It Happened One Summer Page 20

  If these feelings got deeper and deeper on both sides . . . then what?

  She stayed in Westport?

  “Ha!”

  Hannah uncapped her coffee and took a long swig, swallowing. “You realize you’re having a conversation inside your own head, right? I can’t hear it.”

  “I’m not staying here,” Piper breathed, her heart feathering in her throat. “He can’t make me.” She yanked her phone out of her pocket, tapping until she arrived at Instagram, scanning her colorful feed. These pictures and the effortless lifestyle they represented seemed almost foreign now—trite—and that was scary. Did it mean she was actually considering a new path? One she didn’t document for the sake of adoration, albeit phony? Her daily life in Westport was fulfilling in a way she never expected, but she was still an outsider here. In LA, her fit was seamless, at least outwardly. She was good at being Piper Bellinger, socialite. Whether Piper could be a fixture in Westport remained to be seen.

  She held up her phone, facing the stream of pictures toward Hannah. “For better or worse, this girl is who I am, right? I’m getting so far away from this Piper. So fast.”

  “Okay,” Hannah said slowly. “Does Brendan make you feel like you need to change?”

  Piper thought about it. “No. He even called my pussy high maintenance, like in a good way. I think he likes me like this. It’s horrible.”

  “Yeah, it sounds like the worst. What is the real problem, Piper?”

  Piper exploded. “Hannah, I was scared shitless last night!”

  Her sister nodded, sobering. “I know.”

  “And he’s not even my boyfriend.”

  “Yet.”

  “Rude.” She brandished her phone. “This girl is not . . . strong enough. To worry like this all the time. To love someone and lose them, like Mom and Opal lost Henry. I’m not cut from that cloth, Hannah. I go to fucking parties and push bathing suit brands. I don’t know who I am in Westport.”

  Hannah closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Piper. “Wow. A vaginal orgasm and a psychological breakthrough in the same day. You must be tapped.”

  “I am. I’m exhausted.” She returned Hannah’s hug, dropping her forehead unceremoniously into her sister’s neck. She thought of Mick’s face when he saw her holding Brendan’s hand and cringed inwardly. Honestly, she wasn’t even ready to tell Hannah about that moment. How low she’d felt. Not necessarily a home-wrecker, but . . . an interloper. An outsider. Who does this LA party girl think she is, coming in here and trying to fill the shoes of a born-and-bred fisherman’s wife?

  Piper’s phone dinged.

  Who was that?

  It couldn’t be Brendan. He’d left his phone on the boat. And none of her friends had reached out with so much as a hello since she’d left the Bel-Air zip code.

  She held up the screen, and a smile bloomed across her face. “Oh, this is excellent news.”

  Hannah dropped her arms away from Piper’s neck. “What is it?”

  “It’s Friday night and our grandmother is finally ready to party.”

  * * *

  Never one to take partying lightly, Piper wasted no time.

  She showered, coiffed until her hair looked presentable, carefully applied her makeup, and ventured purposefully toward the harbor with a garment bag containing a selection of dresses, including one for herself. Opal was petite, and with a little last-minute stitching, Piper would have her looking like a boss bitch in no time.

  The second Opal opened the door—wearing a seriously cute lavender shortie robe—Piper could tell she was having second thoughts. “Nope.” Piper cut her off with a kiss, right on the mouth. “Everyone gets pre-party jitters, Opal. You hear me? Everyone. But we don’t let that stop us, do we? No. We persevere. And we get drunk until we feel nothing.”

  Visibly bolstered, Opal nodded, then went straight to shaking her head. “I’m a lightweight. I’ve been drinking nothing but coffee since the nineties.”

  “Sad. But that’s why we use the Bellinger method. One glass of water between each alcoholic drink. Then a piece of toast and two Advil before bedtime. Soaks it right up. You’ll be able to run a marathon tomorrow morning.”

  “I can’t run one now.”

  “I know. That’s how well it works.”

