studied her. “You’re okay?”
“I’m really okay.” She smiled. “I’m better than okay. Thanks for letting me talk to you.”
“That’s what friends do.”
Her smile grew. The tension in her chest eased. “Exactly. So if you have any deep, dark secrets, I’m here for you, friend.”
“You know my story. Stood up to bullies in high school, made lots of money, bad marriage, worse divorce—which I’m beginning to feel better about, thank you for asking.”
She laughed and headed for the door. “Well, if you ever need to talk, you know where I am.”
“Like I said, I have no secrets.”
She stopped, faced him again. He might not have secrets, but he did have hurts. Hurts he didn’t share.
Were it not for those hurts, she probably wouldn’t push open the door and walk away. She’d probably be in his arms right now. But she did push on the screen door, did leave his kitchen. They were both too smart to get involved when he couldn’t let go of his past.
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