I made up my mind. The next time Pepper showed up at my door, I was going to hug her for all I was worth and ask her to tell me everything about Natalie—at least what she was willing to share. I was still struggling with the kisses and the hand holding, and what it all meant, but I couldn’t deny the friendship that was growing between us.
But making promises in my head and actually following through with them are two distinctly different things. And when Pepper showed up Saturday afternoon, well after her usual lunchtime arrival, I chickened out.
“The tiramisu turned to mush. I had to throw it out.”
“‘S okay.” Pepper shuffled in. She was wearing a hoodie that said, “The first 40 years of childhood are the hardest,” and chomping on gum. Her eyes were puffy and red, like she just woke up
