Page 60 of Somehow You Knew

Hazel Sheppard has officially gotten under my skin.

Chapter eleven

Gage

“Great. Keep smiling. Now look at each other.”

Dressed in a black cotton sundress, Hazel bends her knees, angling her camera at the couple and their newborn, nestled tightly in the mother’s arms. She pulls the camera away from her face, checking the shots she just took, and smiles proudly. “Perfect.”

The baby stirs, a soft whimper escalating into a full-blown wail, the cries bouncing off the studio walls.

“I think it’s time for a feeding,” the mother says, adjusting the swaddled bundle in her arms as she steps away from the backdrop.

“Of course. Feel free to use the lounge in the back. Make yourselves comfortable and just let me know when you’re ready for the last round.” Hazel’s voice is about two octaves higher than normal as she speaks to her clients, but the smile plastered on her face drops the second she spins around and sees me standing there watching her.

“Gage? What are you doing here?”

“Damn. Not the warm welcome I expected for surprising my wife in the middle of the day.”

Shesighs, setting her camera down on a table with more force than necessary before crossing her arms. “Am I supposed to be happy you’re interrupting me at work?”

My eyes drift around her studio, taking in every detail that reflects Hazel and her warmth—the warmth she hasn’t shown me much of, but I guess that’s warranted given our dynamic.

Photos line the walls, showcasing her talent. Most are black and white, but others are rich with color. The walls are a soft white, but her logo is painted in pink and black on the wall behind the front counter—her business name,Hazel Sheppard Photography, with a pink hummingbird nestled in the corner.

This girl really does love hummingbirds, doesn’t she?

“Interrupting you wasn’t my intention,” I say, suddenly second-guessing stopping by. But this weight living in my chest for the past five days is what led me here.

Guilt.

It’s been gnawing at me from every angle—guilt over not being here when Diane died, guilt over agreeing to this marriage for money, and guilt over caring about how Hazel feels—because that’s one thing I promised myself Iwouldn’tdo.

Maybe that’s why I’m standing in her photography studio right now with a gift for her. The second I saw these socks, I knew she had to have them.

Also, it was one of the only things I could think of to show her I’m not a complete ass—aside from actually telling her how guilty I feel about the whole hummingbird drawing incident.

But I meant what I said—something pulled me to her in the coffee shop that morning. She wasn’t just some random girl. She captured my attention the second I saw her and my gut told me to talk to her, and when my idea to draw on her came to me, I went with it.

I just didn’t realize I was being pulled toward my future wife.

Hazel lets out a loud sigh. “What do you need, Gage? As you can see, I have clients.” She waves one hand in the direction the family went.

I close the distance between us and hold out the small bag I’m carrying. “I brought you something. It’s no big deal. I just saw them and thought of you.”

She eyes me suspiciously, taking the bag from my hand at a glacial pace. “Okay…”

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I fight the urge to run out of the building. “I know you have a million pairs, but…”

She pulls the socks from the bag and reads the bottom of them. “I just want to drink wine and pet my dog.” Pictures of a French Bulldog are printed on the burgundy socks, along with wine glasses. When her eyes lift, I can’t read what she’s thinking, which scares the shit out of me.

Fuck.

What the hell was I thinking buying her a gift? I crossed a line. That’s the kind of shit real husbands do…

“Wow. I, uh…”

“Look, it was stupid,” I say, pushing a hand through my hair and turning to make a break for it.