Page 57 of Love to Hate You

She took three steps, then came to a halt because he hadn’t moved.

“What are you doing? We’re going to lose!” she snapped. He could see the fierce competitiveness in her eyes, flickering like a bonfire with gasoline.

“You want to win? Then admit you kissed me first.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.” He held his ground. It was bugging him that she was hot then cold. He didn’t want to be the mistake. That one word summed up his entire life. First with his dad and being the result of an affair. Then his ex, who’d said that their whole relationship was a mistake. He’d loved her enough to have proposed but everything he’d experienced was clearly one-sided.

She looked at the empty start line and sighed. “Fine. I got swept up in the moment.”

“You mean our meet-cute.”

“Yes, our meet-cute. And I kissed you. Happy now?”

He took a casual stroll forward. “After you.”

She lifted her hand to show the zip ties. “Really?”

He took one big step, which forced her to take two, and said mockingly, “Hurry up or we’re going to lose.”

It took them a minute or two to find their groove. With the height difference it made for a comical display of her tripping and him hunching down so as not to yank on her arm.

“Why do you have to be so tall?” she grumbled, going in the opposite direction to her family.

“Women usually call me tall, dark and handsome.”

“I’m not like other women.”

Didn’t he know it. And that was part of the problem.

“Do you even know where we’re going? You’re walking in the wrong direction.”

“I’m not the nine-time reigning champion for no reason. I know a shortcut. I know this town inside out,” she said with that smile that was as bright as a summer’s day.

And that’s when Wes realized they were still holding hands, running at a full-on sprint down the Main Street in Mystic. Racing by the brick-faced shops and streetside cafés with brightly colored awnings and hand-painted windows while laughing. Seagull cries mixed with the crashing of waves sounded in the background, and the salt in the air was so thick he could taste it. A cool ocean breeze came in off the water, and excitement pumped through his body in anticipation of what was to come next.

He hadn’t felt this free in years, and nor had he had so much fun. The last time he’d felt this connected to a group was when he’d played rugby at university. Since then it had been him and him alone. Even with his ex, he’d felt alone at times. And he’d never noticed until now just how isolating that experience had been. Even if she didn’t realize it, Summer was giving him a gift. The gift of companionship. And it felt good.

“In here,” she said, pushing open the door of Funky Book Junction. The bell on the door echoed throughout the store as she burst in, dragging him behind her. The scent of aging paper and incense greeted them, reminding him of the used bookstore back home where he’d spent every free hour perusing and reading when the clerk wasn’t looking. When he found a special one, he’d save up his money that he’d earn by mowing lawns and splurge. He still had his collection of Harry Potter books. They sat on a shelf behind his desk at his apartment.

“Summer Russo,” someone said in a scolding tone. “What have I told you about running through the store? The books aren’t going to get up and walk away.”

“Sorry, Ms. Louise.” Summer slowed to a brisk walk. “It’s the annual Russo Selfie Scavenger Hunt, and I’m in it to win it.”

“And you have a new partner I see.” Two eyes and a gray bun peeked over the counter. “A real-life Prince Humperdinck, it appears.”

“More like a Joe Fox,” Summer corrected. “An algorithm put us together,” she explained, as if that was a normal response.

Ms. Louise came out from behind the counter. She was about as tall as a middle-schooler, built like a fire hydrant, and had apple cheeks. Her muumuu was a shade of green that Wes needed sunglasses to look at, and she had on bright white orthopedic shoes. But that didn’t slow her down. She was by their side in a blink, jogging with them into the belly of the shotgun-style shop.

“Where can I get my hands on this algorithm?”

“It’s called RoChance, and it connects with matches in your vicinity. Supposedly perfect matches. But they’re still working out the glitches.” She side-eyed Wes.

“I am not a glitch,” he said defensively.

“If you don’t want him, I’d be happy to have a fun little glitch after I get off work,” Ms. Louise said, looking Wes up and down. “But I’m not looking for strings. Just thought I’d put that out there.”

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