Page 16 of The Pink House

After all, if the housewasthere, eventually she’d stumble across it again. But she wouldn’t waste any more time looking for it.

There was so much to do around the house if she wanted to make it feel likeherhome. The trouble was, she was having difficulty getting motivated.

Like now, all she wanted to do was sit on the swing, sip her soda and chill.

She could almost hear Brian’s voice in her head telling her to get up and do something. Make a list of what needed to get done. Set up a schedule or daily routine based on priorities. Remove distractions, then work the plan.

Brian had prided himself on being maximally productive. Hannah understood that, because being successful in sales demanded perseverance and a total focus on the goal.

For the first five years in her job, she’d pushed and pushed hard in a drive to be successful. When the boss’s nephew, whom she’d trained, had gotten a promotion that should have been hers, her desire to give 110% had taken a serious hit.

Much like a football player who’d been knocked to the ground and stomped on, Hannah had found it difficult to get up. But with Brian urging her forward, she’d risen and given the job her best.

Perhaps not 110%, which she’d begun to think was ridiculous anyway, but at least 90%. Though she’d kept her eye out for other positions, the benefits and salary, plus the friends she had in the office, had kept her where she was.

Nearly a year before Brian had been diagnosed with small-cell lung cancer—if another person asked if he smoked, she was going to scream, because Brian had never smoked or lived in a home with people who smoked—Hannah had wondered if they should try to have a baby.

Though they’d agreed that their thirties would be the optimal time to start a family, what would it hurt to start trying? Especially since several of their friends had experienced difficulties getting pregnant.

Brian had been hesitant to deviate from the course they’d set. They’d still been discussing the pros and cons when their lives had imploded.

“Hey.”

Hannah turned her head in the direction of the voice and pulled her thoughts back to the present.

And Charlie, who stood with a beer in one hand and a bag of Cheetos in the other. He held up the bag between two fingers and swung it back and forth. “You can’t drink Coke without eating.”

“I don’t know that Cheetos qualify as a food source.”

“I’m pretty sure they do.” Charlie gestured to the swing with the hand holding the Cheetos. “Mind if I join you?”

Hannah was surprised to find she didn’t mind at all. She pushed to her feet. “Sit. Let me get some paper towels. Those things are messy.”

Charlie flashed a smile. “But tasty.”

Hannah chuckled. “Yeah, tasty.”

Inside, she washed her hands, then grabbed several paper towels, knowing one each would definitely not be enough. She’d eaten Cheetos before—actually, they were a personal favorite—and remembered the mess.

She handed some paper towels to Charlie, then took a seat. When she dipped her fingers into the open bag and took out a handful, she met his gaze. “My hands are clean.”

“I was worried.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Are yours?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He held up both for her inspection.

“I suppose they look clean enough.” She popped a Cheeto into her mouth as he scooped up a handful for himself and placed them on a paper towel in his lap. “We shouldn’t be snacking this close to dinner.”

“If you don’t tell, I won’t.” He shot her a wicked smile, and she had to laugh.

After taking a sip of beer, he popped several more cheese puffs into his mouth and crunched, then drank more beer. He expelled a contented sigh. “This is how I envision heaven.”

Hannah cocked her head, not sure if he was being serious or not. “Cheetos and beer? That’s how you see heaven?”

“Don’t forget a pretty spring day, a porch swing and good conversation.”

“The only conversation we’ve had so far is about the Cheetos.”

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