  Opal guffawed. “Since you started visiting me, Piper, I’ve laughed more than I have in decades. Hannah wasn’t able to make it?”

  “No, she had a shift at the record shop. But she sends a kiss.”

  Her grandmother nodded and transferred her attention to the garment bag, missing the unexpected moisture that danced in Piper’s eyes. “Well, darling. Let’s see what you got.”

  It only took three hours to transform Opal from grieving semi-hermit to a lady about town. After Piper added some styling mousse to the older woman’s hair and did her makeup, Opal chose her dress.

  Clearly, she had taste, because she went straight for the puff-sleeved Versace.

  “The student has become the master, Grandma.”

  Opal started a little at the title, and Piper held her breath, too. It had slipped out unplanned, but felt oddly natural. Finally, Opal surged forward and wrapped Piper in a hug, holding tight a few moments before stepping back to study her. “Thank you.”

  Piper could only nod, thanks to the log jammed in her throat, watching Opal as she swept off to the bedroom to change. Surprised to find her fingers trembling, Piper sloughed off the leggings and sweater she’d worn for the trip over, zipping herself into a green-and-black zebra-striped minidress from Balmain. Muscle memory kicked in, and she lifted her phone to take a selfie, noticing with a start that she had a text from Brendan.

  Want to see you tonight.

  Wave after wave of flutters coursed through her midsection. God, she loved how he got right to the point. No games. No beating around the bush. Just This is what I want, baby. Now it’s your turn.

  Did she want to see Brendan? Yes. Undeniably yes. More than that, she wanted to be seen by him looking like this. Wanted to watch male appreciation draw his features tight and know with absolute conviction he was thinking about having sex with her. And it would be so much easier to play it cool in her battle armor, surrounded by witnesses in a bar. Westport’s nightlife might not be exactly what Piper was used to, but it was closer to her environment than a bar under construction or a hospital with bad lighting.

  She needed to feel like herself. Needed a reminder of her old life.

  The life she was going back to. Sooner rather than later.

  Too often lately she’d been thrown off-kilter by her feelings. Or the situation she found herself in, over a thousand miles from home. Friendless, a fish out of water.

  Brendan, since she’d met him, had made it impossible for her to keep up a pretense. She’d never been able to be anything but honest with him. Scarily honest. But he wasn’t standing in front of her now, brimming with all that intensity, was he? And LA Piper was rattling her hinges, demanding to be appeased. That Piper wouldn’t text back that she wanted to see him tonight, too. Uh-uh. She’d leave a bread crumb and dance off in a flash of strobe lights.

  Heading out for the night. Maybe catch you later in Blow the Man Down. xo

  Three little dots popped up, letting her know Brendan was writing back.

  Then they went away.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach to counteract a kick of excitement.

  Opal walked out of the bathroom looking like a certified snack.

  “Well?”

  “Well?” Piper gave a low whistle. “Look out, Westport. There’s a stone-cold fox on the loose.”

  * * *

  Piper’s one and only experience in Blow the Man Down had been less than stellar and walking through the door again was nerve-racking. But tonight wasn’t just about reminding herself of old Piper; it was about bringing this woman she’d really come to like out of her shell.

  Opal had her arm linked through Piper’s as they entered the noisy bar. Fishe
rmen occupied the long row of stools near the entrance, toasting another week completed out on the water. And the survival of last night’s storm seemed to give the atmosphere an added buoyancy. Bartenders dropped pints in front of mostly older men, their friends and wives. No one was smoking, but the scent of cigarettes drifted in from outside and clung to clothes. Neil Young’s voice wove through the conversations and laughter.

  Opal balked as soon as they stepped over the threshold, but Piper patted her arm, guiding her through the more boisterous section of the bar, toward the seating area in the back. Last time, she’d only stood at the bar long enough to order that fateful tray of shots, but it had been enough time to get the lay of the land. And she was relieved to see the tables in the rear of Blow the Man Down were occupied by women again tonight. Some of them were Opal’s age, others were closer to Piper’s, and they were all talking at once.

