It Happened One Summer Read online

  “Hi there,” Mick muttered, shifting on his stool. “Guess I’m early.”

  It was a lie for her benefit, and the generosity of it made Piper relax a little bit.

  Momentarily, anyway.

  “Would you like a beer, Mick?”

  “Sure would. Bud should do it.”

  “Oh, we have some local IPAs.” She nodded at the chalkboard mounted overhead. “There’s the list. If you’re a Bud drinker, I recommend the—”

  He laughed nervously, as if overwhelmed by the list of five beers, their descriptions painstakingly hand-lettered by Hannah. “Oh. I . . . I’ll just sit awhile, then.” He turned in his stool, surveyed the bar. “Not a lot of interest in flashy changes around here, looks like.”

  A weight sunk in Piper’s belly.

  He wasn’t just talking about Cross and Daughters, that much was clear.

  His daughter was the old. She was the new. The sorely lacking replacement.

  Westport was small. By now, Mick had probably heard about Piper crying like a baby on the docks, watching the Della Ray blur into the horizon. And now this. Now no one had arrived at the grand opening, and she was standing there like a certified idiot. She’d been an idiot. Not only to believe she could win over everyone in this close-knit place by making over the bar, but by believing her stepfather would give a shit. She’d been an idiot to keep important things from Brendan, whether or not the omissions had been intentional, and he’d lost faith in her. Lost trust.

  I don’t belong here.

  I never did.

  Brendan wasn’t coming tonight. Nobody was. Cross and Daughters was empty and hollow, and she felt the same way, standing there on two shaky legs, just wanting to disappear.

  The universe was sending her a loud-and-clear message.

  Piper jolted when Mick laid a hand on top of hers, patting it. “Now, Piper . . .” He sighed, seeming genuinely sympathetic. “Don’t you go feeling bad or anything. It’s a tough place to crack. You have to be strong to stay afloat.”

  Words from Sanders’s wife came drifting back.

  Oh. Honey, no. You’re going to have to be a lot tougher than that.

  Then her first conversation with Mick.

  Wives of fishermen come from tough stock. They have nerves of steel. My wife has them, passed them on to my daughter, Desiree.

  She thought of running into Brendan in the market on her first morning in Westport.

  You wouldn’t understand the character it takes to make this place run. The persistence.

  In her heart, she knew his mind had changed since then, but maybe he’d been right.

  Maybe she didn’t understand how to make anything last. Not a relationship, not a bar, nothing. Henry Cross’s legacy didn’t belong to her, it belonged to this town. How ridiculous of her to swoop in and try to claim it.

  Mick patted her hand again, seeming a little worried by whatever he saw in her expression. “I better get on,” he said quickly. “Best of luck, Piper.”

  Piper stared down into the luminous wood of the bar, swiping the rag over it again and again in a pretense of cleaning, but she stopped when Hannah circled a hand around her wrist.

  “You okay, Pipes? People probably just got the time wrong.”

  “They didn’t get it wrong.”

  Her sister frowned, leaned across the bar to study Piper’s face. “Hey . . . you’re not okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not,” Hannah argued. “Your Piper sparkle is gone.”

  She laughed without humor. “My what?”

  “Your Piper sparkle,” her sister repeated, looking increasingly worried. “You always have it, no matter what. Even when you’ve been arrested or Daniel is being a jerk, you always have this, like, optimism lighting you up. Brightness. But it’s gone now, and I don’t like it. What did Mick say to you?”

  Piper closed her eyes. “Who cares?”

  Hannah huffed a sound at Piper’s uncharacteristic response. “What is going to make you feel better right now? Tell me what it is and we’ll do it. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

  Brendan walking through the door and pulling her into the recharging station would cure a lot of ills, but that wasn’t going to happen. She could feel it. How badly she’d messed up by keeping safety nets in place without telling Brendan. How badly she’d hurt him by doing so. Badly enough that even the most steadfast man on earth had reached the end of his patience with her. “I don’t know. God, I just want to blink and be a million miles away.”

