Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Hutch
I look down at my phone and read the article about Farley and his new team. Cliff comes toward me, and I watch him in my peripheral vision.
“Get those seeds, buddy,” I whisper as I finish reading the article. The pain in my chest isn’t from working out. I’m pretty sure it’s from the heartache I feel. That article should be about both of us. But it isn’t, and it never will be.
I feel my hip twinge as if acknowledging this fact.
“What are we doing here?” I ask Cliff as he sits down and starts cleaning his back foot.
A rustling sound from behind me draws my attention. Al.
“I see you made a forest friend,” he says with a wink as he walks over and sits down next to me.
“Cliff, Al. Al, Cliff,” I introduce, waving my hand.
Al nods at the animal and then looks back at me. “You coming up to happy hour?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there,” I answer, my eyes still locked on the furry creature in front of us.
“Any updates on the vacation week?” he asks.
“I think I have some dates locked in. I just want to run it by everyone first before I book the flights,” I explain. Cliff looks up at me, and I reach into my pocket and pull out the last of the bird seed, tossing it near him. He scurries over and begins to eat it.
“Well, I’m off to set up the bar. I’ll see you up there,” he says, and I watch his gaze shift toward the street where Jocelyn is walking from Cam’s Café over to the bookstore.
Her curly hair bounces as she walks. Her hips sway to what I can only guess is music.
What I wouldn’t give to grab those hips…
wait, no, I have to stop thinking about her that way.
“Jocelyn is great, isn’t she?” Al says. “I love her spunk. She has this sassiness about her that reminds me of Edith when we were younger.”
“Oh?” I say, suddenly feeling a twinge of sadness over the loss of his wife. She was the kindest woman, and everyone who knew her still misses her.
“Yes. I’m surprised some young man hasn’t swooped in to ask her out. If I were a few decades younger…” He trails off, and I look over at him. He laughs when he sees my face. “What? I’m old, not dead.”
I chuckle. “Al, don’t even think about it.”
“Huh. I think you might have a crush on her,” he says, his voice low as if we’re sharing a secret, which we sort of are. And damn, am I that obvious?
“Nah. We’re just friends,” I say, waving my hand and trying to play it cool.
He eyes me up over the rim of his glasses. I clear my throat. “Well, we should probably get up there, huh?”
“Sure,” Al says as we stand, and I follow him toward the front of the park.
“Have a good night, Cliff,” I call out as we leave.
“By the way, I think Cliff is a Cliffette,” Al says.
“What? No way. He’s Cliff. He’s one of us. A dude,” I insist.
“Well, if dudes have lady parts, then I guess he’s a dude,” Al says, and I frown as I think about Cliff and what he looks like. Shit, maybe he is a she.
“Mr. Hutch!” Ava calls out from her bedroom window as we approach the building.
“Hi, Ava,” I say, craning my neck to look up at the tiny head with a ridiculous amount of hair.
“Can I interview you for my school project?” she asks.
“Of course. I’ll see you up there,” I reply, and she grins. I love that kid.
“You’d make a good dad,” Al says as we head toward the elevator. Normally, I wouldn’t take it, but Al can’t walk up all those stairs, and my hip is bugging me. Cold weather always makes my joints with old injuries act up.
We walk out onto the rooftop, and Al gets the bar ready and heat lamps going. It’s surprisingly warm once he has it all set up.
“Hi!” Ava squeals as she runs over and crawls up onto the stool next to me. She places a tablet down and then turns to me, interlocking her fingers and stretching her arms.
She releases them and nods. “OK. Let’s get started.”
“Ava, let Mr. Hutch at least get a drink before you start interviewing him,” Carly says as she walks up behind us.
“Mom!” Ava groans. “I need to get this done.” I fight a laugh. This kid is almost six, but she might as well be eighty-six.
“It’s not a problem. Go ahead,” I urge as Al sets a beer down for me.
