Chapter Twenty-Three

Hannah entered on a laugh, tucking a finger into her jeans pocket to make sure the envelope was still there, as she’d done a hundred times on the walk from set to Opal’s building.

She followed Opal into the bathroom and started helping her remove the final row of pink foam curlers. “I would have called first, but I was too excited.” She wet her lips. “You remember when I asked for permission to use Henry’s songs in the movie we’re filming?”

They’re just words on a page.”

arm through Opal’s, leading her from the bathroom to the couch. Once they were settled, she snuck out her phone and opened the sound file, exhaling roughly as the music filled the room. The opening dance of the fiddle and bass, followed by the purr of Alana Wilder’s vocals, the muffled beat of the drum added in postproduction.

Hannah thought of the moment on set when she’d approached Sergei and wordlessly handed him a set of AirPods, hitting play and watching his eyes go wide, his fingers tapping on his knees. That sense of accomplishment. No matter what he decided, she’d created something magical. She’d moved the dials until it all came together and overcome the doubt to get it done.

Her first leading-lady move—and definitely not her last.

Opal covered her mouth with both hands, her knuckles going white.

Warmth spread in her chest. “There are more. Three total. And I’m working on recording the rest.” She took the envelope out of her pocket and handed it to Opal, her pulse beginning to tick faster. “In the meantime, the songs have been copyrighted in your name, Opal. You’ll be getting a percentage of the income generated by the soundtrack, but I managed to negotiate a signing bonus, too. For the use of Henry’s songs in Glory Daze.

It doesn’t include whatever the production company will have to pay you if they use the songs in advertisements—”

The one Sergei had handed her this morning. “I get to keep this?”

Hannah pressed it back against her grandmother’s chest. “You will.

Henry would have wanted it.” She swallowed around the sharp object in her throat. “I feel confident saying that now. Before . . . I wouldn’t have. But his songs helped me know him, understand him better . . . and family was his life.” She smiled. “This is a good thing, Opal.”

Her grandmother sighed, and the last bit of resistance left her. “He would have been so damn proud of you.”

through.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Hannah was back on set, still hugged by the warm glow.

She wrapped her arms around her trusty clipboard, enjoying the feel of it against her chest, knowing today would be her last day as a production assistant. She’d been right to start at the bottom and learn the ropes, but that time was coming to a definitive close. Propping other people up was something she’d always do naturally, because she loved being supportive.

But career-wise? It was time to support herself, too, and go after what she wanted next. To chase the high she’d gotten by creating art on her own terms.

The entire crew crowded into one half of Cross and Daughters. On the other side of the bar Hannah had renovated with Piper, lights beat down on Christian and Maxine, capturing their final scene in the movie. One that Sergei, true to form, had written into the script at the last second, wanting to maximize the new soundtrack. There had been no plan to shoot at Cross and Daughters, but thankfully, Hannah technically owned half the bar. She’d called Piper for permission, either way, and her sister would be stopping by shortly to serve drinks to the celebrating crew.

In the scene building to a crescendo in front of Hannah, Christian and Maxine were dancing palm to palm, happiness and hope slowly transforming their features. Their movements grew more joyful. Less restrained. It would be in slow motion, Hannah knew, and it would be a perfect way to leave the audience.

After two more takes, Sergei yelled, “Cut!” He hopped out of his director’s chair and high-fived the closest boom mic guy. “That’s a wrap.”

Everyone cheered.

Christian dropped character faster than a speeding bullet. “Who has my coffee? Hannah?”

She waved at him. Waited until he looked relieved, then gave him the finger.

His laughter filled the bar.

Still, she was in the process of taking pity on the actor and delivering his cold brew once more for old time’s sake when Sergei stepped into her path.

A nostalgic fondness for the director made her smile. “And you did a great job, Sergei. It’s going to be your best work yet.”

A month ago, she would have had to pinch herself, thinking she’d been hit by a bus and was approaching the pearly gates. A huge part of her was thrilled beyond belief that she’d proven herself enough to warrant this kind of offer. She just couldn’t take it. Not only because she wanted to make things work with Fox, but because she’d loved working for herself.

Discovering a band, being part of the process, coming up with a vision, and seeing it through. She planned to continue in her newfound leading-lady role.

Sergei made an unhappy sound. “You’ll let me know if anything changes. Career-wise or personally?”

She wouldn’t.

Even if the worst happened and things didn’t work out with Fox, she knew what it felt like to love someone now. In that wild, brutal way that couldn’t be fenced in or reasoned with. The crush she’d had on the director seemed like a sad, wet noodle in comparison. “Of course,” she said, squeezing his arm.

Hannah snorted at the sound of Piper’s voice and the resulting gasps as everyone recognized her. Hannah turned around just in time to receive a smacking kiss on her cheek—which definitely left a Piper-sized lipstick mark—and watched everyone marvel as the former party princess of Los Angeles neatly stowed her purse behind the bar and smiled at the closest crew member. “Get you a drink?”

Christian came up beside Hannah, jaw in the vicinity of his knees. “Is that . . . Piper Bellinger?”

His mouth opened and closed until eventually he sputtered, “Yeah, I think I need it.”

Hannah and Christian had just managed to wade through the buzzing crew to the bar when Hannah stopped dead in her tracks. Outlined in the door of Cross and Daughters was Brendan. But . . . it was only late afternoon. The Della Ray wasn’t scheduled to be back in the harbor until tonight. Did they get back early? Nerves and anticipation warred in her stomach at the possibility of seeing Fox earlier than expected. But something in Brendan’s expression caused the nerves to win.

Brendan doffed his beanie and turned it over in his hands. “Not back early. I put Fox in charge of this run.”

Hannah started, replaying that explanation six times in her head, some unwanted trepidation turning over in her gut. “You did? Was that a last-minute decision?”

He cleared his throat. “It didn’t occur to me until after the boat left that it

might have been bad timing. With everything . . . going on between you two. He was game for the challenge, but it’s a lot at once.”

Hannah made an exasperated sound. “What does that mean?”

She barely had time to process the immense weight of that revelation when she noticed Brendan still looked nervous. And she knew there was more.

dozen.”

Brendan replaced the beanie on his head and accepted the pint Piper placed on the bar in front of him, drinking from it deeply as if the whole conversation had made him thirsty. When he set it down again, he took his time looking at Hannah. “I kept crowing about how much I trust him, wanting him to take my spot behind the wheel, but I didn’t put my money where my mouth is. I regret that.”

Heat tingled in the tip of Hannah’s nose. Fox had told her his worst fear was someone questioning his intentions toward her, but it had already happened. His own best friend had done it. Had he been hurting over it all this time?

God, she was so proud of him for taking the keys to the boat.

For trying.

She couldn’t help but worry, though. Brendan was right. It was a lot at once.

They were right on the verge of carving out a unique place for themselves. A place to try to be together. To build on what was already a treasured friendship and make it into so much more. But a lot of Fox’s insecurities were wrapped up in how people saw him. The town. The crew.

What if his turn as captain didn’t go as planned? What if he came home too discouraged to pick up where they’d left off?

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in him. She did. But they’d left things unsettled, and this unexpected change of plans might have thrown off the balance even more.

Two weeks ago, she’d wanted to be a leading lady. For the sake of her career, not her love life. But tonight she’d have to gather up her newfound sense of self-purpose and be prepared to go to war if necessary, wouldn’t she? Because she was no longer the type to watch from the sidelines or live vicariously through others, bolstering them when required. No, this was her story line, and she had to write it herself. Scary, sure. But if she’d learned anything since coming to Westport a second time, it was that she was capable of so much more than she realized.

Hannah signaled Piper for a drink. “Some liquid courage, please.”

* * *

Fox checked the final item off his clipboard and hung it back on the nail, letting out the breath he’d been holding for the last five days. He took the hat off his head and dropped into the captain’s chair, staring out at the harbor. Letting the tension seep out.

Below, on the deck of the Della Ray, he watched the last of the haul get loaded by Deke, Sanders, and the rest of the crew. Normally he would be down there helping them, but he’d been on the phone with the market, preparing them for the arrival of fresh swordfish. He’d been inspecting the boat from top to bottom, making sure everything in the engine room was running properly, the equipment sound, the numbers recorded.

He’d done it.

A successful five-day trip.

He’d given orders and they’d been followed. It helped that he’d been insulated by the wheelhouse, instead of down on the deck where most of the ball breaking took place. Moreover, when the men retired to their bunks at night, exhausted, Fox had stayed up late mapping their course for the following morning, refusing to disappoint Brendan.

Or Hannah.

There hadn’t been much of a chance to determine how the men felt about him taking over—and maybe that was for the best. Maybe if he kept his head down and completed a few more jobs without incident, he could ease back into the group slowly, having built the beginnings of a new reputation. Hard to believe such a thing was possible after years of the lifestyle he’d been living. Then again, he never thought he’d give up sex for half a year in exchange for witty text messages and record collecting. But here he was.

Dying. Fucking dying to get home to his girl.

He missed her so much, he was full of cracks.

She’d fill all of them in. And he was starting to think . . .

Yeah. That he could eventually do the same for her.

important, because it determined the amount of everyone’s paycheck. “I’ll pass it on to Brendan, and he can contact them for payment.”

Sanders swung into the wheelhouse beside Deke, elbowing his friend.

Make it even easier for the ladies to find you.”

Fox was frozen to the seat.

Jesus. Really?

He hadn’t expected their attitudes toward him to change overnight, but there wasn’t even a hint of respect in how they spoke to him. Not even the slightest change in their demeanors or judgment of him. If they spoke to Brendan like that, they would have been fired before they finished a sentence.

Fox felt like he’d been hollowed out by a shovel, but he summoned a half smile, knowing better than to let his annoyance show. Or the ribbing would probably only get worse. “Seriously, I’m flattered by how obsessed you are with my sex life. Spend a little more time thinking of yours and we wouldn’t have this problem.” He pushed to his feet and faced them, his next words coming out involuntarily. They just sailed right past his better judgment, because his mind was occupied with thoughts of one person.

Their twin expressions of disbelief made his gut bubble with dread.

Sensing he’d made a huge mistake bringing her up like this—it was way too soon, when he’d clearly earned none of the esteem that a man should have in order to be Hannah’s boyfriend—Fox brushed past them out of the wheelhouse, seeing nothing in his path. But they followed. “Heard a rumor about you two at Blow the Man Down, but even I didn’t think you were that much of a dog,” Sanders said, some of his amusement fading. “Come on, man. She’s a sweetheart. What are you thinking?”

I kiss the ground she walks on.

I love her.

They were momentarily shocked into silence by his outburst, studying him with subdued curiosity, but instead of asking Fox about his intentions, Deke said, “Does Brendan know about this?”

And Fox could only turn and walk away laughing, the sound painfully humorless.

God, the way they’d looked at him. None of the respect afforded to the captain of a boat. He’d been an idiot to think they could ever see him in a new light. They’d treated him like the scum of the earth for even breathing the same air as Hannah, let alone being in a relationship with her. Fox could only imagine Hannah getting the same talk from her sister, their mutual friends, everyone in her life—and the idea made him nauseous, a dagger slipping through his ribs and twisting.

