“Hey, just trying to keep Cliff from grabbing this camera,” he says as he adjusts some straps that hold the camera against the tree. The camera is pointed at the bench.
I notice the flowers that magically appear on the bench each day are gone. Everyone in the apartment building above the bookstore is always speculating who might be leaving them. The arrangement appears on the bench each morning with a note that reads:
“If you found these flowers, then the universe wants you to feel loved. Take them home and enjoy them. XOXO, The Guardian of Hearts Lane Park.”
For some reason, Hutch has made it his personal mission to find out who leaves them there. So far, we have a half dozen suspects but haven’t solved the mystery.
I look around us. I don’t recall anyone named Cliff in the neighborhood. “Uh, who’s Cliff?”
He grins and points past the bench to another tree. My gaze follows his thick finger up to a “v” in the tree where a very large raccoon sits.
My eyes widen as I turn back to him. “Is that”—I point back at the animal—“your trash panda friend, or shall I say culprit?”
He nods. “That’d be him. Pain in my ass.” He sighs. “Honestly, the little shit is growing on me. It’s hard to stay mad at something so fucking cute.”
I giggle and glance back over my shoulder at it. “I mean, he is sort of adorable.”
“He likes peanuts,” Hutch says, tossing a few on the ground from his pocket. The animal scurries down the tree and begins eating them.
“You feed it?” I ask as I step back, putting more distance between me and the wild animal.
“Yeah. He’s harmless. Just curious,” he admits. Which is funny coming from him because he normally says he wants to murder the critter that messes with his camera.
“You know, curiosity killed the cat,” I state.
He laughs. “Well, thank God he isn’t a cat.”
“Touché,” I state as I watch Hutch climb down from the stand. He grabs my arm and loops it through his enormous one. I can’t help wondering for the briefest of moments what it would feel like to have his big, muscular arms wrapped around me. Hutch towers over me and looks more like a feral ancient warrior than a former linebacker.
“Come on, let’s go get some coffee and figure out what you’re writing in this paper,” he suggests as he leads me back toward the café. I suppose if I can’t have a real-life book boyfriend, I might as well have a real-life hot best friend.
His body is warm, and I hate to admit how calm I feel tucked against the gigantic frame of this beast of a man. Mostly, I’m aware that no one is likely going to hurt me when Hutch is nearby because they wouldn’t stand a chance against him, and I’m also very aware that where he’s all hard and muscles on the outside, his center is soft and gooey. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he would apparently feed a wild animal.
As we approach the café, I look down the street, and for the briefest of moments through the snow, I see a man who looks just like my father entering a building. I shake my head and blink. He’s gone as fast as he appeared. And I decide I need the coffee, if I’m hallucinating that badly.
CHAPTER TWO
Hutch
I glance out at the city from my office window. After my recovery from the tractor accident, my coach connected me with his old friend, who owned a financial firm specializing in helping professional athletes grow their portfolios. My college degree in finance was finally put to use. Most days, I don’t mind it, but it gets harder and harder as I watch former friends and colleagues continue playing the sport I loved, the sport I still love.
My phone buzzes and I look down to see a text from my former teammate and good friend, Darren Farley.
Farley: Fucker. Get down to Donato’s. Happy hour is on me.
Me: On my way.
Shutting down my computer, I stare back out at the cityscape. It’s a far cry from the fields of my family’s farm. Some days I miss that place. But most days, I find the anonymity of being in the city soothing. People notice me because of my size, but slowly, week by week and month by month, fewer people recognize me as a former famous football player. I’m shifting back into Hutch, just plain old Hutch. The shell of a man who used to be famous, special, and admired.
I make my way down to the lobby and out onto the bustling sidewalks. People are beelining toward their after-work destinations. Some are on their phones. Some have earbuds in and stare straight ahead, but I can tell they are a million miles away. For a long time, I was one of them. Trying to find my escape in the mundane each day. I was longing for a purpose again. Something to take my mind off my new reality. But now, I’m slowly learning to be in the moment. Or, at least, I’m trying.
I walk the two blocks to the bar and find Darren sitting at the end of the bar, talking to the bartender. He waves me over, and I sit down next to him. Darren looks great. I can tell he’s happy, and I’m glad for him. He deserves all the happiness in the world. He’s one of the good guys.
He grins and slides a shot toward me.
I raise an eyebrow. Something is definitely up with him.
“Man, take the damn shot,” he urges as he holds up his.
