Hatch brought her bees honey and an unexpected conversation.
It was a Sunday after a ride -- the group had gotten smaller as November deepened, just four of them now on the shorter cold-weather routes. Rafe was inside the garage with Cord and Marco going over something about the watch rotation. Hatch sat beside Ellie on the tailgate of her van, two coffees between them, watching the street.
Hatch was the largest man she had ever been comfortable around. Six-four, built like a man who had once done heavy labor and never entirely stopped, with hands that looked improbable holding a coffee cup and a voice that was, incongruously, soft. He had been in the Saints for nine years and he baked bread every Thursday and he had, at the festival months ago, been the one who helped her carry the tray
