26. Hadley
Chapter twenty-six
Hadley
“So,” Wes says from where he’s leaning against the counter, sipping coffee a few days later. “We’re still on for today, right? For our date?”
“I’m a woman of my word, and I said I’d go out with you, so I will. I have my interview at eleven thirty, but it shouldn’t last more than an hour.”
“Just making sure you weren’t changing your mind. We can go whenever you’re done.”
“Yes, Weston Wilson, I want to go out with you.” And I do. I really do. The more time I spend with him, the more I enjoy his company.
He chuckles. “Not my middle name. How do you keep coming up with different names to try?” He walks over to the fridge and opens it, pulling out the carton of eggs. “Are you keeping track? Tell me all the things.”
“I have a little notebook where I write down all the names I’ve tried. I also have a baby book of names in my room that I consult.”
His eyes get wide, as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m being serious or not, and I force myself to keep a straight face. After a few seconds, he shrugs and starts making breakfast.
“I’m kidding. I don’t have a notebook. I just have a good memory. If you’d tell me what your middle name is, we wouldn’t have to go through this whole song and dance, Weston Jack.”
“Maybe I enjoy this whole song and dance, Hadley Jane.”
I shake my head at him, even though he can’t see me, all the while smiling because I think I enjoy this whole song-and-dance too. Actually, I know I enjoy it. It started off as me trying to get under his skin, but now it’s turned into what feels like a little inside joke between us.
Our thing.
And I find myself enjoying having that with someone.
I clear my throat, pushing those thoughts out of my head. “I should probably go get ready.” I finish the rest of my coffee and set my mug down.
He turns to me, the spatula in his hand. “Want some of these eggs, or I can make you something else?”
I put a hand to my stomach that’s starting to hurt. “Maybe a piece of toast. I’m too nervous to eat anything else.”
He sets the spatula down and grabs the loaf of bread from the counter. “You go start getting ready, and I’ll bring it to you.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, backing out of the kitchen and hurrying into my room.
“Hadley, tell me about yourself,” the guy I’m interviewing with says.
I take a deep breath and launch into my spiel, highlighting the photography projects and gigs I’ve taken on over the years. I probably ramble on for longer than necessary, but oh well.
He asks me a few specific questions about the jobs I’ve mentioned, which I answer easily.
Toward the end of the interview, he gives me a brief rundown of the contract itself, basically the same details that were in the job description, and I ask a few questions about the expectations of the position, and if it’s a new role or they’re replacing someone who left.
“Our company is going through an expansion, and this package, which includes a photographer, a.k.a. the role you’d potentially be filling, is something new.
Hence why we’re starting with a one-year trial.
We’re planning to hire two or three photographers and see how the year goes before we make any decisions. ”
Two or three photographers?
My heart skips a beat. My chances of getting this role just went up.
“That’s great. Sounds like a neat opportunity for the guests.”
“That’s what we think too. Do you have any other questions for me?”
“The only other thing I’m curious about is the rest of the process. Will there be other interviews? When can I expect to hear something?”
He clasps his hands on the desk in front of him.
“We’re planning to start rolling this out in September.
We’ve already added it as a package option, and some spots have been booked.
I have a few more applicants to interview, but expect to hear from me in two to three weeks.
Applicants who move on to the next round will have a brief interview with a few of our tour guides.
We’re mainly wanting to make sure that whoever we hire fits in with the guides, since those are the people you’ll be working closely with. ”
“Sounds great.”
“If you don’t have any more questions, I think we can end this call. Have a good day, Hadley, and we’ll be in touch.”
“Bye. Thank you. Have a good one,” I say before hitting the End button.
I exhale loudly, slumping back in my chair once I confirm the call is disconnected.
I grab my phone and text Wes the all clear, which he responds to with a thumbs up sign and tells me he’ll be back from the coffee shop in a few minutes.
I told him he didn’t have to leave the apartment, but he insisted. Said he didn’t want to accidentally disturb me. I shut my laptop off and change out of my interview outfit and into something for our date.
“How’d it go?” Wes asks from the doorway of my bedroom twenty minutes later.
“Really good.” I spin around to face him. “So very good. Am I dressed appropriately?”
He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, just that I should bring my camera and be comfortable walking around outside. I opted for my favorite pair of black workout shorts, a maroon tank top, and a pair of sneakers.
“Perfect. Always perfect,” he says as he pushes off the doorframe and checks me out. I blush under his perusal and at the compliment.
“You’re looking good yourself.” He’s dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a blue shirt.
He puts his hand out for me. “Come on, let’s get going.”
I slide my hand into his and let him lead me through the apartment. He grabs a large reusable bag that’s sitting by the front door, and we make our way outside.
“Are we having a picnic?”
His lips tip up into a sly grin. “Maybe. You’ll have to wait and see.”
“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask once we’re buckled into his Jeep and he’s navigating it out of the parking lot.
He glances over at me for a second before focusing back on the road. “Do you not like surprises?”
“I like them just fine, but I’m impatient and want to know where we’re going.”
“Fine. Fine. There’s a nature preserve that has a few trails not far from here. I thought we could hike some, and you could take pictures if you want. I thought it might inspire you.” He peeks over at me again. “There’s a great picnic spot, and it’s usually quiet this time of year.”
“Too hot for the locals.”
“Maybe.” He fidgets in his seat. “If you’re not into it, we can turn around and do something else.”
I study the man sitting next to me. The guy who took into account my love of nature photography when he planned this date. How did I get so lucky? But also, what if I can’t take any good pictures?
