Page 22

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.”

She sighs, 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 I wouldn’t do.

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 j ust 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.

But then—Hazel reaches out, fingers wrapping around my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

“Gage…”

I twist back around to meet her gaze, heart pounding.

“Thank you. This was…” She holds up the socks as the corner of her mouth lifts, hinting at a smile. “This was really sweet. My first pair of dog mom socks since I got Blueberry.” She shrugs as her mouth forms a full smile now. “They’re perfect.”

Rel ief punches through my chest. “Well, I know your first love is wine, but Blueberry is…”

Hazel laughs. “Yeah, he’s definitely up there now.” She sets the socks on the counter and then directs her attention back to me. “Is that the only reason you came in? To give me socks?”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah, I guess. I just feel like things have been weird since our date last week and I wasn’t sure how to…”

“Apologize?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

She drops her eyes to the socks again. “Well, socks are one way to say you’re sorry.”

“Better than flowers, right?”

“I mean, they’re definitely more practical. Perhaps sock companies should adopt that as their new marketing slogan—socks last longer than flowers.” She smiles back up at me and then says something I wasn’t expecting, “I’m sorry too.”

I blink. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“For unloading on you like that.” She wraps her arms around her body, almost caving in on herself. And shit, I hate that look on her. It’s so different than the confident, sharp-tongued woman I’ve come to know.

I take a step closer to her. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize. In fact, I’m glad you told me. It explains why you hated me so much in the beginning.”

“I didn’t hate you, but…”

I hold up a hand. “Hey, I get it. Let’s just move forward, okay?”

She nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

When I realize how much better I feel, I shift my focus back to her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but it’s kinda cool seeing you in act ion.” Her smile builds again. “Uh, do you photograph many babies? I imagine that’s hard.” I nod in the direction of the backdrop.

She drops her arms and straightens her spine, her confidence returning like flipping a switch. “I do. It has its challenges, but they’re some of my favorite photos to take.”

“How come?”

She grabs her camera from the table, walking over to where I’m standing and turning it so we can both see the small display screen.

“It’s all about the little details.” She flicks through a few pictures of the family together, but then there are some of just the baby.

“The wrinkles, the tiny fingers and toes…”

Her smile is electric, and before I realize it, I’m staring at her instead of the pictures—her details, the little things about her that I’m trying like hell not to notice but know I won’t ever forget.The dimple in her right cheek.

The tiny mole on her earlobe. The slope of her neck and the pout of her lips.

I clear my throat, snapping myself out of it. “They look like little aliens to me.”

She gapes at me. “Haven’t you ever seen a baby before?”

“I mean, sure. Out in public, but not this close-up.”

She looks back down at her camera. “It’s incredible, huh? How an entire person can be that tiny?”

“It’s a trip, for sure.”

“Do you want kids someday?” she asks, peering at me from the side before looking back at her camera. My chest tightens, the question hitting harder than I expected.

“I used to.” The words slip out before I can think about what they imply.

Shit . Why did I fucking say that?

“ Used to?” She turns fully toward me, her brows knitting together. “What changed?”

Regret and anger race through me simultaneously. “It’s just not in the cards for me, Spitfire.”

“How come?”

Thankfully, before I can come up with a safe response, the door to the studio chimes, pulling Hazel’s attention away from me as someone walks in.

“Nathan?” The shock in Hazel’s voice is the first red flag. The second? The way she shifts closer to me —like the man who just walked in isn’t just a surprise, but a problem.

I slide my arm around her waist so she knows I’m here if she needs me.

“Hey, Hazel.”

I take in the man standing a few feet away from us—blond, muscular but not more so than me, and dressed in a khaki suit that looks like it belongs in a corporate boardroom rather than Hazel’s studio.

“Wow. It’s been a while,” she says, her voice laced with something between wariness and forced politeness. “What…what are you doing here?”

His smile morphs from hesitant to slimy. “I’m in town visiting my folks. Just thought I’d stop by.” He looks around the studio. “You’re still working out of this tiny space, huh?”

My grip on Hazel’s waist tightens. Who the fuck is this guy?

Hazel doesn’t miss a beat, though. “I sure am. Lower overhead, higher profit margins. Most of my shoots are on location anyway.”

Nathan scoffs. “Glad to hear your little photo hobby is paying the bills, at least.” His eyes land on my hand around her waist and then flick back up to her. “And who’s this?”

Tak ing a step forward, I flash a wide smile and say, with an overwhelming amount of pleasure, “Her husband.”

His gaze snaps back to Hazel. “You’re married?”

“Uh, yeah. This is—”

“Gage Kingston.” I extend a hand for him to shake, even though I’d much rather punch him in the face with it. “And you are?”

Slowly, he places his hand in mine. “Nathan Smith. Hazel and I go way back,” he says with a smirk.

Hazel clears her throat. “Yeah, to a time I wouldn’t exactly call my finest era.”

I bark out a laugh. “Damn. I guess some memories are meant to stay buried, huh?”

His smirk falters. “Yeah…”

“Looks like the little man is sleeping again if you wanna get some more shots in.”

The voice behind us has all three of our heads spinning. Hazel’s clients are standing there, the mother cradling her now-sleeping baby, their expressions caught somewhere between amused and politely uncomfortable.

“Great! I’ll be right there!” Hazel practically shouts, moving out of my grasp while smoothing down her jet-black hair. Turning to Nathan, she says, “Well, this has been fun. Nathan, good to see you. And Gage…”

I place my hand on her waist again. “Yeah, baby?”