Page 60 of The Pink House

“I don’t like him. During our freshman year, I heard him making pig noises when Barbi Dunlop walked by.” Hannah’s fingers tightened around her glass of lemonade. Simply recalling the incident had anger rising all over again. “I confronted him, asked what his father—his dad was a minister—would think of him treating a person with such disrespect.”

“How did he respond?”

“He told me Barbi wasn’t a person, she was a pig.” Hannah pressed her lips together. “His friends laughed. I reported the incident to the principal. On my way home, I stopped by his father’s church and told his dad what I’d observed.”

“You had balls.” Admiration shown in Charlie’s dark eyes. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I never witnessed that behavior from him again. But our paths didn’t often cross, so…” She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “I could only hope what I did made a difference.”

“I can understand why you wouldn’t want to go on a date with one of his friends.”

“Not in this lifetime.” Hannah wondered how Lydia could have married him. Maybe he’d changed. For Lydia’s sake, she hoped so.

“You’re reading Brian’s letter.” Charlie gestured to the paper in her lap.

“I’m considering going fishing.”

Charlie leaned back in his seat, not appearing surprised. “When are you planning to go?”

“I have to do some research first.” She took a sip of lemonade, then realized she hadn’t offered him any. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m fine.” He cocked his head. “What kind of research?”

“Everything.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’ve never been fishing. I thought I’d look up what kind of fish are in Pigeon Creek and which ones bite at dawn. Then I need to research bait alternatives to worms. I’m not about to put a worm on a hook. I don’t care if fish like worms best. Worms are off the table.”

"Not a worm fan.” He grinned. "I get it.”

“I need to pick up a fishing pole or rod—I don’t really know the difference.” Hannah expelled a breath. “All this work hardly seems worth it for one time. Yet, I want to do it.”

“I can help you. If you want my help, that is.” Charlie held up both hands, palms out.

“I’ll take any help you can give me.”

“Brian and I hooked a lot of blue catfish in Pigeon Creek. We used a beer meal catfish bait. The fish love it, and no worms are killed in the making.”

Hannah smiled. “Now I guess I only need to find a pole. Or rod.”

“I’ve got a couple of catfish rods.”

“You don’t mind bringing an extra with you for me?”

Charlie sat up a little straighter. “You want me to come with you?”

Hannah realized she’d just assumed he meant to come along. “I know you’re busy. I shouldn’t have presumed—”

“I want to come.” The tension in his shoulders eased, and he visibly relaxed. “And yes, I have rods for both of us. You just need to tell me when you want to go.”

“I’d love to go tomorrow. If that doesn’t work for you—”

His hand closed around hers, stilling her nervous chatter.

She should pull away, casually slip her fingers from the warmth of his hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

He was the one to finally break the connection by giving her hand a squeeze, then sitting back. “Tomorrow works. Can you be ready at five thirty?”

Hannah nodded. “Is there anything special I should wear?”

“I’ll bring a couple of lawn chairs. Wear something old so if you get dirty, it won’t matter. Oh, and if you have a pair of rubber boots, bring those.”

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