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He looked wounded by that.
I was glad he understood at least a little of how I felt.
“I know you’re angry,” I continued. “You have every right to be. But you don’t get to blame me for something I didn’t do, and I shouldn’t have to stand here convincing you that I’m not the sort of person who would deliberately hurt you.”
Hudson glanced toward the phone.
“I’m going to call Oliver. Somebody at Folio needs to explain this, and I want to know exactly who gave permission for that post.”
“Yes. They do.” I shifted the overnight bag higher on my shoulder. “And I hope they fix it quickly. You deserve to have your privacy respected.”
His expression softened slightly.
“Peyton, please. I don’t want you thinking that everything we’ve shared this weekend means nothing to me. It does. I’m just angry and confused, and I don’t know what to believe about that photograph.”
I swallowed.
“That makes it worse, Hudson. Because everything we’ve shared means something to me too, and I thought you trusted me. I love narrating books, and I would have been thrilled to work with you again. But I never expected you to give up your job or become some public figure because it might help my career.”
“I know you said that.”
“I wish you’d believed it.”
He didn’t answer.
I walked toward the front door, stopping to collect my coat from the hook where I’d left it.
Hudson followed me into the entryway.
“Can we talk about this after I’ve called Folio? I don’t want things to end like this.”
I turned toward him.
“Of course we can talk. But I’m not going to stand here and defend myself against something I didn’t do while you decide whether to believe me. Call Oliver. Find out what happened. Then maybe you’ll understand why I’m so hurt.”
He looked down at the bag in my hand.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt.”
I swallowed.
I wanted so badly for him to say he was sorry he’d accused me.
Instead, he’d apologized for how I felt.
Those weren’t the same thing.
I picked up my car keys from the small table beside the door.
“I need to go.”
Hudson stepped back, giving me room.
“All right.”
I opened the door.
Cold morning air swept across the porch, carrying the scent of damp leaves and woodsmoke from somewhere beyond the trees.