  More than that, she wanted to feel like her old self again.

  The old Piper might have been lacking in direction, but she’d been happy, right? When people judged the old Piper, it was from the other side of an iPhone screen, not to her face. She didn’t have to try and fail, because she’d never tried in the first place, and God, it had been easy. Just then, she wanted to slip back into that identity and drop out, so she wouldn’t have to feel this uncomfortable disappointment in herself. Wouldn’t have to acknowledge the proof that she wasn’t tough. Wasn’t capable. Didn’t belong.

  Her phone buzzed on the bar. Another message from Kirby.

  Piper opened the text and sighed over the Tom Ford peep-toe pumps on her screen. White with gold chains to serve as the ankle strap. Kirby was playing hardball now. Putting on those shoes and a killer dress and walking into a sea of photo-snapping strangers would be like taking a painkiller right now. She wouldn’t have to feel a thing.

  “Go home, Pipes.”

  She looked up sharply. “What?”

  Hannah seemed to be wrestling with something. “You know I think your LA friends are phonies and you’re way too good for them, right?” She sighed. “But maybe you need to go to Kirby’s party. I can see you want to.”

  Piper set down her phone firmly. “No. After all this work? No.”

  “You can always come back.”

  Would she, though? Once she walked back into that fog of dancing and selfies and sleeping until noon, was it realistic that she would return to Westport and face her shortcomings? Especially if she made enough money on endorsements tomorrow night to get her out of Daniel’s pocket? “I can’t. I can’t just . . .”

  But why couldn’t she?

  Look around. What was stopping her?

  “Well . . .” A tremble of excitement coursed up her fingertips. “You’ll come with me, right, Hanns? If I’m not here, you don’t have to be either.”

  Her sister shook her head. “Shauna has me opening the record shop tomorrow and Wednesday. I can ask her to find a replacement, but until then, I have to stick around.” Hannah reached out and took the sides of Piper’s face in her hands. “I’ll only be a couple of days behind you. Go. It’s like you’ve flatlined and I hate it.”

  “Go right now? But . . .” She gestured weakly. “The bar. We did this for Henry.”

  Hannah shrugged. “Henry Cross belongs to this place. Maybe turning it back over to them is what he would have wanted. It was the spirit behind it that counted, Piper. I’m proud of us no matter what.” She surveyed the line of empty stools. “And I think I can handle the rest of this shift alone. Text Kirby. Tell her you’re coming.”

  “Hannah, are you sure? I really don’t like leaving you here.”

  Her sister snorted. “Stop it. I’m fine. I’ll go crash at Shauna’s if it makes you feel better.”

  Piper’s breath started to come faster. “Am I really doing this?”

  “Go,” Hannah ordered, pointing at the staircase. “I’ll get you an Uber.”

  Oh wow, this was really happening. She was leaving Westport.

  Returning to something she could do and do well.

  Easy. Just easy.

  Avoid this despair and disappointment. Just sink back in and never look back. Forget about this place that didn’t want her and the man who didn’t trust her.

  Ignoring Brendan’s clear, beloved image in her head, his deep voice telling her to stay, Piper ran up the stairs a
nd started shoving her belongings into suitcases.

  Chapter Thirty

  Brendan stood on the deck of the Della Ray, staring off in the direction of Westport. The direction they were headed now. He saw none of the seemingly endless water in front of him. Saw none of the men pulling lines and fixing lures around him, the low blare of Black Sabbath coming from the wheelhouse speakers. He’d been locked in a sedated state since Saturday morning when they’d left the harbor.

  She didn’t show up.

  He’d given Piper time to think, and she’d realized that being with him required too much sacrifice, and she’d made her decision. He’d known it was too good to be real. That she would give up everything, her whole life, just for him. His jugular ached from supporting his heart. That’s where it sat now, every minute of the day; having Piper in his life had been so painfully sweet. So much better than he knew life could be.

