Don’s mouth made an O. “Oh, Hannah. I’m married.” “Right,” she managed. “Married.” Her face burned, and the red flush crept down her neck to her collarbone. Don shook his head at her with pity. “Oh, honey. You’ll find someone.” He reached into his bag. “Take a can of beans.” She put her hands up. “No, that’s okay—” “Please, I insist.” He pushed the can into her hands and shot her another wince. “I’m so sorry if I ever gave you the wrong impression about us.” Hannah made a strangled noise in her throat. I tilted my chin at him, still smiling. “See you later, Don.”