“No, it’s perfect. I’m excited, but…” I hesitate.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know if I’ll be taking any pictures.” I toy with the camera bag in my lap.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to. Whatever you feel like doing.” He reaches over and squeezes my knee.
When he goes to move his hand, I put mine on top of it. He turns it over under mine, and then we’re holding hands. I like it. I realize I haven’t held hands with a guy over the center console of a car in a long time.
He clears his throat. “Are we going to talk about the other night?”
My heart skips a beat. “What’s there to talk about?”
“Wanted to make sure I didn’t …” he trails off, and I wait for him to continue. He takes a deep breath before saying, “Wanted to make sure I didn’t cross a line.”
“No, you didn’t. Did I?”
“You cross a line? How would you do that?”
“I don’t know. I figured if you were asking the question, I should too. I enjoyed it. A lot. Everything about it.”
That causes him to glance over at me. “Would you do it again?”
“Yes, and I have a couple of ideas for how we can make it even more enjoyable.”
He groans, shifting in his seat, and I can’t help snorting. “Tornado, you’re killing me.”
“You’re the one who wanted to talk about this now,” I point out. “We could have had this conversation at home, where we could have done more than talk about what went on between us.”
He shakes his head.
When we finally pull into the parking lot, there’s only a couple of other cars here, like he predicted. We decide to leave our lunch in the Jeep while we walk around. He guides us to one of the trailheads.
“This one is short, about a mile round trip. But it’s got great views of the lake, and there’s plenty of shade.”
“Perfect,” I say, smiling up at him. He takes my hand, and we make our way down the trail in silence for a while.
“What made you get into photography?” he asks after a few minutes.
“From a young age, I always enjoyed taking pictures at Holt’s game. Of the players. Other people. Random things in the stands. It kept me entertained during the countless hockey games I got dragged to.”
“And you never thought about being a sports photographer?”
“It crossed my mind, but”—I wave a hand around—“as I got older, I wanted something for myself the way Holt had hockey. My parents didn’t so much as blink when I asked to take photography classes or asked for a new camera. They were happy to oblige.” I sigh. “I think they felt guilty.”
“Why?”
“Because they spent so much money on Holt playing hockey over the years. I think they felt bad about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing my hand a little tighter.
“I’m the only one in my family who isn’t athletic.
My dad played hockey too. He never made it to the NHL, but he was in the AHL for a couple of years.
Even my mom was an athlete. She ran cross-country in college.
When I was growing up, she was always training for a half or full marathon.
She even did a few triathlons. My dad was always helping Holt with his hockey skills. And I …”
He stops and tugs me into his arms. “You what?”
“I always felt as if I didn’t fit in. I once asked if I was adopted.” I bark out a laugh. I’ve never admitted that to anyone, not even my brother. “I have zero athletic skills. I can ice skate, but nothing fancy. I’m decent on roller skates and a bike. Play catch, sure. But that’s about it.”
“I can’t imagine what that must have felt like growing up.”
I pull out of his hold and start walking again, Wes at my side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”
“Don’t apologize. You can talk to me whenever you want, about whatever you want. I’m happy to listen.”
I bob my head, at a loss for words. Instead, I focus on the scene around us. I pause, taking my camera out of the bag, and snap a few photos before we continue down the trail.
“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” I say.
“I’ve always wanted a dog.”
“Yeah?”
He bobs his head. “Yeah. Maybe one day, when I have a house and a family. I’d feel bad leaving it with a dog walker or at a kennel while I travel, which is why I haven’t gotten one yet.”
“Makes sense.”
“How do you feel about dogs?”
I shift my camera bag to my other shoulder. “I like them, but they’re a lot of work. A huge commitment. Not something I ever considered getting, honestly. Becca has a cat, and that seems much more manageable. You don’t have to walk a cat.”
“I can see the appeal, but I’m not much of a cat person. Don’t tell Peaches. She loves me.”
I giggle. “I promise I won’t.”
The one-mile trail takes us way longer than I’m sure he expected it to because I spend the rest of the hike pausing to take pictures of the scenery around us.
But Wes doesn’t complain. He even suggests a few spots to stop and take photos that I would have missed.
Since it’s midsummer and hot as hell, there isn’t much wildlife, but I do get shots of a couple of lizards, a butterfly, and a bird that neither of us can identify.
“Ready for food?” he asks when we make it back to the parking lot.
“Yes.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and heads over to his Jeep. I wait patiently while he gets everything out.
“Come on.”
He shifts the bag holding our food to his other side, tucks the blanket under the same arm, and grabs my hand. I let him lead me toward the massive grassy area past where we turned onto the trail. He finally settles on a spot under a big oak tree and spreads the blanket on the grass.
“It’s so quiet and relaxing,” I comment as he unpacks our lunch.
“It is today. Probably because of the time of year.” He hands me a sandwich and a bottle of water. “Hope you like ham and cheese.”
“Who doesn’t?”
He chuckles.
“I brought pickles, lettuce, onions, mustard, and a few other random sandwich toppings. Wasn’t sure what you would want.” He gestures toward the lunch box.
“Pickles, onions, and mustard, please.” He passes me a couple of Tupperware containers and a few mustard packets.
“Thanks.”
We’re silent as we fix our sandwiches.
“This was a lot of fun. Thank you for taking me here, and for lunch.” I lean over and kiss him gently before drawing back.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
When we’re done eating a little while later, he asks, “Want to go for another hike or go home?”
“Home. I’m tired from the heat.”
“Same.”
We quickly pack up our stuff and head over to his Jeep.
Being with Wes has been the easiest thing ever, and that’s a scary thought, because what happens when he decides he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Which is what always ends up happening.