Page 50 of The Pink House

Charlie grinned. “You found the pink house again.”

“Not the house. Just Maisie. I went for a walk in the woods, and she came up to me.”

“She just walked up to you?”

“Yes.” Hannah couldn’t stop the smile, didn’t even try. “She said she had come looking for me. She was worried.”

“About?”

“She worried the letter had upset me.”

“What did you tell her?”

Everything. Thinking about all that she had told a virtual stranger had Hannah inwardly shaking her head. The crazy thing was, Maisie didn’t seem like a stranger.

“I told her it didn’t upset me. That I was glad she gave it to me.”

His gaze searched her face. “Did she tell you where she got it?”

“She gave me another cryptic reply.” For some reason, knowing how Maisie had gotten the letter didn’t seem as important to Hannah as seeing her again.

“What did you talk about?” Charlie pressed.

“Regrets.” Hannah remembered every word of the conversation. “Over things not done or left undone.”

Charlie offered an encouraging smile.

“We discussed learning from past regrets and simple things giving us pleasure.”

That familiar easy smile lifted his lips. “Like lasagna and wine on a rainy afternoon?”

The fact that his mind had gone immediately in the same direction as hers gave Hannah pause, but she nodded. “I also admitted that I couldn’t picture Brian enjoying the activities he’d looked back on with such fondness.”

Charlie didn’t, as she thought he might, try to convince her otherwise. “What did she say to that?”

“That people are always changing and growing. That who we were as teenagers isn’t who we are now.”

“Sounds like a heavy discussion.”

“It didn’t feel heavy,” Hannah insisted. “It was nice. Like two friends talking. She said we were meant to find each other. I believe that.”

“Do you think you’ll see her again?”

“Oh, I’ll definitely see her again.” Hannah blew out a breath. “The question is when.”

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

That night, as Hannah lay in bed, the conversation she’d had with Maisie about regrets over things not done ran through her head.

She’d never been impulsive. But during the past year, she had done her best to open herself up to new experiences without overthinking it.

Could she be the kind of person to simply decide on a whim to spend the night in the woods? No planning, no organizing, just send a text and go for it?

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from the bedside stand and texted Charlie.

His reply to her tent emoji arrived seconds later. Thumbs-up.

Twenty minutes later, Hannah strode out of the house. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved tee, she carried only a lightweight sleeping bag she’d found in the back of one of her dad’s closets and a backpack.

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