His worst nightmare was coming to fruition. Even earlier than expected.

But he could stop it now. Before it got worse for Hannah. Before she moved all the way to Westport and realized what a mistake she’d made.

Before she was forced to make this hard decision.

No, he’d make it for them both, even if it killed him.

There was an invisible match in his hand, lit and ready. He didn’t seem to have much choice but to douse the best thing in his life in kerosene and toss the matchstick right on top.

Chapter Twenty-Three

An hour later, Fox stood in the shadows, leaning against the fish-and-chips shop across the street from Cross and Daughters. He should have stayed home. He shouldn’t be out here trying to catch a glimpse of Hannah through the front window, his very existence seeming to hinge on just seeing her. At least one more time before he explained that he’d been wrong. Wrong to even consider that he could be good for her.

Someone walked out of the bar to light up a smoke, and in that brief second the door was open, Hannah’s laughter drifted out through the opening. His body jolted off the wall, muscles tightening like bolts.

All right, look, he was still responsible for her safety until she went back to Los Angeles, so he’d just . . . make sure she got home okay.

Was he insane? If he had one ounce of self-preservation running in his blood, he’d have gone back to his apartment and changed the locks. Drunk a fifth of whiskey, blacked out, and woken up when she’d gone.

What had he done instead?

With the words of Sanders and Deke ringing in his head, he’d gone through the motions of a shower. Put on cologne. She was in town, and there was no earthly way he could stay away. Him needing to be near Hannah was just a fact of life. But once he saw her, he had to do the right thing.

Get your head in the game.

You are breaking it off with her.

A screwdriver slid into his gut at the thought of that. Breaking it off. It sounded so harsh, when his actions were the opposite of harsh. He was preventing her from making a mistake by wasting her time on him. Signing herself up for the same lack of respect that had become a normal part of his

life. He couldn’t let her move a thousand miles to be with someone who people—people who knew him—assumed would chew her up and spit her out. If his own crew thought so little of him, what would the whole town think? Her family?

So go in there and tell her.

He would . . . soon.

He’d gotten on the boat Wednesday morning on an upswing of hope.

During the trip, the captain’s wheel felt good sliding through his hands, the grain rasping against his palms. For a brief moment in time, the dreams of his youth had reappeared and sunk their hooks in, but that feeling was long gone right now. With Hannah believing in him, Fox thought he could earn the same honor from the men of the Della Ray, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen. He was stuck in this place of no forward movement, boxed in by his reputation, and he wouldn’t get her caught there alongside him. No fucking way.

Fox paced a few steps on the sidewalk, still unable to see Hannah through the window. Maybe he’d go to Blow the Man Down, have a drink to settle his nerves, and come back. He started walking in that direction—

and that’s when he saw her.

Standing at the bar inside Cross and Daughters.

First, he saw her face, and his heart dropped into his stomach, a ripe tomato hurtling down a hundred-foot well and splattering at the bottom.

God. God, she was beautiful. Hair down, curling in places he’d never seen it curled before.

He knew that expression on her face well, that mixture of earnestness and distraction, because she probably couldn’t help listening to the music, repeating the lyrics in her head, the words derailing the course of whatever conversation she was having. In this case, a conversation with a man.

Not Sergei, but an attractive, actor-looking type.

Fox ran his tongue along the front of his teeth, his throat drying up.

Don’t you dare be jealous when you’re about to end things. She’d be back in LA soon talking to millions of men. There would probably be a whole herd of them waiting on the highway off-ramp, full of the right words and good intentions and—

And that’s when he noticed the little turquoise dress.

Be strong.

She turned, and their eyes met—and thank God the music was loud, because he made a sound midway between agony and relief. There she was.

Safe and alive. Gorgeous and all-knowing and merciful and perfect. Any man with half a brain in his head would get down on his knees and crawl toward her, but he . . . couldn’t be that man. It was especially hard to acknowledge that when her face brightened, the hazel color of her eyes deepening to a mossy copper, that heart-shaped mouth spreading into a smile.

A glimmer of sadness ran a lap around her face—because he hadn’t kissed her?—and she set her drink down on the bar. “Good. I’m fine.” Why did she seem to be measuring her breaths so carefully? Was something wrong? “Fox, this is Christian.” She gestured to the man to his right. “He’s the lead actor in the film. He’s an absolute nightmare.”

Just when Fox thought his stomach couldn’t knot any tighter, it twisted into a pretzel. She’d already made plans. She’d made plans that would make it easier for them to be together. With Hannah standing in front of him, so familiar and sweet and soft, the word “plans” didn’t sound quite as daunting. It was when they were apart that he started to doubt his ability to execute any kind of plan. It was the doubt of others that shook him.

The leather cuff around his wrist turned into molten metal, branding his skin.

Until that news came out of her mouth, Fox hadn’t truly processed the weight of it. What it meant for her. “You quit your job?”

She nodded. Breathed, “They’re going to use the songs. In the film.”

Damn, that’s amazing. You did it.”

Her eyes sparkled up at him, communicating a million things. Her nerves, her excitement, her pleasure to be sharing the news with him. Fox sucked it down like a glass of cool water placed in front of a thirsty man.

Hannah Bellinger, music broker. She’s going to be too good for me soon.”

She placed a solemn hand on the actor’s shoulder. “I’m already too good for you.”

The guy tossed back his head and laughed.

The caveman part of Fox’s brain relaxed.

There was nothing to be jealous over here. Hannah and Christian were obviously just friends. But there was still a lot to worry about. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Hannah quit her job on the heels of them discussing potential logistics of a relationship, right? Had she made the move in anticipation of them trying?

Despite his worry over that, he wanted to hear more about this new job.

Music broker. What did that mean exactly? Would she be traveling a lot?

Was it Seattle-based? How excited was she on a scale from one to ten?

Hannah studied his face. “Looks like you’ve made a lot of decisions, too.”

Silence landed hard as soon as they were alone.

His brain repeated the speech he’d practiced on the walk through town.

I’m sorry. You are amazing. My best friend. But I can’t ask you to move here. I can’t make this work.

His mouth said, “You look incredible.”

Pushing you away. Severing our connection.

Oh God, he couldn’t do that. Might as well ram an ice pick into his heart.

What had he been saying?

we

both

agree

on

this”—he

swallowed

the

word

It took him a moment to speak. To form a response. Because what could he say to that? He’d confessed the truth to her at the Sound Garden.

I had it bad for you. If the convention didn’t make it obvious, I thought for sure the Fleetwood Mac album would do it. I’ve got it so bad for you, Hannah.

Really . . . really bad.

Was she remembering those words, too? Is that why she raised her chin another notch and delivered yet another blow to his resolve? “Look, I’m not

going to fight you on this, Fox.” She rolled a delicate shoulder. “You’re ending whatever this was developing into and that’s fine. It’s your right.”

He watched helplessly and miserably as she wet her lips.

What happened now? They just walked away from each other?

Was he really strong enough to do that?

Hannah tilted her head, and he eagerly memorized the curve of her neck.

Fox’s eyes flew to Hannah’s, lust racking him, along with . . . panic.

Flat-out panic. No way he could kiss her and leave it at that. Was she aware of how difficult that would be? How impossible? Was that her game? Her expression was so innocent, it didn’t seem possible. Nor was it possible to deny her request. To deny her anything.

He’d kiss her here. In public, where it was safe.

Right.

Like anything about touching her was safe when he was on the verge of breaking. Shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

Fox licked his lips and stepped closer to Hannah, his hand settling on her hip as if magnetized. His thumb encountered a very slight shape, almost like a . . . tiny strap, and he looked down, watching his fingers feel it out.

It’s a G-string. I know it’s a fucking G-string.

Jesus, she’d look so hot in it.

Closure.

Case closed.

That was what he’d decided. That was what needed to happen.

She’d thank him someday.

Her mouth was so soft-looking, lips parted just a touch, waiting for him to place his own on top of them. One kiss. No tongue. No tasting or he’d be

a goner, because no one on the planet had her perfect flavor, and he needed the memory of it to fade, not grow stronger.

Nice try.

The memory of her is never, ever going to fade.

Fox, apparently self-destructive, lowered his head anyway, desperate to get his fill of her one last time—

A bell started ringing behind the bar, Piper yelling, “Last call. Pay up and hit the bricks, kiddies.”

Hannah tugged out of his arms, shrugging. “Oh well.”

His mind struggled to play catch-up, the fly of his jeans infinitely tighter than it had been upon walking into the bar. “Wait. What?”

Despite her flushed complexion, her tone was casual. “Bad timing, I guess.”

She made a wishy-washy sound. “I mean, I guess I need to grab my bag from your apartment, anyway. The bus leaves at seven in the morning.”

His head swam, stomach bottoming out, crashing straight down through the floorboards of Cross and Daughters. He’d known the bus would eventually depart, but somehow he’d blocked out that information. No staving it off now. She was going. Leaving. Her decision had been hinging on him, and they both knew he’d made it.

You’re doing the right thing.

Oh, but he heard it. And definitely pictured her stepping out of the turquoise material in nothing but a G-string and heels. Definitely imagined his mouth on her skin and, Christ, that utterly perfect coming-home feeling only Hannah gave him.

Piper rang the bell again, and the bar lights flashed.

Worried he might very well be walking to his doom, Fox was helpless to do anything but follow.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Hannah’s heart was breaking.

He’d done it. He’d really done it.

She’d been concerned, of course. That Fox would return from his trip, having been duped by his best friend, and strain under the pressure of simultaneous shifts in his career and personal life. But she’d hung on to her faith, positive he wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye and put a stop-work order on what they were building together. He’d done it, though. He’d really, actually done it, and as she clipped up the stairs to his apartment, her heart bumped along behind her, bruised and bloody.

God. The disobedient organ had almost burst free from her chest when he walked into Cross and Daughters, she’d been so happy to see him.

Stupid. So naive and stupid.

Get your bag and leave.

Just go.

Kissing him would only make the pain ten times worse, anyway. She’d kept the good-bye kiss in her back pocket as a last resort, knowing it would break down any defenses he’d built up over the last five days, but now . . .

now she didn’t want to fall back on last resorts. She wanted to find a dark place to crawl into and cry.

Part of her knew that wasn’t fair. If Fox didn’t want to be in a relationship, she should respect that, be a big girl, and wish him well. After all, she’d known about his cemented bachelor status since the beginning.

This wasn’t breaking news. But tell that to her heart.

Hannah unlocked the door and went inside, heels clicking as she traversed the apartment, Fox entering slowly behind her. The scent of his shower still hung in the air, and she breathed it in, making her way to the

bedroom, where she’d left her suitcase packed and ready to go, some sixth sense telling her being prepared was wise. She’d hoped to unpack it again tomorrow, however. To stay in Westport. That he wouldn’t let her leave without figuring out where they stood.

