March 03rd, 2021

This is actually a tiny sneak peek at book #3 in The Front Row Series, but this event is alluded to in What Hindered Love. So here is a tiny little story of how Hannah and Beau first meet at the age of four, with obvious inspiration from Anne of Green Gables.

    The guitar was pink with flowers, and Hannah loved pink. Her mother wouldn’t let her wear pink. She said it didn’t look right with her hair, but that just made her like pink even more. 
    It had bright yellow flowers, too, and she liked flowers. And all bright things, really: her cheery yellow Care Bear, her super star Barbie, and her Lil’ Miss Makeup Doll. Her mother said that she put a little too much makeup on her Lil’ Miss Makeup, but Hannah didn’t see how that was possible. 
    She plucked the string of the little toy guitar and it made a satisfying “ping.” She laughed gleefully and held the guitar like she’d seen a rockstar do on MTV. She wasn’t supposed to watch MTV - both her parents said so - but they’d had a babysitter last week who had thought Hannah was in bed when she was really hiding behind the couch and watching guys with really long hair play their guitars. She strummed the little guitar like the guys on tv, and shook her head and curled her lips. Her long braids swung side to side with an offbeat rhythm to match her music.
Suddenly, something grabbed one of her braids and pulled. Hard. Hannah let out a yelp as she spun towards her attacker. She barely made out a pair of wide, brown eyes before she swung the little pink guitar and whacked the little boy in the shoulder as hard as she could. He stumbled backwards, his mouth making an “o,” but he didn’t cry as he hit the ground. 
“Hannah Anderson!” an adult voice reprimanded loudly. 
The church nursery worker snatched the guitar out of Hannah’s hand. 
“That is not how we play with this toy!”
Hannah stomped her foot petulantly. “But he pulled my hair!”
 “He’s new,” the adult explained, though Hannah failed to see what that had to do with
anything. “Maybe he’s just trying to make a friend.”
    He had a weird way of doing it, if anyone asked Hannah, which they didn’t. Adults never asked what she thought. 
    “Beau,” the adult said, addressing the boy who still sat stunned on the floor, “you want to be friends with Hannah, don’t you?”
    The boy nodded dazedly, a lock of his messy, light brown hair falling in his eyes. 
    “See,” the nursery worker said triumphantly, “now play nicely.”
    Hannah scowled at the little boy who had made her unfairly lose the bright guitar with the yellow flowers and the satisfying plinking sound. She crossed her arms, then turned her back on him with a flick of her braids. 
    As for Beau Rockport, he never completely picked himself up off the floor. From that moment forward, he was completely, hopelessly smitten with Hannah Anderson.