“My parents are pushing hard for the whole church, white dress, three-hundred-guests-I-barely-know routine, which is the last thing either of us wants,” she explains for the rest of the group’s benefit. “We really should just go to Vegas. Weddings are such endless stress and a giant waste of money.” Tracy gasps, her hands flying to her mouth as she looks at me with horror. “I don’t mean thatyou’rea waste of money!”
I wave her off, not the least bit offended. “I see how the wedding sausage gets made. I get it. If I ever get married, I don’t want the fuss. Just my friends and some sunshine.” I force a grin past my guilt and add, “Oh, and a decent photographer.”
I pretend not to notice the way Wes tenses when I sayifI ever get married.
Matt’s expression turns speculative while the group laughs. “You know,” he starts slowly, his arm settling around Tracy’s waist. “We have most of our friends here. My parents are only a couple hours away. Wecouldjust get married in a field.” His eyes settle on me, wide with hope. “We might even be able to talk Sloane into taking photos.”
“A storm chaser wedding!” Tracy lights up, genuine excitement bubbling out of her for the first time since the conversation turned to her engagement. “Wait, are you serious? I wouldlovethat.”
Suddenly everyone’s attention shifts to me. I hesitate, momentarily thrown by the weight of expectation, but Wes’s solid presence steadies me—and the photos would be epic.
“I’d love to!” I smile sheepishly and add, “I don’t know anything about how to make it legally binding, but I do know how to photograph stormsandweddings.”
“Oh my god, thank you!” Tracy squeals and darts forward to throw her arms around me. “I was going to ask you for recommendations in LA if we ever set a date, but I like this option so much better!”
“You are going to have the best damn wedding photos I can give you,” I promise, hugging her back.
Matt happily slides his arm back around his fiancée once she lets me go. “You sure you don’t mind, Sloane? We will absolutely pay your normal rate.”
“Just tell me when and where.” I’ll argue with them about payment later. Tracy is the closest thing I have to a best friend. No way am I charging her more than a nice dinner out.
Besides, I’m burnt out on shooting big, elaborately staged weddings with demanding brides and even more demandingmothers. Tracy and Matt aren’t that couple. They’re two photography nerds who love storms and just want to get married without all the fuss. There won’t be a mother-in-law who shows up wearing white that I need to painstakingly edit to another color in each frame; there won’t be a family of twenty to wrangle into one shot and tedious head-swapping edits to make everyone look decent.
This is exactly the kind of wedding I’dloveto shoot.
We chat a little longer and form a tentative plan to have the wedding in about a week to give Tracy and Matt time to get their side of things in order. Not that they’re on their own—offers to help with a cake or flowers get tossed around pretty quickly. Someone even volunteers to drive down to Mae’s for a couple dozen donuts.
Distracted by all the potential ways to shoot the wedding, I almost miss the sound of my name. Wes shakes his head with a fond smile as if he knows exactly what had my focus. Once he has my attention, he gestures to a guy I think I’ve met once before who’s standing a few feet away.
“Adam needs a jump. You’ve got cables in your emergency kit, right?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” I hold out my hand to Wes for the car keys. Since his shorts have actual pockets and not the sad suggestion of them that come with women’s clothing, he’s turned into the keeper of the keys. “Where are you parked?”
“I don’t want to bother you. Wes can do it.”
I narrow my eyes. Now I remember why Adam is vaguely familiar. He’s the same guy who saw me driving last week and made a snide comment about Weslettingme drive. I didn’t bother mentioning it to Wes. It wasn’t worth the trouble.
But I’m certain that not wanting to “bother” me has nothing to do with Adam’s insistence that Wes handle it.
Wes shrugs. “Sloane’s car, Sloane’s cables.” He’s still being his usual friendly self, but I know him too well now. There’s an edge to his voice.
“C’mon, man, she doesn’t know how to—”
“We’re leaving anyway,” I interrupt. It’s not exactly true. We were going to leave in ten minutes, once Tracy and Matt were done buying snacks, but they’ll understand.
I turn to walk toward the car. Wes doesn’t say a word, but the arm he keeps around my shoulders is a show of silent support I’m grateful for. I lean into him, close enough to catch the mutteredJackassunder his breath.
“Wait, no, c’mon, man!” Adam protests behind us. “It was just a joke—”
Wes stops, breathes in sharply through his nose, and glances back over his shoulder. “Explain it, then,” he says calmly. “Jokes are meant to be funny, right?”
“You’re going to leave me stranded because your girl can’t take a joke?”
“No.” Wes looks down at me, and there’s a flash of something hard on his face before he directs his attention back to Adam. “You did this to yourself,man. Might want to work on those jokes.”
We both ignore his next protest. I don’t say a word until we’re a quarter mile down the road, and even then, all I manage through my anger is a barely audible “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” Disgust curls around the edge of Wes’s words, emotion thickening his accent. “I didn’t see it before,but I’m starting to think you deal with way too much of that shit.”