As was her routine, she tapped on the pink Himalayan salt lamp, forgoing the overhead light, casting the dark room in a blushing glow.

Heaving the case up onto the bed and unzipping it, she took out a pair of cotton panties, jeans, and a Johnny Cash T-shirt. Laid the outfit on the bed and went to close the guest-room door so she could change. But she drew up short when she found Fox standing in the doorway, outlined in pink, watching her with a forearm propped high on the jamb, expression torn and tortured.

He didn’t move.

Frustrated with him, with everything, she marched over and shoved at the center of his chest to try to get him out of the room, her annoyance only increasing when his sturdy fisherman frame didn’t budge an inch. “Let me change so I can go.”

Still, he stayed put, grinding glass with that square jaw.

And she’d had enough.

Hannah couldn’t remember a single time in her life she’d wanted to lash out so badly. By nature, she was not a lasher. She was a helper. A mediator.

A solver. He didn’t want her to stay but wouldn’t let her change so she could leave, either? Who the hell did he think he was? Her hands itched to push him again. Harder. She had a more effective weapon, though, and she’d learned from the best how to use it. She’d be hurting herself in the process, sure, but at least she’d have her pride.

Show him what he’ll be missing.

On her way back to the bed, she stripped the turquoise dress over her head, getting an immense amount of satisfaction from his shaky hiss of breath. Slowly, she folded the borrowed garment, bending forward slightly to tuck it into her suitcase, and Fox’s guttural curse filled the room.

Every last one of her nerve endings popped like champagne corks as his warmth materialized behind her. When she straightened and her bare back landed flush against his heaving chest, she could only compare it to that breathless moment on a Ferris wheel when you hit the top the first time and the world spreads out in front of you, huge and wondrous. Hot shivers traveled up her arms, starting at her fingertips, her nipples tingling and tightening—and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

A notch in Hannah’s throat made her want to turn around, press her face into his chest, and beg him not to walk away from them. She almost did it.

Until he placed his open mouth beneath her ear and murmured, “Time for that good-bye kiss yet?”

And her determination to show him what he was giving up renewed itself.

Not only that, but she wanted to take a sledgehammer to his walls and walk away while the rubble smoked. Those desires belonged to a stranger.

Then again, so did the love and heartbreak she’d experienced with this man.

None of it was familiar and all of it hurt, so she’d indulge her impulses and deal with the fallout later. It was going to be painful no matter what, right?

Hannah turned, the smooth movement of her hands climbing his chest derailed by the tortured look on his face. She recovered quickly, however, taking tight hold of his collar and turning them, urging Fox into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. His eager blue eyes landed everywhere, her pouting breasts, her mouth, the place between her legs, his hands raking up and down the thighs of his jeans, throat muscles working roughly.

He made a jagged sound that shifted a spike inside her. Made her want to hold him, but the hurt urged her on. Overrode the impulse.

Slowly, she straddled his lap and sat down, scooting until she met the proof of what he really wanted, the stiffness, the generous length of it. And she pressed down with her hips, letting her tongue tease into his mouth at the same time, soft lips writhing gently on top of hard ones, his stubble grazing her chin. Just as the pace started to pick up, his hands closing around her butt cheeks to draw her closer, closer, Hannah pulled her mouth away, both of them breathing erratically.

Fox’s fist wound in her hair, his hips shifting beneath her. “You didn’t strip for me just to be kissed, Hannah.”

He yanked her lower body tighter against his lap, dragging the valley of her sex over the ridge of his erection, rocking her once, twice, making her whimper loudly. “What else were y-you thinking?”

Fox huffed a pained laugh. “Whatever act you’re putting on, please knock it off,” he growled, grinding their foreheads together. “Just be my Hannah.”

The spike in her chest dug deeper. “I’m not your Hannah.”

A possessive light came on in his eyes, though conflicted. As if he knew he’d forfeited the right to call her that but wasn’t ready to relinquish the claim on his novelty just yet. Because that’s what she’d been to him, right?

A novelty. A temporary diversion. As badly as she’d wanted to be different, she’d gotten the same outcome as everyone else.

Not special.

His eyes widened as she spoke. “Meet someone? Someone . . . else? Are you serious? You think this could happen twice?”

Hurt struck her. He wasn’t hiding his feelings. He wanted her, needed her, but was still choosing to send her away? Goddamn him. Hannah tried to climb off his lap, but Fox—looking panicked—surged forward and caught her mouth in a kiss. A soul sucker that put every cell in her body on high alert. Warned them they were being invaded. She struggled to keep her thoughts clear, to remember her plan to make him regret sending her away, but there was only the magic of his mouth, his strong, welcoming body, and the hedonistic rock of their hips.

Her own barriers came crashing down, releasing a sob in her throat, her hands coming up to frame his face, holding him, running her fingers through his hair as they kissed desperately, so very aware it was the last time. It soon became obvious they weren’t going to stop at kissing. A significant part of Hannah had known that when she took off the turquoise dress. His middle finger traveled down the crack of her backside to pet her flesh from behind, making sex that much more inevitable, because God, she was so wet. Instantly.

Their mouths moved at a frenzied pace, only breaking apart briefly to whip off Fox’s shirt and then dive back in, her palms climbing over muscle and tangling back into his hair. He added a second finger against her

dampening panties, then a third, massaging her from the back, his tongue sinking in and out of her mouth. Oh God, oh God, she wasn’t in control anymore. Her body begged, pleaded for that full sensation, that stretch of him inside her . . . and she was fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans before she’d even made up her mind to do so, ruled simply by need, need, need.

Time stopped when she drew him out through the opening, stroking him up and down in a loving fist. The kiss suspended itself, but their mouths remained right on top of each other, breaths firing in and out.

fuck. I missed you. I missed you so much. Hannah, please.”

He’d struck her down, hurt her, made her vulnerable, so she closed her eyes and didn’t respond in kind, though the words ached to escape her throat. I missed you, too. I love you. Instead, she guided his shaft between her thighs, Fox grunting and tugging the G-string to the side, allowing her to position his tip just inside her entrance and slowly, slowly, take him deep, both of them watching it happen, voyeurs of their own lust.

He groped blindly for his wallet, but he gave up quickly, gasping and clutching Hannah’s hips when she bucked involuntarily, moaning on his lap, digging her nails into his shoulders. “I . . . don’t. I can’t.”

A shudder racked him. “You can’t what? Stop?”

Was she nodding or shaking her head? She had no idea. The deep press of his hardness robbed her of rational thought, sensation rushing to her core, quickening those intimate muscles, turning them into throbbing little pulse points.

She rode him with a circle of her hips, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Oh. Jesus. That feels so fucking good.” He visibly struggled to remain coherent. “I’m clean. Got checked last time you were here.”

That confession made her quake. “And there’s been no one since, has there.”

It wasn’t a question. She already knew the answer.

Eyes clenching shut, he shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “God no, Freckles. I only want to be touched by you.”

His mouth was back on hers, kissing her into a state of desperation, his hands holding her buttocks tight to rake her up and back in his lap, his thickness entering and leaving her in smooth strokes that rubbed that place, oh Lord, that spot. Right there. It was already swollen from his fingers, and now he exploited it, moving just right. Exactly how she needed, delivering friction that engulfed her entire body in heat. Made her feel sexual and powerful and feminine and uninhibited. So much so that she broke the kiss to lean back, offering her breasts to his mouth with unsteady hands, whining his name when he sucked her nipples eagerly, hungrily, left then right, their flesh now beginning to smack wetly.

And then Fox brought a hand down, roughly slapping her bottom, his teeth capturing the lobe of her ear. “Touch your clit.” He spanked her again.

Harder. Twice. “Help me get you there, Hannah. Now. Jesus, you’ve got me so fucking thick, I don’t even know when the end is coming. I just know if I touch you there, it’s over. Play with it.”

Breath rattling in and out of her parted lips, Hannah dragged her shaking right hand downward from his shoulder and found that sensitive bud, biting her lip as she rubbed it up and down, up and down, switching to quick, quick circles, her moan mingling with Fox’s as he jerked her up and back, faster, faster.

He shook his head, the movement jerky. “Inside this tight thing without a rubber watching you ride dick like you’ve never had it so good?” He leaned back on his elbows and started to upthrust, abdomen flexing, bouncing her on his lap, breaking the dam of her pleasure wide open.

Hannah crested, lungs seizing, muscles locking tight as the orgasm took control, keeping her body prisoner while it wreaked havoc, clenching her sex around Fox and taking him past the breaking point, too. They ground

out the pleasure, hips pushing down and pressing up, fingers digging into skin, teeth scraping flesh, loud groans rending the air of the glowing pink bedroom, his moisture streaking down her inner thighs, his dirty speech echoing in her head, prolonging the pleasure.

Inside this tight thing without a rubber . . .

Watching you ride dick . . .

Fox went flat on his back, taking Hannah with him, both of them spent but remaining locked together, her head resting on his shoulder. Their harsh inhales and exhales filled the room, his fingertips stroking up and down her back through the cooling sweat, mouth moving in her hair. A priceless embrace that was everything right in the world. Everything honest and perfect. And . . .

She wasn’t giving this up.

God help her, she’d ridden the tide of more emotions tonight than she’d ever experienced in her life. Hopefulness, denial, devastation, anger. When he’d walked into Cross and Daughters obviously determined to break up with her, she’d lost her courage. Her resolve. The heartache had been so immense, there’d been no room for positivity. There was only survival. But before he’d returned from the ocean, she’d decided to fight, hadn’t she?

And now here she was, at the final round, weaving on her feet, closing in on unconsciousness, ready to quit just to mitigate the pain. Isn’t this when she needed to be at her strongest?

Isn’t this when being a leading lady really counted? When she wanted to quit?

And after what she’d accomplished over the last two weeks, she didn’t have any excuses. She could do anything. She could be brave. Lying in the fetal position with a pint of ice cream wasn’t going to salvage a relationship she knew damn well could be amazing and lasting. Fox needed her to believe in him right now, when his self-doubt was blinding him—and she needed to believe in herself, too.

Hannah kissed Fox’s shoulder and rolled to the side, climbing off the bed.

Outwardly, she appeared calm, but on the inside her pulse was going a thousand miles an hour, a trench digging itself in her stomach. Fox sat up and watched her through bloodshot eyes as she dressed in jeans and her

Johnny Cash T-shirt, eventually dropping his head into his hands, fingers tearing at his hair.

She zipped her suitcase again and stood in front of him, working to keep her voice even, though the effort didn’t quite pay off. “I’m not giving up on us.”

His head came up fast, eyes searching her face. With what? Hope?

Shock?

He was a man afraid to swim toward a life raft. She could see it.

Fox pressed his lips together, looked away. Spoke in a raw voice. “It didn’t matter. It was never going to matter how qualified I am for the captain’s chair. How well I can manage the boat under pressure. No matter what I do, I’ll just be someone they mock and doubt and criticize. Someone they can’t respect or take seriously. A hall pass. The backdoor guy. And that will extend to you, Hannah. Your waters are clear and I’ll muddy them.” He massaged the center of his forehead. “You should have heard how horrified they were. Over us. I knew it would happen eventually, but goddamn, it was worse.”

