Scotty turned to greet the tall, dark-haired woman he’d seen earlier. “Hi.”
“Can I help you…two?” She paused just a bit before adding “two,” her gaze darting to their entwined hands.
Preston shrank back a step and wrenched his hand out of Scotty’s hard enough to sting. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He backed even farther away from Scotty, putting more distance between them and pretending to be studying a display of postcards.
For a moment Scotty felt physically ill. His stomach flopped, then sunk. Tears pricked his eyes unexpectedly at the snub.
The woman’s eyes widened, obviously catching Preston’s odd reaction. “Would you like me to show you all the paintings we have of that artist?” she asked, politely.
His knees wobbled a little. He didn’t even want to look in Preston’s direction. He knew he was probably being unfair. But fuck, he did not want to go down the road of hiding who he was again.