The photographer’s words knocked Nash still for a second, and all he could do was stare at Chelle, her round cheeks pink from the chilly wind as her smile cracked and fell apart.

“Come on, honey,” the man said as he clicked the shutter. “Give us a smile.”

A savage rush of pure anger blasted through Nash, and he stood up fast enough that his chair fell back and clattered on the cement, setting off every dog in the café. He barely heard the barking, all of his attention was focused on the shithead who thought he could say anything to Chelle let alone the bullshit that had come out of his mouth.

Standing next to Chelle’s chair, he loomed over the other man. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Nash.” She reached up and put her hand on his forearm. “It’s not a big deal.”

“The fuck it’s not.” He thought he’d been pissed before. That was nothing compared to the pure rage burning through him at the way the photographer’s words had dimmed the light in her eyes. Then he’d taken in Chelle’s slumped shoulders and the arm she’d put protectively around her middle as if subconsciously guarding against an attack, and he’d seen red. “It does matter,” he told her, fighting to keep his fury in check. “I’m the fucking lucky one.”

Her eyes went wide and some of the spark came back into her gaze—at least enough that he could turn his attention to the dirtbag who’d had the fucking audacity to say that shit to Chelle. The man continued to take pictures, but—obviously sensing danger—he’d put distance between them.

There were a million things Nash wanted to do, but he settled on the least violent. He ripped the camera out of the man’s hands and took out the digital camera’s memory card as the man backpedaled.

“I’ll sue,” the photographer spluttered. “You can’t do this. It’s my livelihood.”

“I look forward to hearing from your attorney, assuming you can get someone to work with a slime ball like you.” Nash shoved the camera into the man’s chest, backing him up a few more feet. “You ever talk to my wife again like that and I will do a helluva lot more than this.” He got his face right in the photographer’s face. “Do you understand me?”

“Yeah, man. I got it.”

“Good.” Nash forced himself to take a step back before he gave in to temptation and beat the guy senseless. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

He didn’t have to tell the photographer twice. The other man hustled out of the café as people clapped and jeered and dogs growled.