With every fiber of her being, she wanted to cradle his head to her breast and be gentle. Be supportive. If he’d been pushed into breaking up with her, whatever his crewmates said must have been bad. Really bad. But he didn’t need sweet and cautious encouragement right now.

He needed a good, hard wake-up call.

I know you belong in mine. And I belong in yours, and that’s what matters.

You’re taking something that happened in college out on us. You’re taking the stupidity and shortsightedness of others out on us. The hurt they caused you . . . it’s valid. It’s meaningful. But you can’t take the bad lessons you learned and apply them to every good thing that comes your way. Because there’s nothing bad about what we have. It’s really, really good.” Her voice grew choppy. “You’re wonderful, and I love you. Okay, you stupid idiot?

So when you’ve done some thinking and pulled your head out of your stubborn ass, come and find me. You’re worth the wait.”

Eyes heavy with moisture, chest thundering up and down, Fox stood and tried to wrap his arms around her, but she moved out of his reach. “Hannah.

Come here, please. Let me hold you. Let’s talk about this—”

On unsteady legs, she turned and wheeled her suitcase out of the apartment, leaving a ravaged Fox in her wake.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Fox had never been overboard, but that possibility struck fear in the heart of every fisherman. The chances of being sucked down into the icy cold drink, the air drawn straight out of his lungs, the hull of the ship becoming smaller and smaller above, land a distant memory. Yet he knew with dead certainty that meeting his demise at the bottom of the ocean would be favorable compared to watching Hannah walk out his front door, her shoulders shaking with silent tears.

He’d been so sure he was doing the right thing.

But how could the right thing make that sweet girl cry?

Oh Jesus, he’d made her cry. And she loved him.

She fucking loved him?

His feet wouldn’t move, his eyes burned, his body ached. He should go after her, but he knew Hannah. None of the words in his head right now were the correct ones, and she wasn’t going to accept anything less. Christ, he couldn’t help but be proud of the way she’d looked him in the eye and read him the riot act, even as she tore the heart clean out of his chest. That was some real leading-lady shit.

I love you more than life. Don’t go.

Those were the words he wanted to shout at her retreating back. They wouldn’t penetrate, though. He could see that. She didn’t want impulsive, emotional statements from him. She wanted him to . . . pull his head out of his stubborn ass.

The door clicked shut behind Hannah, and his knees gave out, dropping him down to the bed, not a stitch of clothing on. With his pounding head clutched in his hands, he shouted a vile curse into the silent room that smelled like her, a fishhook impaling his gullet and ripping downward, all

the way to his belly. He needed her back in his arms so badly, his entire body shook in bereavement.

But as terribly as he wanted her back, Fox didn’t know how to do it the right way. He had no earthly clue how to make his head healthy for her. For them.

He only knew one thing. The answers weren’t in this empty apartment, and the lack of Hannah’s presence mocked him everywhere. In his bedroom where they’d spent nights wrapped around each other, the kitchen where he’d fed her soup and ice cream, the living room where she’d cried over her father. As quickly as he could, he dragged his jeans and T-shirt back on, grabbed his car keys, and left.

* * *

The change of scenery didn’t help.

It wasn’t the apartment Hannah was haunting so beautifully.

It was him.

Didn’t matter how hard he applied the gas pedal, she came with him, as if her mussed dirty-blond head was resting on his shoulder, her fingers lazily playing with the radio. The image struck so deep, he had to breathe through it.

Fox had no idea where he was going. No clue at all.

Not until he pulled up outside his mother’s apartment.

He cut the engine and sat there dumbfounded. Why here?

And had he really been driving a full two hours?

Charlene had sold his childhood home a long time ago and bought a condo in what amounted to a retirement complex. His mother grew up next door to the old folks’ home where her parents worked, and she’d always been most comfortable around the blue-haired crowd, hence her living situation and job as a bingo caller. Fox’s father had always made fun of her for that, telling her she would get old before her time, but Fox didn’t see it that way. Charlene just stuck to what she knew.

Fox stared through the windshield at the complex, the empty pool visible through the side gate. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d been here. A birthday or two. Christmas morning. He’d have come more often if he didn’t know it was difficult for his mother to look at him.

On top of tonight’s catastrophe, did he really want to see his mother and encounter the flinch? Maybe he did. Maybe he’d come here to punish himself for hurting Hannah. For making her cry. For failing to be the man she stubbornly believed him to be.

Take some time and think.

Because next time you tell me good-bye, I’ll believe you.

Did that mean she didn’t believe him tonight?

Did she know he wouldn’t have made it a day without texting her? Did she know he’d melt at the sight of her for the rest of his life, every single time she visited Westport? Did she suspect he’d fly to LA and beg for forgiveness?

He probably would have done all those things.

But he’d still be the same person, with all the same hang-ups.

And he didn’t want them anymore.

Admitting that to himself untangled the fishing line in his gut, gave him the impetus to climb out of the car. All the apartments were identical, so he had to double-check his mother’s address in his phone contacts. Then he was standing in front of her door, fist poised to knock, when Charlene opened it.

Winced at the sight of him.

Fox took it on the chin, like he always did. Smiled. Leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Ma.”

She folded her arms behind his neck, squeezing him tight. “Well!

Caroline from 1A called and said there was a handsome man lurking in the parking lot, and I was going to inspect. Turns out it was my son!”

Fox attempted a chuckle, but his throat only sounded like a garbage disposal. God, he felt like he’d been run over, the aches and pains stemming from the middle of his chest. “Next time, don’t go check it out yourself.

Call the police.”

piece of furniture was painted powder blue, covered in knickknacks, but the misshapen frog ashtray was what caught his attention. “Did I make this?”

Charlene sat down across from him with a steaming mug in her hand.

Fox’s chest wanted to cave in just hearing her name. “How did you know?”

Fox couldn’t speak for long moments. Could only stare down at the table, trying to get rid of the painful squeeze in his throat, seventeen incarnations of Hannah’s smile playing in his head. “Yeah, well. I told her it was over tonight. She disagreed.”

Charlene had to set her coffee down, she was laughing so hard. “Hold on to that one.” She used her wrist to swipe at her eyes. “She’s a keeper.”

His mother’s laughter cut off abruptly. “And why not?”

Fox laughed without humor. “You know, Ma. The way I kept Dad’s legacy alive. The way I’ve carried on more than half my life now. That’s what I know. That’s what I’m used to. It’s no use trying to be something I’m not. And, Jesus, I’m definitely not one half of a couple.”

Charlene fell silent, looking almost pained. Proof that she agreed.

Maybe she didn’t want to say it out loud, but she knew he spoke the truth.

It was too hard to witness her disappointment, but when Fox stood to leave, Charlene spoke and he lowered back into the seat.

I laughed. I laughed, but it stuck. And then . . .”

On reflex, Fox glanced at the cabinet, as if he might find it there, stuffed full of condom money. Even though he wouldn’t. Even though it wasn’t the same house. “It’s okay, Ma.”

And here we are now, years later. Here we are.”

Fox ran back through everything she’d said, his deepest insecurities exposed like a raw nerve, but so what. Nothing hurt like Hannah leaving hurt. Not even this. “If you don’t think I’m anything like him, why do you flinch every time you see me?”

Charlene paled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing that.” A beat passed. “Some of the time, I can live with the guilt of failing you. When I see you, though, that guilt hits me like a backhand to the cheek. That flinch is for me, not you.”

An unexpected burn started behind his eyes.

Something hard began to erode in the vicinity of his heart.

while.” She reached for her pack of cigarettes, tapped one out and lit it, blowing the smoke out of the side of her mouth. “Should have been encouraging you to do well in class. Or join clubs. Instead, we made life about . . . intimacy for you. From the damn jump. And I don’t have any excuse except to say, your father’s life was women. By default, so was mine. The affairs surrounded us at the time, took up all the air. We let it hurt our son, too. Let it turn into a shadow to follow you around. That’s the real tragedy. Not the marriage.”

Fox had to stand up. Had to move.

He remembered his parents saying those things to him. Of course he did.

However, all the way up until this moment, it never once occurred to him that all parents weren’t saying those things to their kids. Never occurred to him that he’d effectively been brainwashed into believing his identity was the sum of his success with women. And . . .

And his mother didn’t wince when she saw him because he reminded her of his father. It was guilt. Fox didn’t like that, either. He owned his actions and didn’t want his mother claiming responsibility for them, because that would be cowardly. But, God, it was a relief. To know his mother didn’t dread seeing his face. To know he wasn’t broken, but maybe, just maybe, he’d been wedged into a category before he even knew what was happening.

More than anything in that moment, he wished for Hannah.

He wished to burrow his face into her neck and tell her everything Charlene had said, so she could sum it up perfectly for him in her Hannah way. So she could kiss the salt from his skin and save him. But Hannah wasn’t there. She’d gone. He’d sent her away. So he had to rescue himself.

Had to work this out for himself.

When no response was forthcoming, Fox looked back over his shoulder to find Charlene aggressively stubbing out her cigarette. “Let me tell you a story. Earl and Georgette have been coming to bingo for over a decade, sitting on opposite sides of the hall. As far away from each other as they can get. They might look like sweet little seniors, but let me tell you, they are stubborn as shit.” Charlene lit another cigarette, comfortable in the middle of her storytelling. “Earl used to be married to Georgette’s sister,

right up until she passed. Young. Maybe in her fifties. And, well, through comforting each other, Earl and Georgette got to falling in love, right? Both of them worried about people judging them, so they stopped seeing each other. Cut each other right off. But hell if they didn’t stare at each other across the bingo hall like two lovesick puppies for years.”

Did it matter what other people thought at that point? No. It did not.”

Now they sit in the front row every time I host bingo in Aberdeen. Can’t pry them apart with a butter knife. And you know what? Everyone is happy for them. You can’t live life worrying about what people will think. You’ll wake up one day, look at a calendar, and count the days you could have spent being happy. With her. And no one else, especially the ones wagging their tongues, are going to be there to console you.”

Fox thought of waking up in fifteen years and having spent none of it with Hannah, and he got dizzy, his mother’s kitchen spinning around him, his lungs on fire. Crossing to the living room, he fell back on the couch and counted off his breaths, trying to fight through the sudden nausea.

Exhaustion crashed down on him unexpectedly, and he wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was having his long-standing issues unraveled, explained, and the subsequent weightless feeling in his stomach. Maybe it was the emotional excess or the utter depression of losing Hannah and making her cry, plus knowing his mother didn’t secretly hate him. All of it wrapping around his head like a thick, fuzzy bandage, blurring his thoughts until they were nothing more than a fading echo. His head dropped back against the cushion, and his roundabout worries eventually sent him into a deep sleep.

The last thing he remembered was his mother laying a blanket over him and the promise he made to himself. As soon as he woke up, he’d go get her.

