Page 11 of The Pink House

“It’s strange,” she surprised herself by saying.

If he was puzzled by her odd response, it didn’t show.

“There’s so much that’s familiar.” Hannah thought of what she’d told Emma before leaving Greensboro. “The streets and a lot of the buildings are the same as when I grew up here. But even this area,” Hannah gestured with one hand, “is so different. And of my close friends, well, Mackenna is the only one who’s still single.”

“What about me?”

She chuckled. “You and I were never friends.”

“We could have been.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “No. That would never have happened.”

Though he smiled, Hannah got the feeling that her words had hurt him, which wasn’t what she’d intended.

“That wasn’t a slam against you.” As soon as she placed a hand on his arm, he came to a stop. She met his gaze. “Back in high school, I wasn’t friends with Brian either. You guys ran in a different crowd. Neither of you knew I existed.”

The stiff set to his shoulders eased. “You and I had English together senior year.”

“We did?” She paused, and then she remembered and smiled. “That’s right. You sat in the back with Kenny Dunham. You guys were always laughing about something.”

“Don’t you mean disrupting the class?”

“That, too.”

He shrugged. “English didn’t interest me.”

“I liked it,” Hannah admitted, “but Mrs. Mason wasn’t much of a teacher.”

“My mom told me later that she and her husband were having issues that year. They eventually got a divorce.”

“I guess you never really know what someone is going through.”

He nodded. “If there’s anything I can do to make your transition easier, I hope you’ll let me know.”

“Why would you help me?”

“We’re neighbors.” As if still seeing the skeptical look on her face, he continued. “Brian was my best friend.”

Expelling a breath, Hannah nodded.

“This is it.” Charlie gestured to a red 4x4 parked at the curb.

Hannah recognized the truck from seeing it in his driveway.

He opened the door and waited while she climbed in, then rounded the front and slid into the driver’s seat. A second later, the diesel engine roared to life.

They spoke of inconsequential things on the drive home—the band they’d both liked that had played at the festival, the food and drink choices there and the weather.

By the time Charlie wheeled his truck into her driveway, an awkward silence descended.

“Thanks for the ride.” Hannah reached for the door handle. “I appreciate it.”

“I meant what I said.”

She cocked her head.

“If there’s ever anything I can do for you, all you need to do is ask.”

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