Page 67 of The Love Haters

“Maybe.”

“And you’d think he’d mention the pie piece, too, by the way.”

“He never noticed it, though. So he couldn’t have put it in the song.”

“How could he not have noticed it? I saw it the first day.”

“The first day?” I asked. “When you were”—I hesitated—“doing splinter removal?”

But Hutch shook his head. “The first day in Rue’s shop. When you had that hibiscus in your hair.”

I nodded and took that in.

“I looked it up, by the way—your pie piece. It’s calledsectoral heterochromia.”

I looked over. “Well, that’s a mouthful.”

“Heterochromia is having different colors in your eyes—like, some people have one blue eye and one brown eye. But sectoral heterochromia is just a section of the eye that’s different.”

I nodded like I was fascinated by the scientific terminology. But I was really more fascinated by how Lucas, a man I’d dated so long, could have noticed so little about me. And, for that matter, how I could’ve noticed so little about myself.

After a while, Hutch said, “Well, it’s a great song.”

I sighed. “I guess it is.”

“He must have loved you, to write a song like that.”

“Yeah, probably,” I said, looking out the window. “He just didn’t love me…good enough.”

ALL TO SAY,Hutch and I wound up spending a lot of time together. I followed him around all day at work. We shared a commute to and fro. We had an urgent swim-lesson regimen to stick to.

My self-imposed deadline for getting that “yes” for a “Day in the Life” before SWET training day had seemed so reasonable at first—but then the training got postponed a few times. Which allowed me to put off asking, and gave us time to pack in extra swim lessons.

Add in the fact that Rue and The Gals grilled dinner out by the pool almost every night, drinking sangria in fluttery caftans and watching the sunset—and that Hutch dropped me off, went home to pick up George Bailey, and came back to swim and stay for dinner almost every night, too.

With someone else, it could easily have beentoo much.

But somehow, with Hutch, it just wasn’t. The more we spent time together, the easier it was to spend time together. It was like there was this extra layer of energy whenever we were around each other that just kind of amplified whatever was happening. Something that would be serious with somebody else felt earthshaking with him. And anything mildly funny became hilarious. He laughed a shocking amount for someone whosemain hobby was frowning.

We just got along.

Even swimming was fun, as impossible as that sounds.

I guess exposure therapy really works. The more you do a thing, the less weird it starts to feel. Plus, Hutch was so comfortable in the water. He made a good lead. Add to that, this wasn’t some spring break situation—all about preening and looking good. This was work.

Work that involved blowing a lot of bubbles and doing cannonballs.

You know how going on vacation can sometimes make you into a different person? This was kind of like that. Nothing around me was the same, and so I didn’t have to be the same, either.

This wasn’t the usual, ordinary old me. This wasme in Key West.

I’d splash around with Hutch in the pool and then slip that fluttery cover-up back on and spend the rest of the evening noshing on dinner at the patio tables with him and The Gals, George Bailey lying in the grass nearby.

Maybe it was the island breezes. Or the sangria. Or the warmth of the sun. Or the lovely feeling of being surrounded by the easy chatter of friends. But there was something special going on that I couldn’t ignore. It felt like a different way of living that had something good—and something long overdue—to teach me.

Eleven

EXCITING NEWS.

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