Hang on. I’ll be right there, Freckles.

* * *

Fox woke up in the sunlight to the chatter of voices.

He sat up and looked around, piecing together the night before, trying to clear the cobwebs that clung harder than usual. Tchotchkes on every surface, the lingering smell of Marlboro Reds. This was his mother’s living room. He knew that much. And then their conversation came back in precise detail, followed by a sinking feeling in his stomach.

It was morning. Eight in the morning.

The bus . . . the bus back to LA left at seven.

He was off the couch like a shot, his stomach pitching violently. Several pairs of eyes stared back at him from the kitchen, belonging to the senior ladies who’d apparently congregated in Charlene’s kitchen for coffee and donuts.

No way. No way he let her get on a bus back to California. He didn’t have a plan yet, didn’t have a strategy for keeping Hannah. He only knew that the fear of God was rattling his bones. That—the reality of her actually being gone—along with what his mother had said to him last night, had damn well put Fox’s priorities in order.

My head is out of my ass, Hannah. Answer the phone.

Voicemail.

Of course it was the opening bars to “Me and Bobby McGee,” followed by the husky efficiency of her greeting.

Fox stopped pacing, the sound of her voice against his ear washing over him like warmth from a fireplace. Oh God, oh God, he’d been such a jackass. This girl, this one-in-a-billion angel of a girl, loved him. He loved her back in a wild, desperate, uncontrollable way. And he didn’t know how to build a home with her, but they would figure it out together. That he was positive about.

Hannah gave him faith. She was his faith.

The beep sounded in his ear. “Hannah, it’s me. Please, please, get off the bus. I’m coming home right now. I’m . . .” His voice lost power. “Just get off the bus somewhere safe and wait for me, all right? I fucking love you. I love you. And I’m sorry you fell in love with an idiot. I’m . . .” Find the words. Find the right words. “Remember in Seattle, you said we’ve been trying this whole time. Since last summer. To be in a relationship. I didn’t fully understand at the time, but I do now. There was never going to be a life away from you, because, Jesus, that’s no life at all. You, Hannah. Are my life. I love you and I’m coming home, so please, babe. Please. Will you just wait for me? I’m sorry.”

Fox stopped and listened, as if she might somehow answer and reassure him like she always did, then hung up with dread curdling in his stomach.

Looked up to find the women in various states of crying, from dabbing away tears to openly weeping.

No one tried to stop Fox as he ran out the door and sprinted to his truck, throwing himself into the driver’s seat and peeling out. He hit a stoplight on the way to the highway and cursed, slamming on the brakes. Restless without being in motion, he took out his phone again and called Brendan.

A brief pause. “No. She didn’t stay with you?”

—was a bitter pill to swallow. It was a world that didn’t make sense, and he never wanted to live in it again. Where would she have gone? There were a couple of inns in Westport, but she wouldn’t check in somewhere, would she? Maybe she’d gone to the house where the crew was staying. All of them would have gotten on the bus an hour ago. She went with them. She’s gone. “No, she’s not with me,” he rasped, misery washing over him. “Look.

It’s complicated. Predictably, I fucked everything up. I need a chance to fix it.”

No accusations. No knowing sighs or disappointment.

Just faith.

Fox ached just above his collarbone. Maybe, like the ocean, he could evolve.

Maybe the crew would realize they were wrong about him after some time passed. After all, they were just following his lead, treating him like he asked them to. Like the cheap version of himself he’d presented.

Demanding respect from Brendan one time was all it took to change his best friend’s tune. What if that was all it took to do the same with everyone else?

And if it didn’t work? The hell with them. His relationship with Hannah belonged to him and her. No one else.

Either way, he was going to do everything in his power to keep Hannah.

That was a given.

Imagining a future without her had his hands shaking on the wheel.

For the first time since he’d left for college, he was eager to find out how far his potential could reach. He was ready to take chances again. Maybe because he now knew, after speaking frankly with Charlene, that he’d been guided incorrectly. Or maybe because he was no longer so afraid of being judged. He was driving blindly, pretty sure Hannah had gone back to LA.

This was pain. This was self-loathing. Losing the love of his life—his future

—because he’d let the past win. He could endure and overcome anything but this.

Cradling the phone between his cheek and shoulder, he ripped off the leather bracelet and threw it out the window of his car. “I want the boat, Brendan.”

Even without seeing his best friend’s face, he could imagine the raised eyebrow, the thoughtful stroking of his jaw. “You sure?”

Fox’s phone died.

The breath hissed out of him, and he threw the device onto the dashboard, heart slamming in his ears as he wove in and out of traffic. She

couldn’t be gone. All right, they hadn’t agreed on a timeline for him to come and find her. Perhaps she thought she’d go back to LA and he’d take a few weeks or even months to figure out he’d die without her? Maybe he should have assumed she would leave this morning? Well, he hadn’t. He’d been thinking about it for weeks, and when the moment finally came, his heart had blocked the painful possibility.

Too late. He was too late.

God, she could have changed her mind. Maybe she wasn’t giving him time to pull his head out of his stubborn ass at all. That would explain why she wasn’t answering her phone. She’d deemed Fox more trouble than he was worth. If that was the case, it wouldn’t matter if he flew to LA. Or drove like a bat out of hell and caught up with the bus. If she was done with him . . .

No.

No, please. He couldn’t think like that.

With his skin somehow icy and sweating at the same time, Fox took the exit to Westport an hour and a half later, searching the streets for members of the cast or crew. Would he even recognize any of them? At that moment, he would have been grateful to see the fucking director and his yuppie turtleneck. None of the people waving as he passed were non-locals, though. None of them. No bus idling on the harbor.

Gone.

He parked haphazardly outside his apartment, prepared to go inside and pack a bag. He’d get on the highway and catch up with the bus. Wait for it to stop and beg her to listen. If he couldn’t find the bus, he’d get on a plane.

Bottom line, he wasn’t coming back here until they were unequivocally committed. With a plan.

A plan.

He might have laughed if he wasn’t on the verge of splitting straight down the middle. Suddenly, he could think of a million plans. Because he was capable of anything. They were. Together.

As long as she hadn’t given up on him—

Fox walked into his apartment and stopped dead in his tracks.

Hannah sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his record player, giant can headphones over her ears, humming along to the music.

If she’d heard him or turned around in that moment, she would have seen him slump back against the door, shaking. Seen him use the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the scalding moisture from his eyes. Would have seen the prayers he mouthed at the ceiling. But, oblivious, she didn’t turn. Didn’t witness him devouring the tilt of her neck with his gaze, the line of her shoulders. Inhaling the breathiness of her voice singing along to Soundgarden.

As soon as he could walk straight, he went toward her, picking up her phone where it rested on the counter, his voicemail not yet played.

He dug for the right words.

Ones that could possibly express how much he loved her.

But in the end, all he had to do was listen to his heart and trust himself.

He came to a stop beside her, and she jolted and looked up at him.

They stared for long moments, searching each other for answers.

He gave her one by changing the record. Putting on “Let’s Stay Together” by Al Green. Watching her expression soften with each word.

Lyrics that couldn’t have been more appropriate. When tears started to fill her beautiful eyes, Fox pulled Hannah to her feet and they slow danced to the music in her ears and the music in his heart, the headphones only coming off when the song ended.

As he laid her down on the bed, tears leaked from his eyes, and Hannah reached up, wiped them away, along with her own. “What happened to you giving me time to pull my head out of my ass?”

Happiness rushed in, crowding him from all sides. And he let it. Let himself accept it and think of all the ways he could give happiness to her in return. For the rest of his life. Every hour, every day.

Fox covered her with his body, both of them groaning against each other’s mouth, sliding and writhing muscle on curves. “We can find a place in between here and Seattle. That way if you get a job in the city, we cut the commute in half for us both.” He unfastened her jeans and pushed a hand inside, watching her eyes go blind when his fingers tucked into her panties and found her. There. Pressing between her seam of flesh and rubbing with increasing pressure. “Does that work for you?”

Fox nodded, took his time tugging off her jeans and panties, eventually rendering her naked while he remained fully clothed on top of her, pressing her down into the bedclothes. “Whoever we become together, Hannah,” he said, mouth roaming over hers, fingers reaching down to lower his zipper.

Epilogue

Ten Years Later

The smooth voice of Nat King Cole filled the interior of Hannah’s Jeep as it bumped along the snowy road. Her headlights caught the falling flakes, twilight giving the sky a purplish-gray glow, towering pines creating a now-familiar pathway on either side of her—a pathway home to her family.

After ten years of residing in Puyallup, it was hard to believe she’d ever lived in sunny Los Angeles at all. And she wouldn’t trade it for all the records in Washington.

Her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror, where she could see shopping bags filled to overflowing with elaborately wrapped presents in the backseat, and contentment swept through her chest, so intense it brought tears to her eyes. There would never be anything better than this. Coming home to her family on Christmas Eve after four days on the road. She missed them so terribly, it cost her quite an effort to drive slowly, carefully on the winter road.

When her house came into view a minute later and her tires crunched to a stop in the driveway, her heart started to beat faster. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney of their log-cabin-style home, sleds—man-sized and child-sized—leaned up against the wall by the front entrance. A Christmas tree twinkled in one of the many windows. And when her husband walked into view with one of their daughters slung casually over his brawny shoulder, a laugh filled with yearning and love and gratitude puffed out of her in the quiet car.

They’d more than made it work, hadn’t they? They’d made a life happier and filled with more joy than either of them could have expected.

A decade earlier, Fox and Hannah went to Bel-Air to pack her things.

She could still remember the zero-gravity feeling of that trip. The lack of restraint that came with their commitment to each other, every touch, every whisper heightened, given new meaning. And yet, on the verge of what felt like true adulthood, they’d both been scared. But they’d been scared together, honest with each other every step of the way, and they’d become a formidable team.

Initially, they’d signed an apartment lease in town, this midway point between Westport and Seattle. She still missed that apartment sometimes, itched to walk the creaky floor and remember all the lessons they’d learned within those walls. How fiercely they’d loved, how loudly they’d fought and made up, the music they’d danced to, how Fox had gotten down on one knee on a night just like this and asked Hannah to be his wife, how they’d panicked when she got pregnant a year later. How they’d sat on the floor and eaten cake straight out of the box with forks—Fox in a suit, her in a dress—on the morning they bought this house.

Since then, they’d made a million memories, each day with a different soundtrack, and she cherished every single one.

Unable to wait another second to see Fox and the girls, Hannah opened the driver’s-side door, careful not to slip on the driveway in her fancy wedge boots. Not practical in this weather, but she’d gone straight to LAX

after her final client meeting. Thank God she wouldn’t have to see the inside of another airport until mid-January, well after the holidays. Her travel schedule had definitely lightened over the years, the process more streamlined and virtual, but every once in a while, she discovered a band worth seeing in person, as she’d done this week.

Garden of Sound Inc. had started as Hannah’s baby, a way of connecting up-and-coming bands with film production companies seeking fresh voices for their scores—and years later, she’d found herself a staple in the industry.