  It just hadn’t gone both ways.

  Over a decade as a fisherman and he’d never once been seasick, but his stomach roiled now ominously. He’d been able to distract himself from the devastating blow, the memory of the empty dock, for the last two days, pushing the men and himself hard, poring over digital maps, and even working in the engine room while Fox manned the wheelhouse. If he stopped moving or thinking, there she was, and Jesus, he’d fucking lost her.

  No. He’d never earned the right to her in the first place.

  That was the problem.

  It was Monday afternoon. Labor Day. Piper would be getting ready to open the bar. Did she still expect him there? Or would she assume he’d stay away now that she’d decided to move on? To leverage the new bar into a trip home. If he showed up at Cross and Daughters, he might be in her way. She may not want him there.

  Brendan dug the knuckles of his index fingers into both eyes, images of Piper slaughtering him. Mussed-up, grumpy morning Piper. Confused in the grocery store Piper. Holding a flaming frying pan, crying over him in the hospital, moaning into his pillow Piper. Each and every incarnation of her was a stab to the chest, until he swore going overboard and sinking to the bottom of the icy fucking ocean sounded preferable to living with the memories . . . and not having the actual woman.

  But she’d done the right thing for herself. Hadn’t she?

  Didn’t he have to respect that?

  Respect that this woman he wanted for his wife was leaving?

  Jesus Christ. He might never hold her again.

  A drizzle started, but he made no move to go inside to grab his slicker. Getting soaked and dying from pneumonia sounded like a pretty good plan at present. A moment later, though, Sanders passed by and handed the rain jacket to Brendan. Simply to have something to do with his hands, he put it on and slid both hands into the pockets.

  Something glossy slipped between his fingers.

  He drew it out—and there was Piper smiling back at him.

  A picture of them. One he hadn’t been aware of her taking.

  She’d taken a selfie behind his back while he held her in the recharging station. And her eyes were sex-drowsed and blissful. Happy. In love.

  With an ax splitting his jugular in half, Brendan turned over the picture and saw she’d written a loopy, feminine message.

  For your bunk, Captain.

  Come back to me safely.

  I love you so much, Piper.

  The wind had been knocked out of him.

  A wave rocked the boat, and he could barely make his legs compensate. All functioning power had deserted his body, because his heart required all of it to pound so furiously. He closed his eyes and clutched the picture to his chest, his mind picking through a million memories of Piper to find the one of her standing in his doorway. The last time he’d seen her.

  Please . . . don’t doubt me, Brendan. Not you. Have faith in me. Okay?

  But hadn’t he done exactly that by leaving?

  He’d left her. After demanding over and over again she take a leap of faith, he’d walked out and ruined her tenuous trust. For God’s sake, she’d only been in town for what? Five weeks? What did he want from her?

  Everything, that’s what. He’d asked for everything—and that hadn’t been fair.

  So she’d kept a few safety nets. Good. As the man who loved her, that’s exactly what he should have been encouraging. Piper’s safety. What the hell had he done instead?

  Punished her for it.

  No wonder she hadn’t shown up at the dock. He hadn’t deserved to see her there, much less stand there praying for her to show up, begging God to make her appear, when he now realized full well . . . that she shouldn’t have come.

  And now, when it was too late, the obvious solution to keeping her, to deserving her, bore down on him like a meteor. She didn’t have to give up everything. He loved her enough to find solutions. That’s what he did. There was no inconvenience or obstacle he wouldn’t face if it meant having her in his life, so he’d fucking face them. He’d adapt, like Piper had.

  “I made a mistake,” he rasped, razor wire wrapping around his heart and pulling taut. “Jesus, I made a fucking mistake.”

  But if there was a chance he could fix it, he’d cling to that hope.

  Otherwise he’d go insane.

  Brendan whipped around on a heel and ran for the wheelhouse, only to find Fox looking concerned while he spoke to the coast guard over the radio.

  “What is it?”

