Bodie snorted and faked surprise. “What? Is grey not the new black then?”
“Shut up. The washing machine did that.” Hana smirked and her lip cracked. She closed her eyes and let Logan’s kiss overwrite the blond man’s, but the image hurt even more.
Bodie handed her a handkerchief, a pale blue square of cloth with navy kiwi birds marching around the edges. “I found this,” he said. “Mop your lip with that and then wash it later. You’re out of toilet roll.”
Hana took the handkerchief, feeling the softness in her fingers. Her heart thudded in her breast and she slipped it into the pocket of the tracksuit pants and wiped her lip on the sleeve of Logan’s pullover.
An eager Bodie showed her how they’d stacked the boxes five high in the garage. Hana’s labelling system disappeared after the boys