After Glory Daze released and the Unreliables blew up, her name got passed around more and more. She’d built a reputation for giving films their signature sound, adding an entirely new layer of creativity to the process, and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Hannah opened the back door of the Jeep and considered calling Fox to help her carry the bags, but decided she’d rather walk through the front door and surprise the three of them. And she’d better get her butt moving,

because Piper, Brendan, and their two kids would be arriving soon to stay through New Year’s. Not to mention, Charlene—aka Grams—would be here in the morning.

Draping a heavy bag over each arm, Hannah bumped the car door shut with a hip and headed up the path, her cheeks already aching from smiling.

She set down the presents just outside the front door and dug in her coat pocket for her keys. They jingled only slightly, but that was all it took to set off their pair of yellow labs barking.

Shaking her head and laughing, distracted by trying to get the key into the lock, Hannah almost didn’t see the moose. But when the giant shadow moved in her periphery, she froze, slowly turning her head, mouth falling open in shock as the granddaddy of all moose moseyed toward her like they were going to have a casual chat in the supermarket. Moose were not especially dangerous animals, but they’d lived in this area long enough to hear about attacks. Usually the animals only reacted poorly when provoked, but she wasn’t taking any chances. That thing could mow her down like a semitruck.

And then she dropped her keys in the snow. Come on. No way she was bending down to pick those up. She’d have to take her eyes off the beast.

Abandoning the presents and sidestepping off the porch slowly, she backed in the direction of the car. The moose watched from its height of at least thirteen, maybe twenty-nine feet while Hannah slipped the cell from her pocket and dialed HOME.

You need some help carrying in your suitcase? I’ll be right—”

He was breathing hard. “I’m coming.”

No less than ten seconds later, her husband skidded out onto the porch, barefoot in sweatpants and a hoodie, banging pots together and shouting

obscenities at the moose, backing the animal up several paces. In the front window of the house, their girls—six-year-old Abigail and four-year-old Stevie—screamed bloody murder, their little palms slapping against the window hard enough to rattle it. The dogs howled. And crouching down behind the back bumper of the Jeep, Hannah absolutely lost it. She laughed hard enough to slip on the driveway and land on her backside, which only made her laugh harder. By the time she got control of herself, she was looking up at Fox through tears of mirth.

Oh, but then, there was just . . . a long, wobbly sigh of appreciation for the man holding out his rope-worn hand to help her up. Age had done him so good. Now forty-one, the Della Ray’s captain had a full beard and dark blond hair, just beginning to show threads of gray, that almost reached his shoulders. He’d cut it once, last year, and the girls cried when they saw the shorter length, so he vowed to keep it long forever. They had their father wrapped around their pinkie fingers, and he would admit it to anyone who listened. Hannah estimated the devotion to his daughters made him around 400 percent more attractive.

And as always, his devotion to Hannah shone in his blue eyes, which were twinkling over the chaos, just like hers.

She lost her balance, slipping on the ice, and Fox, his balance normally perfect thanks to his profession, went down with his wife. He tried to cushion her fall, but they just ended up sprawled on their asses in the driveway, snow falling around them, their howls of laughter bringing their daughters running from the house in flannel nightgowns and hastily shoved-on boots. While Abby and Stevie started an impromptu snowball fight, Fox pulled Hannah into his arms, tipping up her chin so he could look at her face, his heart knocking heavily against her shoulder.

He made a sound in his throat, brushed some snowflakes from her cheek.

Throat flexing, he nodded. Looked into her eyes for long moments, before lowering his lips and kissing her slowly, sweeping his tongue through her mouth enough times and with enough promise to make her squirm, breathless. One kiss only ignited their appetite, and with the dogs happily chasing the girls through the front yard, they were in no rush to stop. Not until minutes later when another car pulled up and Piper’s giggle sailed out into the evening air, followed by Brendan’s exasperated sigh.

Acknowledgments

I really don’t know where to begin thanking people for this book! This one was delayed, writing-wise, because my husband had the absolute nerve to get sick and spend three months in the ICU. If we hadn’t received a miracle and gotten him back home, I’m not sure this book would have ever gotten written, let alone any others. So I truly have modern medicine, doctors, nurses, science, friends, and faith to thank for boosting me back to this place where I can write a madly touching love story and escape back into Westport with my beloved Hannah and Fox.

Thank you to Floral Park, Long Island, for rallying around me in my time of need. I didn’t know the meaning of friendship until I was huddled out in my backyard in ten-degree weather, surrounded by frozen-solid friends in masks determined to give me moral support no matter their discomfort. For months. They went above and beyond. I’ll be forever grateful.

Thank you to the romance community, authors and readers alike, for sending me love and support and gifts meant to comfort. Thank you to my (thankfully alive!) husband for making me love so many different kinds of music (even, maybe especially, Meat Loaf), as well as fostering my appreciation for record collecting. It really helped when writing Hannah to understand how particular one can be about vinyl. I’ll never set my drink on one of your sleeves—especially the Floyd. Promise.

Thank you to my editor, Nicole Fischer, for really understanding the vibe and vision of the Bellinger Sisters series and for helping to give it so much life. This marks eleven books together, and I’ve loved every single finished product we’ve worked on. Thank you to everyone at Avon Books, including cover designers, publicists, and marketing gurus. You make all this possible!

Lastly, thank you to everyone who fell in love with this series. This one was straight from the heart, and I’m honored you came with me on the journey! Here’s to many more.

An Excerpt From It Happened One Summer

Have you read Piper’s story? Find out how she hooked a surly, sexy sea captain in . . .

IT HAPPENED ONE SUMMER

Available now!

Read on for a peek at the first few chapters.

Chapter One

The unthinkable was happening.

Her longest relationship on record . . . over in the blink of an eye.

Three weeks of her life wasted.

Piper Bellinger looked down at her lipstick-red, one-shoulder Valentino cocktail dress and tried to find the flaw but came up with nothing. Her tastefully tanned legs were polished to such a shine, she’d checked her teeth in them earlier. Nothing appeared amiss up top, either. She’d swiped the tape holding up her boobs while backstage at a runway show in Milan during fashion week—we’re talking the holy grail of tit tape—and those puppies were on point. Big enough to draw a man’s eye, small enough to achieve an athletic vibe in every fourth Instagram post. Versatility kept people interested.

Satisfied that nothing concerning her appearance was glaringly out of place, Piper trailed her gaze up the pleated leg of Adrian’s classic Tom Ford suit made of the finest sharkskin wool, unable to quell a sigh over the luxurious peak lapels and monogrammed buttons. The way her boyfriend impatiently checked his Chopard watch and scanned the crowd over her shoulder only added to the bored-playboy effect.

Hadn’t his cold unattainability attracted her to him in the first place?

God, the night of their first meeting seemed like a hundred years ago.

She’d had at least two facials since then, right? What was time anymore?

Piper could remember their introduction like it was yesterday. Adrian had saved her from stepping in vomit at Rumer Willis’s birthday party. As she’d stared up at his chiseled chin from her place in his arms, she’d been transported to Old Hollywood. A time of smoking jackets and women

traipsing around in long, feathered robes. It was the beginning of her own classic love story.

And now the credits were rolling.

Adrian waved at someone across the rooftop, his expression letting whoever it was know that he’d be right with them. They’d come to the black, white, and red party together. A minor soiree to raise money for an indie movie project called Lifestyles of the Oppressed and Famous. The writer-director was a friend of Adrian’s, meaning most of the people at this gathering of Los Angeles elite were his acquaintances. Her girls weren’t even there to console her or facilitate a graceful exit.

Adrian’s attention settled back on her reluctantly. “Wait, what were you saying?”

Piper’s smile felt brittle, so she turned it up another watt, careful to keep it one crucial notch below manic. Chin up, woman. This wasn’t her first breakup, right? She’d done a lot of the dumping, often unexpectedly. This was a town of whims, after all.

She’d never really noticed the pace of how things changed. Not until lately.

At twenty-eight, Piper was not old. But she was one of the oldest women at this party. At every party she’d been to recently, come to think of it.

Leaning on the glass railing that overlooked Melrose was an up-and-coming pop star who couldn’t be a day older than nineteen. She didn’t need tape from Milan to hold up her tits. They were light and springy with nipples that reminded Piper of the bottom of an ice cream cone.

The host himself was twenty-two and embarking on a film career.

This was Piper’s career. Partying. Being seen. Holding up the occasional teeth-whitening product and getting a few dollars for it.

Not that she needed the money. At least, she didn’t think so. Everything she owned came from the swipe of a credit card, and it was a mystery what happened after that. She assumed the bill went to her stepfather’s email or something? Hopefully he wouldn’t be weird about the crotchless panties she’d ordered from Paris.

Piper smiled and waved at the girl, pointing sheepishly to her glass of champagne, before tuning back in to the conversation with Adrian. “Is this because I casually brought you up to my therapist? We didn’t go in depth or anything, I promise. Most of the time we just nap during my appointments.”

He stared at her for several seconds. Honestly, it was kind of nice. It was the most attention she’d gotten from him since almost slipping in puke.

She kept her smile in place, though it took more determination than usual. People were watching. At that very moment, she was in the background of at least five selfies being captured around the roof, including one of Ansel Elgort. It would be a disaster if she let her sinking heart show on her face, especially when news of the breakup got out. “I don’t understand,” she said with a laugh, sweeping rose-gold hair over her shoulder.

You’re a smoke show in a bikini.” He shrugged an elegant Tom Ford–clad shoulder. “I’m just trying to end this before it gets boring, you know?”

Boring. Getting older. Not a director or a pop star.

Just a pretty girl with a millionaire stepfather.

Piper couldn’t think about that now, though. She just wanted to exit the party as inconspicuously as possible and go have a good cry. After she popped a Xanax and posted an inspirational quote on her IG feed, of course.

It would confirm the breakup, but also allow her to control the narrative.

Something about growth and loving herself, maybe?

Her sister, Hannah, would have the perfect song lyric to include. She was always sitting around in a pile of vinyls, those giant, ugly headphones wrapped around her head. Damn, she wished she’d put more stock in Hannah’s opinion of Adrian.

What had she said? Oh yeah.

He’s like if someone drew eyes on a turnip.

Once again, Piper had zoned out, and Adrian checked his watch for the second time. “Are we done here? I have to mingle.”

Annoyed at being waylaid, Adrian huffed a breath. “I guess not. But you definitely need a brain that functions beyond how many likes you can get on a picture of your rack. There’s more to life than that, Piper.”

It was a miracle Piper kept her winning smile intact as Adrian sailed away, already calling out to his friends. Everyone on the roof deck was staring at her, whispering behind their hands, feeling sorry for her—of all the horrors. She saluted them with her glass, then realized it was empty.

Setting it down on the tray of a passing waiter, she collected her Bottega Veneta satin knot clutch with all the dignity she could muster and glided through the throng of onlookers, blinking back the moisture in her eyes to bring the elevator call button into focus.

