise. “Hi. I’m Weston. Hadley’s fiancé.”
Her eyes flare with what I think might be recognition, but she doesn’t say anything, simply shaking Weston’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Hadley and I went to high school together.”
We chat with Denise for a while, and I learn that she’s a vet tech and expecting her second child. Eventually, she excuses herself to find the bathroom, after giving me her number and telling me to text her, and then Weston and I are alone again.
I don’t want to be here.
I only came because I felt as though I had to prove something to Henry.
We’ve seen him, and he’s met my fiancé. Mission accomplished, right?
“You ready to go?” Weston asks, leaning closer to me. “We can stay if you want, but I feel a coughing fit coming on.”
“Hadley, is that you, dear?”
“Great,” I mutter under my breath, turning around to find Henry’s mother coming toward us.
“It is you,” she says as she comes to a stop. “So good to see you.”
She reaches to hug me, and I step back, colliding with Weston. He grips my hips, giving them a squeeze.
A flash of disappointment crosses her face, but she quickly hides it as she drops her hands as her husband comes to a stop at her side.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery,” I greet Henry’s parents.
“I’m so glad you could come,” she says, clapping her hands. “And who is this?” She checks out Weston, her lips tipping up into a big grin, and I want to tell her to stop oogling my fiancé.
“Weston, ma’am. Nice to meet you.” He reaches around me, holding out his hand to shake. “Sir.”
Mr. Montgomery grunts, taking a sip of his drink.
“How are you, Hadley? Hanging in there, I hope?”
“I’m doing great, thank you.”
She frowns. “Henry mentioned he ran into you at the grocery store.” She eyes me up and down. “But he made it sound as though you weren’t doing good. Said you were living with your brother.”
I rear back, and Weston’s grip tightens on my hips.
“I’m doing just fine. I was in Florida for a while with Holt, as a nanny for his daughter.”
“So you finally got serious and found yourself a reliable job. Good. Good.” She pats me on the arm.
For fuck’s sake.
I clear my throat, narrowing my eyes at her.
“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.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “How do you know?”
“I just do.” He says it so seriously that part of me believes him.
“Thank you for tonight,” I say once we’re done with our treats.
“No problem.” He pushes the chair back, standing as he gathers our garbage before putting a hand out to me. “And I mean it, don’t let what that asshole and his mother said stop you from pursuing your dreams.” I nod. “Ready to go home? The night’s still young. We could do something else.”
“Can’t get enough of me, can you, Weston James?”
“Not my middle name, Hadley Jane.” He opens the car door for me. “Thought we could hang out more.” He leans in and buckles my seatbelt.
I can’t help the shiver that racks my body when his hand guides the belt into place. He pulls back, a wicked grin on his face, and I roll my eyes. He winks at me before shutting the door, and I have to take deep breaths to calm my racing heart.
What the hell has gotten into me?
“How about we get a drink?” I ask, pulling out my phone again when he’s in the driver’s seat.
“Sure.”
I find a pub a few blocks away, and Weston starts driving. I peer out the window, my mind going back over the interactions of the past hour. I dodged a bullet breaking up with Henry.
It’s not until we’re sitting in a booth at the back of the quiet bar, a beer in front of each of us, that I speak again.
“Thank you for defending me.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, focusing my attention everywhere but at Weston.
“Hey, look at me,” he whispers, putting a hand on my arm. “Please.” The way he utters that one word has me meeting his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for defending you. Ever.”
“Okay.”
He withdraws his hand and picks up his beer. I can’t tear my gaze away from him, watching the way his throat works as he swallows and his tongue swipes at the beer on his lips.
“Like what you see?”
My face heats. I lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “Meh, it’s fine.”
He snorts out a laugh. “Just fine? I’m a very handsome man. You know it. Admit it.”
“You’re something, that’s for sure …”
He rests his arms on the table, leaning forward. “Why won’t you admit it?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Eh, five out of ten.”
“Sure. Sure. Troublemaker.”
“What are you going to do about it? Spank me?”
His eyes darken. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, Hadley Jane,” he says, his voice gravelly.
My nipples pebble at his tone, at his words. Fucking traitors.
All I can do is laugh, praying it doesn’t sound forced, because if I don’t, I think I might do something I regret, like tell him I do want him to spank me.
Thankfully, I’m saved from having to answer by the waitress asking if we want to order any food. We do, since neither of us ate at the party and all we’ve had is ice cream.
She takes our order and disappears. Weston and I spend the next hour chatting about random things. It’s nice. Nice to spend time with him.
When we get back to my parents’ house later that evening, I tell everyone I’m tired and head to my room so I can put some space between Weston and I.
Because the more time I spend with him, the more I think I might be very much in trouble.