  A couple of the older women nudged each other at Opal’s appearance. One by one, the dozen or so ladies started to notice her. For long moments, they stared at her with mouths agape—and then they all ambushed her at once.

  “Opal,” said a kind-looking woman with a red bob, rising to her feet. “You’re out!”

  “And looking like hot shit!” inserted another.

  Laughter rippled over the tables, and Piper could sense Opal’s pleasure. “Well, I have a fancy stylist now,” Opal told them, squeezing Piper’s arm. “My granddaughter.”

  Westport was a small town, and it was obvious some of the women already knew the Bellinger sisters had taken up residence, as well as their familial connection to Opal, while others were visibly connecting the dots and marveling. Either way, the group as a whole seemed surprised to see them out together and looking so close.

  “Is there . . . room for two more?” Opal asked.

  Everyone shuffled at once, dragging chairs over from other tables. Opal’s eyes held a suspicious luster when she looked up at Piper and let out a breath. “It’s like I never left.”

  Piper leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you go sit down. I’ll go grab us some drinks. Tequila for you, right?”

  “Oh, stop.” Opal tapped her arm playfully. “Stoli and Seven with two limes, please.”

  “Damn,” Piper muttered with a smile, as Opal walked off. The older woman claimed a chair and was immediately heaped with well-deserved attention. “I have a feeling you’ll be just fine.”

  Piper bought a round of drinks for her and Opal, taking a seat beside her. After half an hour of easy conversation, the evening appeared to be shaping up as a low-key lady hangout. Until one of the twentysomething girls bought Piper a drink in exchange for a beauty consultation. Really, the drink hadn’t been necessary. She was happy to dole out advice based on the girl’s skin tone and oval face shape . . . but then another girl slapped down a shot in front of Piper, wanting to know her beauty regimen. Another traded a lemon drop for tips on dressing sexy when it was always “balls-ass cold and raining” in the winter.

  And then it all went downhill from there.

  * * *

  “It’s all about swagger,” Piper shouted over the music an hour later, an eye squinted so she would only see one set of people, instead of two.

  Unless there were two sets? When did they get there?

  She tried to remember what she’d been saying in the first place. Had all of it been a slurred mess? But no, the girls who’d pushed tables to the side to create a runway down the back of Blow the Man Down were listening to her with rapt focus. Deliver, Piper. “You, me, all of us, ladies. We wield the power.” She threw out a finger aimed at the bar full of men. “They know it. They know we know it. The secret is to show them we know that they know that we know. Does that make sense?”

  A chorus of yeses went up, followed by the clinking of glasses.

  “Watch me walk,” Piper said, pushing her hair back over her shoulders and strutting along the floorboards, turning on a dime at the end of her makeshift runway. Not her best work, but pretty decent after four, maybe eight drinks. “Look at my face. It’s like, I don’t have time for your shit. I’m busy. I’m living!”

  “Is this going to get me laid?” one girl asked.

  Piper grabbed the girl’s face and stared into her soul. “Yes.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Hey, Piper.” Another girl stumbled into view. Or was she twins? “Labor Day is coming up. We should have a party and try out the makeup tips.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Piper breathed, the best/worst idea breaking through her delightful drunkenness. “I should throw the party. I own a bar.”

  “Hey, everyone! Piper is throwing a Labor Day party!”

  The cheers were deafening.

  “Show us the walk again!”

  Piper took a shot someone offered her. “Screw that! Let’s dance!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Brendan leaned against the wall of Blow the Man Down, arms crossed, a quiet smile on his face as he watched Piper weave her magic over everyone in her vicinity.

  She was shit-faced—and adorable.

  Everyone who spoke to Piper got her undivided attention and walked away like she’d just imparted the secrets of the universe. She forged connections to people, damn near instantaneously, and they loved her. Did she realize she was doing it?