When the doors finally hid her from view, she slumped back against the metal wall, taking deep breaths in through her nose, out through her mouth.

Already the news that she’d been dumped by Adrian would be blasted across all the socials, maybe even with video included. Not even C-list celebrities would invite her to parties after this.

She had a reputation as a good time. Someone to covet. An “it girl.”

If she didn’t have her social status, what did she have?

Piper pulled her phone out of her clutch and absently requested a luxury Uber, connecting her with a driver who was only five minutes away. Then she closed the app and pulled up her favorites list. Her thumb hovered over the name “Hannah” momentarily, but landed on “Kirby,” instead. Her friend answered on the first ring.

It was worse than she thought. How many people had already tipped off TMZ? Tomorrow night at six thirty, they would be tossing her name around the newsroom while Harvey sipped from his reusable cup. “I didn’t beg Adrian to keep me. Come on, Kirby, you know me better than that.”

Do you have a publicist on retainer?”

Kirby snorted. “Okay, boomer.”

A black Lincoln pulled up along the curb. After double-checking the license plate number, Piper climbed inside and shut the door. “Wouldn’t breaking into the pool and having the time of our lives be, like, the best way to fight fire with fire? Adrian would be the guy who broke up with a legend.”

This was the answer, wasn’t it? There was no better time in her life than the year she turned twenty-one and ran absolutely buck wild through Los Angeles, making herself famous for being famous in the process. She was just in a rut, that was all. Maybe it was time to reclaim her crown. Maybe

then she wouldn’t hear Adrian’s words looping over and over again in the back of her head, forcing her to consider that he might be right.

Am I just one of thousands?

Or am I the girl who breaks into a pool for a swim at one o’clock in the morning?

Piper nodded resolutely and leaned forward. “Can you take me to the Mondrian, instead, please?”

Kirby hooted down the line. “I’ll meet you there.”

Chapter Two

Jail was a cold, dark place.

Piper stood in the very center of the cell shivering and hugging her elbows so she wouldn’t accidentally touch anything that might require a tetanus shot. Until this moment, the word “torture” had only been a vague description of something she’d never understand. But trying to not pee in the moldy toilet after roughly six mixed drinks was a torment no woman should ever know. The late-night Coachella bathroom situation had nothing on this grimy metal throne that mocked her from the corner of the cell.

She bounced side to side, her bladder demanding to be evacuated.

A snort. “Where the other non-criminals go.”

Piper whined in her throat, although the lady guard went up a notch in her book for delivering such a savage response without hesitation. “I’m not a criminal,” Piper tried again. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

A trill of laughter echoed down the drab hallway of the police station.

How many times had she passed the station on North Wilcox? Now she was an inmate.

But seriously, it had been one hell of a party.

The guard slowly appeared in front of Piper’s cell, fingers tucked into her beige uniform pants. Beige. Whoever was at the helm of law

enforcement fashion should be sentenced for cruel and unusual punishment.

Piper crossed her legs and sucked in a breath through her nose. If she peed herself in Valentino, she would voluntarily remain in jail. “Would you believe the pool hours weren’t prominently posted?”

The guard sighed through a smile. “It’s too late for that, sweetheart.

Your friend with the purple tips already named you as the ringleader.”

Kirby.

Had to be.

No one else at the party had purple tips. At least, Piper didn’t think so.

Somewhere between the chicken fights in the pool and the illegal firecrackers being set off, she’d kind of lost track of the incoming guests.

She should have known better than to trust Kirby, though. She and Piper were friends, but not good enough for her to lie to the police. The foundation of their relationship was commenting on each other’s social media posts and enabling each other to make ridiculous purchases, like a four-thousand-dollar purse shaped like a tube of lipstick. Most times, those kinds of surface-level friendships were valuable, but not tonight.

That’s why her one phone call had gone to Hannah.

Speaking of whom, where was her little sister? She’d made that call an hour ago.

Piper hopped side to side, dangerously close to using her hands to keep the urine contained. “Who is forcing you to wear beige pants?” she gasped.

Trying to distract herself from the Chernobyl happening in her lower body, she rambled, as she was wont to do in uncomfortable situations. “You have a really cute figure, Officer, but it’s, like, a commandment that no one shall pull off nude khaki.”

The other woman’s eyebrow arched. “You could.”

The guard’s laugh faded into a sigh. “What were you thinking, inciting that chaos tonight?”

Piper slumped a little. “My boyfriend dumped me. And he . . . didn’t even look me in the eye the whole time. I guess I just wanted to be seen.

Acknowledged. Celebrated instead of . . . disregarded. You know?”

Piper thought of the Tom Ford suit turning splotchy, and shivered.

At least that’s legal.”

The woman shook her head, glancing up and down the hallway. “All right, look. It’s a quiet night. If you don’t give me any trouble, I’ll let you use the slightly less shitty bathroom.”

With her keys poised over the keyhole, the guard hit her with serious eyes. “I have a Taser.”

Piper followed her savior down the hall to the bathroom, where she meticulously gathered the skirt of her Valentino and eased the unholy pressure in her bladder, moaning until the final drop fell. As she washed her hands in the small sink, her attention caught on the reflection in the mirror.

Raccoon eyes looked back at her. Smeared lipstick, limp hair. Definitely a long way from where she’d begun the evening, but she couldn’t help but feel like a soldier returning from battle. She’d set out to divert attention from her breakup, hadn’t she?

An LAPD helicopter circling overhead while she led a conga line had definitely reaffirmed her status as the reigning party queen of Los Angeles.

Probably. They’d confiscated her phone during the whole mug shot/fingerprint thing, so she didn’t know what was happening on the internet. Her fingers were itching to tap some apps, and that’s exactly what she would do as soon as Hannah arrived to bail her out.

She looked at her reflection, surprised to find the prospect of breaking the internet didn’t set her heart into a thrilling pitter-patter the way it did before. Was she broken?

Piper snorted and pushed away from the sink, using an elbow to pull down the door handle upon leaving. Obviously the night had taken its toll—

after all, it was nearly five o’clock in the morning. As soon as she got some sleep, she’d spend the day reveling in congratulatory texts and an inundation of new followers. All would be well.

The guard cuffed Piper again and started to walk her back to the cell, just as another guard called down to them from the opposite end. “Yo, Lina.

Bellinger made bail. Bring her down to processing.”

Her arms flew up in victory. “Yes! ”

Lina laughed. “Come on, beauty queen.”

Vigor restored, Piper skipped alongside the other woman. “Lina, huh? I owe you big-time.” She clutched her hands beneath her chin and gave her a winning pout. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”

Piper laughed, allowing Lina to unlock the door at the end of the gray hallway. And there was Hannah in the processing area, wearing pajamas and a ball cap, filling out paperwork with her eyes half closed.

Warmth wiggled into Piper’s chest at the sight of her younger sister.

They were nothing alike, had even less in common, but there was no one else Piper would call in a pinch. Of the two sisters, Hannah was the dependable one, even though she had a lazy hippie side.

Where Piper was taller, Hannah had been called a shrimp growing up and never quite hit the middle school growth spurt. At the moment, she kept her petite figure buried under a UCLA sweatshirt, her sandy-blond hair poking out around the blank red hat.

He waved a hand without looking up. “Money solves everything.”

Lina unlocked her cuffs once again, and she shot forward. “Hannnnns,”

Piper whimpered, throwing her arms around her sister. “I’ll pay you back for this. I’ll do your chores for a week.”

Straightening, she squinted her eyes. “Not sure how she found out about the party.”

Hannah gaped, seeming to awaken at least marginally, her hazel eyes a total contrast to Piper’s baby blues. “Did she happen to tell you there’s an angry stepfather in your future?”

Piper winced. “Oof. I had a feeling I couldn’t avoid the wrath of Daniel Q. Bellinger.” She craned her neck to see if there was anyone retrieving her phone. “How did he find out?”

Piper did a little shimmy.

She took one step out the door and was surrounded by photographers.

Her vanity screeched like a pterodactyl.

Nerves swerved right and left in her belly, but she flashed them a quick smile and put her head down, clicking as fast as she could toward Hannah’s waiting Jeep.

The toe of her high heel caught in a crack, and she almost sprawled face-first onto the asphalt but caught the edge of the door Hannah had pushed open, throwing herself into the passenger side. Closing the door helped cut off the shouted questions, but the last one she’d heard continued to blare in her mind.

Wasting taxpayer money? She’d just thrown a party, right?

Fine, it had taken a considerable amount of police officers to break it up, but like, this was Los Angeles. Weren’t the police just waiting around for stuff like this to happen?

Okay, that sounded privileged and bratty even to her own ears.

Suddenly she wasn’t so eager to check her social media.

She wiped her sweating palms on her dress. “I wasn’t trying to put anyone out or waste money. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead,” Piper said quietly, twisting to face her sister as much as she could in a seat belt. “Is this bad, Hanns?”

Hannah’s teeth were sunk into her lower lip, her hands on the wheel slowly navigating her way through the people frantically snapping Piper’s picture. “It’s not good,” she answered after a pause. “But hey, you used to pull stunts like this all the time, remember? The lawyers always find a way to spin it, and tomorrow they’ll be onto something else.” She reached out and tapped the touch screen, and a low melody flooded the car. “Check it out. I have the perfect song cued up for this moment.”

The somber notes of “Prison Women” by REO Speedwagon floated out from the speakers.

Piper’s skull thudded against the headrest. “Very funny.” She tapped her phone against her knee for a few seconds, before snapping her spine straight and opening Instagram.

There it was. The picture she’d posted early this morning, at 2:42, accused the time stamp. Kirby, the traitorous wench, had snapped it using Piper’s phone. In the shot, Piper was perched on the shoulders of a man whose name she couldn’t recall—though she had a vague recollection of him claiming to play second string for the Lakers?—stripped down to panties and boob tape, but like, in an artistic way. Her Valentino dress was draped over a lounge chair in the background. Firecrackers went off around her like the Fourth of July, swathing Piper in sparkles and smoke. She looked like a goddess rising from an electric mist—and the picture was nearing a million likes.

Telling herself not to, Piper tapped the highlighted section that would show her exactly who had liked the picture. Adrian wasn’t one of them.

Which was fine. A million other people had, right?

But they hadn’t spent three weeks with her.

To them, she was just a two-dimensional image. If they spent more than three weeks with Piper, would they scroll past, too? Letting her sink into the blur of the thousand other girls just like her?

Piper’s laugh sounded forced, so she cut it short. “I know. It always turns out all right.” She pressed her lips together. “Want to hear about the wet boxers competition?”

Chapter Three

It was not all right, as it turned out.

Nothing was.

Not according to their stepfather, Daniel Bellinger, revered Academy Award–winning movie producer, philanthropist, and competitive yachtsman.

