Page 13 of The Best Friend Power Play

I put the soup back on the shelf.

My eyes drift back to Hannah. She picks up a jar and studies the label.

I get an idea.

She's not expecting me to be here, so I can make this moment extra special. I lightly jog up the next aisle to surprise her from the other end.

I sneak up as close as I can and say in a low, deep voice, "Ma'am. Please put your hands where I can see them and step away from the pasta sauce."

She spins around. "Culver! Oh my goodness. What are you doing here?"

She shoves the sauce back onto the shelf and throws her arms around me. I inhale the coconut smell that's so quintessentially her and hold her in my arms.

Mrs. Cohen wheels her cart around the corner, but when she sees us, she starts backing away. "I'm sorry, dears. Didn't mean to interrupt the lovebirds."

Before either one of us can correct her, she disappears around the corner.

"She moved pretty fast for a lady in her eighties," I say with a chuckle.

"That's nothing." We've stopped hugging, but Hannah is still holding my arm. "Mrs. Cohen talks even faster than she walks. I bet she's already telling someone in the produce section she saw us hugging."

I grin and let out a long breath. "It never stops, does it?"

Hannah knows what I mean—that everyone in Comfort Bay assumes we're a couple.

"No. It doesn't. Even the girls were on my case about it on our sunrise walk this morning."

"Must be something in the air. Fraser brought it up when he dropped me off."

"Fraser? Really?"

"Yep. Hand gestures were involved."

Hannah's eyes grow bigger.

"Clean ones," I say, then think about it for half a second. "Semi clean ones."

She laughs, and I take the opportunity to take a proper look at her. She looks good, but I can't help noticing the slight bags under her eyes.

I know she's been going nonstop with graduation stuff, not to mention college applications and sports finals, on top of running her shop and all the usual day-to-day stuff involved in keeping two teenagers alive and well.

I've been worried about her. I hate that I've been too far away to do anything.

Well, that changes right now.

I'm here for the entire summer, and I'm going to make sure Hannah gets some rest and lets me pamper her for a bit.

"So," she says, looking up at me with those large, almond-shaped eyes. "What are you doing here two days early, and what do you have against"—she retrieves the jar from the shelf—"this pasta sauce?"

"I wanted to surprise you." I smile. "And I wanted to see the kids before they left."

"They knew you were coming?"

Nodding, I reply, "Yeah. I offered to make Nonna’s Bolognese in exchange for their silence."

Hannah laughs again, and she's got one of those perfect laughs. Not too loud. Not too shrill. Just the right amount of joyous. "Right. I'm sure that was a tough ask."

"Hey. You're not that bad at cooking."

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