She grins, and I take a sip of my beer while Al makes her a Shirley Temple. “What’s it like to be famous?” she asks.
I nearly choke on my drink. Clearing my throat, I try to figure out how to answer that. I’m not really famous, at least not any longer.
“Oh, uh, when I played ball and people would recognize me, I guess, it was cool. I felt proud of my work and proud of my teammates. It could be a little weird when people you don’t know come up to you and ask for photos,” I admit.
Ava frowns. “Mom!” she calls out to Carly, who’s standing down at the other end of the bar chatting with Bray.
“Yes?”
“Do I have photos with Mr. Hutch?” she asks, and I press my lips together to keep my smile in check.
“Oh, probably?” Carly answers, her lips twisting as she thinks.
“Can you take one just in case? For my project, of course,” Ava insists.
“Come here, kid,” I say as I open my arms, and she jumps from her chair into my lap and turns to face her mom, who snaps a photo of us.
Carly puts up her thumb. “Got it.”
“Great. Now, is it really that hard to play football?” Ava asks as she turns in my lap and looks up at me.
This time, I start laughing. “Ava, you’re a trip. Yes, it’s hard, sometimes.”
“Will you teach me how to play?” she asks.
“Sure. Have you ever tried rugby?” I ask her.
“What’s that?” she says, her nose scrunching up as she pulls her paper over and tries to write down my answer.
She’s a bright kid, but she’s young and she doesn’t know how to spell some words yet.
Carly has told me she’s quite advanced for her age.
The school has apparently talked about skipping a grade.
“It’s like football. I used to play when I was younger, but my dad wanted me to play football, so I stopped,” I admit.
“Do you miss it?” she asks, and my heart hurts again. I miss so many things about sports. I suppose I should be thankful that I can still work out at the gym.
“Every day,” I answer.
“What’s your advice for someone who wants to play football?” she asks. “Or rugbet?”
“Rugby,” I correct. “Practice.”
She groans. “I hate practicing.”
I chuckle and slide her back onto the stool between Bray and me.
“Practice makes perfect, kiddo,” I tell her as I sip my beer.
“Grownups always say that,” she protests.
“Because it’s true,” I state, watching her reach for her drink that Al has set in front of her.
“He’s right, Ava. That’s how we get good at something. Lots of practice,” Al agrees.
“Do you have to practice everything to get better?” she asks.
I nod. “Everything.”
“What if you are just naturally perfect at it?” she argues.
“Then, you’d be very unusual indeed,” I answer.
She doodles on the paper in front of her.
“You all done interviewing Mr. Hutch, peanut?” Carly asks.
“Yep,” she says before stuffing a pretzel in her mouth.
“What did you learn?” Carly prods.
Ava chews and cocks her head to one side.
“Mr. Hutch is in lots of photos. Football is hard. And you apparently have to practice,” she answers.
Everyone chuckles at her adorable response. The stairwell door opens, and Roxy, Gray, and Jocelyn all walk over to where the rest of us are keeping warm around the bar.
I lock eyes with Jocelyn for a moment, and she looks away as she goes to sit by Cam. Strange. Normally, she comes over to me.
I pull out my phone and look at the calendar. “OK, how about two weeks from tomorrow for the trip?” I ask. There’s a hush as I watch my friends all pull out their phones, presumably to look at their calendars.
There is a chorus of “Good” and a few “That works.”
“Yep, we will be there that weekend. The wedding is Saturday, but we could hang out after on Monday through Wednesday,” Troy says.
“Great. Then I will book our tickets tonight,” I state as I raise my beer. “To an amazing vacation that we’ll all remember.”
Everyone yells “cheers,” including Ava. My eyes lock with Jocelyn’s again, and I swear she blushes, but it’s hard to tell as the shadows from the heat lamps cast an orange glow on everyone’s face.
I’m not sure I trust myself to be on a tropical island with her, but I guess I’m going to be tested because this vacation is happening.