She smiled politely at the relatives she recognized, grateful no one seemed ready to engage her as she caught the broad shoulders of the brother she still couldn’t help but adore.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Hanna Fuckin’ Stevens in the flesh?” She hardly had time to brace herself before all six-foot-six of Matty wrapped around her, his beard tickling her ear.
His bright blue eyes, so similar to his older brother’s, sparkled as he set her back on the ground.
Hanna often thought the heartbreak was worth it if it meant Matty and Sara met one another. There was no better match for Sara’s petite, feisty nature than Matty’s gentle giant ways. If it took her getting crushed by Logan to introduce them on a Thanksgiving weekend trip, so be it.
“I miss you, dude,” Matty said, fishing through the assortment of bottles on Berto’s outdoor bar. “When are you just going to give in and move up to the Bay?”
“Never. One finger on that pour. Started early.”
He pulled a plastic cup and poured no less than two fingers’ worth of something expensive for her.
Matty’s fault, not hers.
He sighed. “Can’t you work from anywhere?”
“Technically, sure.” Hanna took a sip and reached for a few ice cubes. “But one of the most expensive cities in the world? Pass. Plus, I just bought my house and I have so much work to do on it.”
“Rent it out! Be a Cali landlord, Arizonans love that shit,” Matty said. “You could live with us for free, come on.”
Hanna’s nose scrunched. It wasn’t that she hated the idea—it was that she couldn’t imagine leaving the last city her mother was alive in. If she moved to a new city, how would her mother know where to haunt her?
“Because every newlywed couple wants a sad, thirty-year-old roommate?”
“Thirty on the coast is like, twenty. You’d basically be aging backwards. And maybe a change of scenery isn’t the worst idea,” Matty said, his voice dropping on the last sentence. She followed him toward the fire pit, where Milo sat with another groomsman whose name she should have known from the group chat.
Brad. Brent?
“Milo, Brandon,” Matty said, pointing at them respectively. “This is Hanna, she’s Sara’s childhood best friend and basically a sister to me. Act accordingly.”
Brandon mumbled a greeting and went back to staring at his phone, the Suns game streaming across the screen. Hanna plopped onto the chair next to Milo, sipping her drink and trying to think of anything to say that would keep her from having to make conversation with Brandon.
“Sorry about earlier,” Milo said.
She fought the urge to tell him he was flattering himself by thinking she would even remember any of the day, but she’d promised Sara to at least try being nice to their bridal party.
“Same,” she offered.
“I mean it, I should have read the room. This probably isn’t exactly a good time for you,” Milo said softly.
Hanna turned, her eyebrow raised. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve known Matty since we were kids and, therefore, Logan,” Milo explained. She resented the undercurrent in his tone that sounded like pity.
“Ah,” she sighed.
One day, she was going to move to a city where no one knew her or looked at her like that. Somewhere new, where there were simply no ghosts at all.
Milo scanned the scene in the backyard. “How long’s it been?”
“Hmm,” Hanna pretended to mentally tally the months since their breakup, despite knowing exactly how long—nearly to the minute—it had been since she’d taken a full breath. “We’re just hitting the one-year mark.”
“Does it help knowing their mom hates the new girl?”
Hanna snorted. She couldn’t help it. Marcia DeBrune was one of the nicest people on the planet. It was impossible to imagine her disliking anyone.
“No way.”