  Someone shouted at the bartender to play Beyoncé, and tables were shoved even farther out of the way, transforming the space from Piper’s personal runway to a dance floor, and all he could do was stand there and watch her, his pulse thickening—along with another part of his anatomy—at the way she worked her hips, arms loose and careless over her head, eyes dreamy. She was drawing attention from a lot of men at the bar, and frankly, he didn’t like it, but Piper was the girl he’d fallen for. Being jealous came with the territory.

  Piper went still on the dance floor, a frown marring her forehead, and, as if she’d finally sensed his presence, turned to look directly at him. And when her face transformed with pure joy and she waved enthusiastically, Brendan knew he loved her.

  God knew, it had happened fast, but he’d been incapable of putting the brakes on.

  Not when she was the destination.

  His mouth turned dry, but he managed to wave back.

  This wasn’t any emotion he’d experienced before. Not like the simple companionship of his marriage. Not like the love/hate bond he had with the ocean. What he felt for Piper turned him into a young man in the throes of his first infatuation, while also calling on the deepest roots of his maturity. In other words, to keep this woman, he’d step up and do whatever it took, but his fucking heart would be racing the whole time.

  He could put every ounce of his effort into keeping Piper, and she still might leave. Could dance off into the sunset at a moment’s notice and go back to her extravagant life, leaving him reeling. And that terrified him the most.

  But Brendan determinedly set aside those dark thoughts. Because she was coming toward him now, all flushed from liquor and dancing, and he simply opened his arms, trusting she’d walk straight into them. His eyes closed automatically when she did, his mouth tracing her hairline, planting kisses. Christ, she fit against him in a way that made him feel protective, ready to act as her shield, while also making him hard, hungry.

  “You’re here,” she murmured happily, going up on her toes to sniff his neck.

  “Of course I’m here, baby.”

  “Sanders is okay? The crew made it back?”

  “Sanders is home,” he burred against her ear, warmed by her worry for his men. “The rest of them, too. They reached the harbor just a little while ago.”

  “I’m so glad.” She sent an accusatory look over her shoulder. “These unscrupulous local women made me drunk.”

  “I can see that.” His lips twitched, his hand rubbing circles in the center of her back. “You want to dance some more, or can I bring you home?”

  “Where is home?”

  “With me.”

  “Mmmm.” She l
ooked up at him through one eye. “I don’t have my wits about me, Brendan. You can’t use anything I say tonight against me. It’s all a wash.”

  “Okay, I promise.”

  “Good, because I missed you. Again.” She kissed his chin, worked her way around to his ear, whined against it in a way that made his cock stiffen. “This morning with you was the best, best, best sex of my life.”

  She said it right as the music cut out.

  Everyone at the bar heard it.

  A couple of men saluted Brendan with their pints, but thankfully drunk Piper was none the wiser about her public confession. And hell, having Piper effectively tell everyone in Westport they were sleeping together—and that so far he’d been great at it—was one way to appease his jealousy.

  The music started again, but she didn’t seem compelled to do anything but stand there and hug him, which suited him down to the ground. “Here I am, once again, in the recharging station!” Piper sang, giggling to herself. “I like it here. It’s so warm. You’re a big hard teddy bear from the sea. Like tuna from the sea, but with a bear.”

  Brendan’s laugh turned heads. “I like drunk Piper.”

  “You should. I have zero inhibitions right now.” She smelled his neck again, kissed it once, twice. “Or whatever number is less than zero.”

  He ran a hand down her hair. “All I’m doing to you tonight is putting you in bed.”

  “Ooh, do I get to sleep in the recharging station?”

  His heart was living in his throat. “Yeah, honey. You can sleep in it every night.”

  She sighed contentedly.

  “On my way over, I saw Hannah walking home and stopped off to grab you an overnight bag.”

  “That was nice of you.” In an instant, her expression went from swoony to worried. “But Brendan, what if I’m potpie?”