“Hanna, I don’t do love, so we don’t have to worry about either of us falling into that trap. I like you. I like your friendship and talking to you. So, that’s all this is—a friend helping a friend.” She looked over my face, searching for any hidden meaning until finally, one side of her mouth tipped, and her shoulders relaxed. “Friends, eh? Like besties? Can I paint your nails?” “Dear God,” I groaned.
