But he hesitates.
So I give him a reassuring smile, tugging the blanket around my shoulders before removing the laptop from my bed and tidying up the papers into a stack and placing them on the small table with the computer.
Hadley steps out of the van but turns back to say something, tapping the side of the Betsy with a hand. With a shake of his head, he moves to leave.
“Hadley.”
He spins back. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He gives me a curt nod and wanders back to his truck. Still shirtless. Still a bull rider.
It hits me the second I get up to close the van door... that was almost friendly? And was he... concerned?
Color me surprised.
Another four hours later I’m up and dressed and packing up the van, ready to move to the next event two towns over. I don’t know how these cowboys do this year in and year out. The suitcase lifestyle is not my favorite thing.
A knock comes on the van door as I’m storing away my work stuff under the small bunk bed. The door is open, so I spin around and find Hadley standing a few feet away, two coffees in his hands.
Climbing down the two steps to the ground, I wrap my cardigan around my shoulders and offer him a warm smile. “Morning.”
“Coffee. Thought you’d need it.”
He hands me a large to-go cup. I take it, my fingers brushing over his.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He shifts on his feet, not saying anything for a beat, before, “Can I ask you a question?” He tilts his head to one side, studying my response.
“Depends what it is.” I scrunch my nose up before taking a sip.
The coffee is hot and bitter. The way I like it.
“How do you get PTSD from being a photographer?”
“That keep you up all night, did it?” I say with a chuckle.
At least I wasn’t the only one who got little-to-no sleep.
“Maybe.” He sips his coffee.
“I don’t think we have that kind of relationship yet, Jones.”
He smiles now, a wide, happy grin. Which sends my head reeling. How does that make him happy?
He must read the confusion on my face because he repeats, “Yet.”
“Ah,” I breathe. I’d take it back but the way he’s looking at me is...
Intense.
“Hads!” Brady comes barreling across the grounds, his collar up on his jacket, flinging his keys around his forefinger. “You want to carpool this time?”
Hadley glances at me then turns toward Brady. “Nah, bud. I’m good. My old truck never lets me down.”
“That—” Brady starts.
