Page 17 of The Best Friend Power Play

Wishful thinking, man.

A girl like Hannah Cooper is well and truly out of my league. No point in even going there.

"You didn't squander the money." Hannah's soft voice pokes into the silence. She latches onto my arm a little tighter but keeps looking straight ahead. "You acted with your heart and helped people who didn't deserve your help."

I breathe in deeply. "Thanks, Hannah."

She's right. I did act from my heart when I should've been smarter and used my head. Because I'm a big dummy like that. Guess I didn't inherit my grandfather's investment genes.

"Hey. What did one earthquake say to another?" I ask, changing the subject.

"I don't know."

"It's not my fault."

Hannah laughs, shaking her head, treating me to another whiff of coconut. "That's one of your worst ones yet."

"But you laughed, so is it so bad that it's almost good?" I ask hopefully.

"Maybe. I'll think about it."

"That's good enough for me."

I don't remember when so bad they're almost good jokes became a thing we do, but it is.

Hannah stops walking. "Incoming."

I follow Hannah's gaze across the street and take a breath to steel myself.

"The REDs," we say at the same time as a brigade of gray and blue-haired women march toward us.

RED stands for Retired and Extremely Dangerous, and it's a very appropriate moniker. They remind me a bit of Hannah and her girlfriends, with their frenetic energy and million-miles-an-hour talking. But, like, in fifty years.

They're led by their self-appointed leader, my grandmother Geneva—but everyone calls her Jenny—and she's ably supported by Hannah's grandma Veronica—or as she prefers to be called, Vonny.

I run a tally in my head as they get closer.

Five, six, seven.

Okay. There are seven of them, versus two of us. Maybe they'll go easy?

Nonna greets me with a beaming smile. "Ciao, mio tesoro."

She gives me a hug, kisses me twice, then hugs me some more, gazing up at me with nothing but love in her eyes.

To a normal person, Nonna's greeting might seem excessive.

Let me rephrase that, Nonna's greeting is excessive, but I wouldn't change it for anything. She's my favorite pint-sized dynamo.

I hug Hannah's grandmother next, and then, noticing the expectant looks on the other ladies' faces, I hug Catherine, Meryl, Joyce, Dorothy, and Phyllis in turn.

"Such good manners," Catherine says to Joyce, who nods in agreement.

Hannah starts telling them about Doyle still harping on about her alleged flinch—taking the opportunity to deny it yet again—which sets the REDs off about all the other things Doyle has done lately that have ticked them off.

It's a substantial list.

As Hannah and I listen, I notice that Meryl and Phyllis have drifted away from the main group and have started their own conversation. I only manage to catch fragments of it.

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