  Fox ended the transmission and put the radio back in place. “Nothing too bad. They’re just advising us to adjust our route south. Drilling rig caught fire about six miles ahead and there’s some bad visibility, but it should only set us back about two hours.”

  Two hours.

  Brendan checked the time. It was four o’clock. Originally, they were scheduled to make it back at six thirty. By the time the boat was unloaded and they’d taken the fish to market, he was looking at goddamn ten or eleven o’clock before he’d make it to Cross and Daughters.

  Now, on top of his inexcusable fuckup, he was going to break his promise to be at the grand opening.

  Helplessness clawed at the inside of Brendan’s throat. He looked down at the picture of Piper he still held, as if trying to communicate with her.

  I’m sorry I failed you, baby.

  Just give me one more chance.

  * * *

  The text message popped up on his phone the second they pulled into the harbor.

  I’m coming. I had an emergency. Wait for me. I love you.

  Those words almost dropped Brendan to his knees.

  She’d tried to come? She’d wanted to see him off?

  Oh God. What emergency? Had she hurt herself or needed him?

  If so, if he’d left when she was in trouble, he would never recover.

  After that, his ears roared and he saw nothing but his feet pounding the pavement.

  When Brendan and Fox stormed into Cross and Daughters at eleven o’clock, it was packed to the gills. “Summer in the City” was playing at an earsplitting decibel, a tray of cupcakes crowd-surfed toward Brendan, and everyone had a drink in their hands. Momentarily, pride in Piper and Hannah, at what they’d accomplished, eclipsed everything else. But an intense urgency to see his girlfriend swarmed back in quickly.

  She wasn’t behind the bar.

  It was just Hannah, uncapping beers as fast as she could, clearly flustered. She was shoving cash into her pockets and trying to make change, tossing bills across the bar and running to help the next customer.

  “Christ. I’ll go help her out,” Fox said, already pushing his way through the crowd.

  Where was Piper?

  With a frown, Brendan moved in his friend’s wake, nodding absently at the locals who called—or slurred, rather—his name. He went to the dance floor first, knowing it was a likely place to find Piper, although . . . that didn’t track. She wouldn’t leave her sister in the lurch behind the bar. And anyway, she was supposed to be bartending. Hannah was the DJ.

  A hole started to open in his gut,
acid gurgling out, but he tried to stay calm.

  Maybe she was just in the bathroom.

  No. Not there. A lady on the way out confirmed the stalls were empty.

  Panic climbed Brendan’s spine as he pushed his way to the bar. Fox’s expression stopped him dead in his tracks before he could even get there.

  “Where is she?” Brendan shouted over the noise.

  Hannah’s gaze danced over to him, then away just as fast.

  She served another customer, and he could see her hands were unsteady, and that terrified him. He was going to explode. He was going to rip this place down with his bare hands if someone didn’t produce his girlfriend right the hell now.

  “Hannah. Where is your sister?”

  The younger Bellinger stilled, took a breath. “She went back to LA. For Kirby’s party. And maybe . . . to stay.” She shook her head. “She’s not coming back.”

  The world blurred around him, the music warping, slowing down. His chest caved in on itself, taking his heart down in the collapse. No. No, she couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t have left. But even as denial pounded the insides of his skull, he knew it was true. He couldn’t feel her.

  She was gone.

  “I’m sorry,” Hannah said, pulling out her phone and lowering the music with a few thumb strokes. People behind him protested, but shut up and quieted immediately, distracted by the man at the bar keeping himself upright with a stool and dying a slow, torturous death. “Look. There was no one here. No one. Until maybe half an hour ago. We thought it was a huge fail. And before that, our stepdad canceled, and you—well, you know what you did.” Moisture leapt to Hannah’s eyes. She swiped at her tears while Fox hesitantly began rubbing circles on her back. “She’d lost her Piper sparkle. It scared me. I thought if she went home, she’d get it back. But now she’ll never know that everyone loves this place.”

  She’d lost her Piper sparkle.