Page 83 of The Love Haters

I could have stayed there all night. I might have, in fact.

Except that not long after we got started, we had to stop.

Because that’s when Rue called Hutch’s cell phone.

Actually, it was all The Gals. On speaker.

“Did you find her?” Rue asked, sounding worried. “She left without her shoes.”

“I found her,” Hutch said, resting his forehead against mine, his voice sounding a little rough.

“Well, bring her home,” Rue said, likeHurry up. “She hasn’t even eaten.”

AND SO, BECAUSEwe all knew better than to disobey Rue, Hutch lifted me up onto Rue’s bike and positioned me sidesaddle on the steel rack over the back wheel.

“Can this rack hold me?”

“On a Dutch bike, it can,” Hutch said.

The chain had a solid guard I could rest my bare feet on, and once I’d wrapped my arms around Hutch’s waist, we were off.

But slowly. Gently. No rush.

I relaxed into it. The wind ruffled my hair, and I leaned against his back and wrapped my arms around his waist. For stability. Mostly.

For a little while, we didn’t talk. Just got used to the motion, and the feeling of balancing together. A lot had been said. And done.

But then Hutch said, “I’m torn between wanting to take you back to Rue and wanting to steal her bike and keep you to myself.”

I thought about Rue—what a force of nature she was. “She’s lucky to have you,” I said. “I’ve never seen a nephew so devoted.”

Hutch nodded. “She raised us, so I owe her a lot. Plus, I like her.”

“I like her, too,” I said.

“She retired to Key West when she bought the Starlite. I was stationed in Kodiak then. I put in for here on my next tour, thinking I probably wouldn’t get it, but then”—we went over a little bump on the street—“I did.”

“That’s lucky,” I said.

“It really is,” Hutch said. “I’ve been here a year, but tours are usually four, so I’ve got some time before I move on. I’m trying to make the most of it.”

Hutch was good at cycling. Despite everything—having no helmet, and no shoes, and not even really having a seat—I felt at ease. The side streets were quiet. I could hear the tires ribboning along the road. It was easy to talk.

Next, I asked, “Rue raised you after your mom died?”

“Parents,” Hutch corrected. “After our parents died.”

“Oh,” I said. “Wow. I’m sorry.”

“It was an accident,” Hutch said. “I was twelve and Cole was eight, and there really was no one to take us after that.”

“No one except your aunt Rue,” I said.

“Honoraryaunt,” Hutch explained. “We were headed for foster care when Rue stepped in. She’d never wanted kids. But she couldn’tnothelp.”

I felt my admiration for Rue rising. “Was she a friend of your mom’s?” I asked.

“No…” Hutch said.

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