Page 147 of The Love Haters

“Nope. Because we fell in love.”

“Well, that was fast.”

“When it’s right, it’s right.”

“You’re dating Sullivan now? That’s happening?”

“Yes,” Cole said. “And guess who she likes me better than?”

“Hutch?” I asked, just as Cole answered at the exact same time: “Hutch.”

“This must be very healing for you,” I said.

“It’s very healing for both of us.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “Now go call your brother and confess.”

IT WAS SHEETINGdown rain by the time I parked at the marina. The sky was dark and brooding—even though it was four in the afternoon. All the parking lot lamps were off, and so were all the lights on all the marina boats, and I wondered if the power had gone out.

I left everything in Rue’s car except my phone, thinking I might need it for a flashlight—and then I ran down the wooden dock toward the boat, my sneakers smacking the drenched wood. But when I stumbled in through the boat door, expecting, I guess, for George Bailey to knock me down as usual… he was nowhere to be found.

“George Bailey?” I called.

Nothing. The boat was dark and quiet.

Had Carlos come back for him? Or had Rue enlisted someone else, after all?

“George Bailey!” I called again, shining my phone light around.

When I reached a bank of light switches, I flipped them all—but nothing.

The boat felt quiet as a tomb, rising and falling on the water and bumping against the dock.He’s definitely not here, I thought, as I looked around, anyway. Where could he have gone?

Then, just as I got close to the closet by Hutch’s bed, I heard a whimper.

“George Bailey?” I asked, peering into the closet.

There, below the hanging shirts and pants, I saw two shining eyes.

“Hey, buddy!” I said, squatting down and trying to convince us both with my voice that we were just having a pleasant get-together. “I found you!”

I could hear George Bailey panting. I put my hand on the closet floor near him, not sure how freaked out he would be. Would he be like one of those panicked animals that bites anything that comes near it?

No. I didn’t get bitten. He was a gentle giant to the core.

As soon as I put my hand near him, though, I gotlicked—wrist to elbow.

That felt like a good sign. “Hello, friend,” I said, reaching in farther to pet his back and feeling his whole body trembling in a way that made me so glad I’d come back for him.

I made pleasant, newscaster-like chitchat. “I know you’re not a big fan of thunder,” I said. “You don’t enjoy thunder, and I don’t enjoy power outages, or darkened boats, or hurricanes. So… what do you say to the idea of getting out of here?”

Then, like the most trustworthy person who ever lived, I opened the closet door wide, patted the thighs of my jeans, and said, “Come on. Come on, pal. Let’s go jump into Rue’s Mini Cooper and blow this popsicle stand.”

At the sound of Rue’s name, George Bailey ooched forward.

That’s when I remembered that he did speak a little English.

“Hey, George Bailey,” I said. “Hutchtold me you might want to go on awalk.”

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