Piper and Hannah had attempted to creep in through the catering entrance of their Bel-Air mansion. They’d moved in when Piper was four and Hannah two, after their mother married Daniel, and neither of them could remember living anywhere else. Every once in a while, when Piper caught a whiff of the ocean, her memory sent up a signal through the fog, reminding her of the Pacific Northwest town where she’d been born, but there was nothing substantial to cling to and it always drifted away before she could grasp on.

Now, her stepfather’s wrath? She could fully grasp that.

It was etched into the tanned lines of his famous face, in the disappointed headshakes he gave the sisters as they sat, side by side, on a couch in his home office. Behind him, awards gleamed on shelves, framed movie posters hung on walls, and the phone on his L-shaped desk lit up every two seconds, although he’d silenced it for the upcoming lecture. Their mother was at Pilates, and out of everything? That made Piper the most nervous. Maureen tended to have a calming effect on her husband—and he was anything but calm right now.

Piper turned her astonishment on her sister. “You did what?”

Agitated, Daniel shoved his fingers through his hair. “I thought you learned your lesson a long time ago, Piper. Or lessons, plural, rather. You were still flitting around to every goddamn party between here and the Valley, but you weren’t costing me money or making me look like a fucking idiot in the process.”

If that’s true, then I mean nothing, too.

Piper snagged a pillow and held it over her roiling stomach, giving Hannah a grateful look when she reached over to rub her knee. “Daniel, I’m sorry. I had a bad breakup last night and I acted out. I won’t do anything like that ever again.”

Daniel seemed to deflate a little, retreating to his desk to lean on the edge. “No one handed me anything in this business. I started as a page on the Paramount lot. Filling sandwich orders, fetching coffee. I was an errand boy while I worked my way through film school.” Piper nodded, doing her best to appear deeply interested, even though Daniel told this story at every dinner party and charity event. “I stayed ready, armed with knowledge and drive, just waiting for my opportunity, so I could seize it”—he snapped his fist closed—“and never look back.”

the lines with passion and zeal, but I improved the tired text. Added my own flair.”

He exhaled through his nose. “That’s right. And it brings me back to my original point.” A finger was wagged. “Piper, you’re too comfortable. At least Hannah earned a degree and is gainfully employed. Even if I called in favors to get her the location scout gig, at least she’s productive.” Hannah hunched her shoulders but said nothing. “Would you even care if opportunity came knocking on your door, Piper? You have no drive to go anywhere. Or do anything. Why would you when this life I’ve provided you is always here, rewarding your lack of ambition with comfort and an excuse to remain blissfully stagnant?”

Piper stared up at the man she thought of as a father, stunned to find out he’d been seeing her in such a negative light. She’d grown up in Bel-Air.

Vacationing and throwing pool parties and rubbing elbows with famous actors. This was the only life she knew. None of her friends worked. Only a handful of them had bothered with college. What was the point of a degree?

To make money? They already had tons of it.

If Daniel or her mother had ever encouraged her to do something else, she couldn’t remember any such conversation. Was motivation a thing that other people were simply born with? And when the time came to make their way in the world, they simply acted? Should she have been looking for a purpose this whole time?

Weirdly, none of the inspirational quotes she’d posted in the past held the answer.

Her eyes shot to his, her knees beginning to tremble. Had he ever used that resigned tone with her before? If so, she didn’t recall. “I did?” she whispered.

Beside her, Hannah shifted, a sign she was picking up on the gravity of the moment, too.

Daniel bobbed his head. “The owner of the Mondrian is financing my next film.” That news landed like a grenade in the center of the office. “He’s not happy about last night, to put it quite mildly. You made his hotel seem like it lacks security. You made it a laughingstock. And worse, you could have burned the goddamn place down.” He stared at her with hard eyes, letting it all sink in. “He’s threatened to pull the budget, Piper. It’s a very considerable amount. The movie will not get made without his contribution.

At least not until I find another backer—and it could take me years in this economy.”

Had Adrian been right?

Daniel remained unfazed. “Well, it’s a mistake she’s going to answer for.”

Piper and Hannah traded a glance. “What do you mean by”—Piper wiggled her fingers in the shape of air quotes—“‘answer for’?”

Their stepfather took his time rounding his desk and opening the bottom filing drawer, hesitating only a moment before removing a manila folder. He tapped it steadily on his desk calendar, considering the nervous sisters through narrowed eyes. “We don’t talk a lot about your past. The time before I married your mother. I’ll admit that’s mostly because I’m selfish and I didn’t want reminders that she loved someone before me.”

He ignored her. “As you know, your father was a fisherman. He lived in Westport, Washington, the same town where your mother was born. Quaint little place.”

Piper started at the mention of her birth father. A king crab fisherman named Henry who’d died a young man, sucked down into the icy depths of the Bering Sea. Her eyes drifted to the window, to the world beyond, trying to remember what came before this swanky life to which she’d grown so

accustomed. The landscape and color of the first four years of her life were elusive, but she could remember the outline of her father’s head. Could remember his cracking laugh, the smell of salt water on his skin.

Could remember her mother’s laughter echoing in kind, warm and sweet.

There was no way to wrap her head around that other time and place—

how different it was from her current situation—and she’d tried many times. If Maureen hadn’t moved to Los Angeles as a grieving widow, armed with nothing more than good looks and being a dab hand at sewing, she never would have landed a job working in wardrobe on Daniel’s first film.

He wouldn’t have fallen in love with her, and this lavish lifestyle of theirs would be nothing more than a dream, while Maureen existed in some other, unimaginable timeline.

He sniffed, tapping the edge of the folder again. “Obviously she’s fine now.

Better than fine.” A beat passed. “The men in Westport . . . they head to the Bering Sea during king crab season, in search of their annual payday. But it’s not always reliable. Sometimes they catch very little and have to split a minor sum among a large crew. Because of this, your father also owned a small bar.”

Piper’s lips edged up into a smile. This was the most anyone had ever spoken to her about their birth father, and the details . . . they were like coins dropping into an empty jar inside of her, slowly filling it up. She wanted more. She wanted to know everything about this man whom she could only remember for his boisterous laugh.

Hannah cleared her throat, her thigh pressing against Piper’s. “Why are you telling us all of this now?” She chewed her lip. “What’s in the folder?”

Daniel sighed in the wake of Hannah’s trailed-off question. “My investor is demanding a show of contrition for what you did, Piper. He’s a self-made man like me and would like nothing more than to stick it to me over my spoiled, rich-kid daughter.” Piper flinched, but he didn’t see it because he was scanning the contents of the file. “Normally I would tell anyone who demanded something from me to fuck off . . . but I can’t ignore my gut feeling that you need to learn to fend for yourself for a while.”

Hannah’s mouth dropped open.

Piper shot forward. “Wait. What? For how long? What am I supposed to do there?” She turned her panicked gaze on Hannah. “Does Mom know about this?”

Piper whimpered into her wrist.

Mentally listing all of the galas and fashion shows that would happen over the course of three whole months, Piper got to her feet and sent her mother a pleading look. “Mom, you’re really going to let him send me away?” She was reeling. “What am I supposed to do? Like, fish for a living? I don’t even know how to make toast.”

Hannah threw an arm around her sister. “I’m going with her.”

Daniel did a double take. “What about your job? I pulled strings with Sergei to get you a coveted spot with the production company.”

At the mention of Sergei, Hannah’s long-standing crush, Piper felt her sister’s split second of indecision. For the last year, the youngest Bellinger had been pining for the broody Hollywood upstart whose debut film, Nobody’s Baby, had taken the Palme d’Or at Cannes. Most of the ballads constantly blaring from Hannah’s room could be attributed to her deep infatuation.

Her sister’s solidarity made Piper’s throat feel tight, but there was no way she’d allow her sins to banish her favorite person to Westport, too.

Piper herself wasn’t even resigned to going yet. “Daniel will change his mind,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth to Hannah. “It’ll be fine.”

Piper did a mental count. “That’s, like, only a few weeks from now!”

Maureen made a sound. “I think that’s enough, Daniel.” With a face full of censure, she corralled the stunned sisters out of the room. “Come on.

Let’s take some time to process.”

The three Bellinger women ascended the stairs together, climbing up to the third floor where Hannah’s and Piper’s bedrooms waited on opposite sides of the carpeted hall. They drifted into Piper’s room, settling her on the edge of the bed, and then stepped back to observe her as if they were medical students being asked to make a diagnosis.

Hands on knees, Hannah analyzed her face. “How are you doing, Piper?”

Maureen shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” Her mother fell onto the bed beside her, taking her limp hand. For long moments, she was quiet, clearly gearing up for something. “I think part of the reason I didn’t fight Daniel very hard on sending you to Westport is . . . well, I have a lot of guilt

for keeping so much of your real father to myself. I was in so much pain for a long time. Bitter, too. And I bottled it all up, neglecting his memory in the process. That wasn’t right of me.” Her eyelids drifted down. “To go to Westport . . . is to meet your father, Piper. He is Westport. There’s so much more history . . . still living in that town than you know. That’s why I couldn’t stay after he died. He was surrounding me . . . and I was just so angry over the unfairness of it all. Not even my parents could get through to me.”

Piper could understand her mother’s reasoning. Could sympathize with the guilt. But her entire life was being uprooted for a man she didn’t know.

Twenty-four years had gone by without a single word about Henry Cross.

Her mother couldn’t expect her to jump all over the opportunity now because she’d decided it was time to dump the guilt.

The uncharacteristic gravity in Maureen’s tone glued Piper to the bed.

Her mother lifted a delicate shoulder. “That danger in a man can be exciting to a woman. Until it’s not anymore. Then it’s shattering. Just keep that in mind if you feel . . . drawn in.”

Maureen seemed like she wanted to say more, but she tapped the doorframe twice and went, leaving the two sisters staring after her.

Piper reached back for a pillow and handed it to Hannah. “Smother me with this. Please. It’s the humane thing to do.”

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author TESSA BAILEY aspires to three things: writing hot and unforgettable character-driven romance, being a good mother, and eventually sneaking onto the judging panel of a reality-show baking competition. She lives on Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter, writing all day and rewarding herself with a cheese plate and Netflix binge in the evening. If you want sexy, heartfelt, humorous romance with a guaranteed happy ending, you’ve come to the right place.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

By Tessa Bailey

BELLINGER SISTERS

It Happened One Summer

Hook, Line, and Sinker

HOT & HAMMERED

Fix Her Up

Love Her or Lose Her

Tools of Engagement

THE ACADEMY

Disorderly Conduct

Indecent Exposure

Disturbing His Peace

BROKE AND BEAUTIFUL

Chase Me

Need Me

Make Me

ROMANCING THE CLARKSONS

Too Hot to Handle

Too Wild to Tame

Too Hard to Forget

Too Close to Call (novella)

Too Beautiful to Break

MADE IN JERSEY

Crashed Out

Rough Rhythm (novella)

Thrown Down

Worked Up

Wound Tight

CROSSING THE LINE

Riskier Business (novella)

Risking It All

Up in Smoke

Boiling Point

Raw Redemption

LINE OF DUTY

Protecting What’s His

Protecting What’s Theirs (novella)

His Risk to Take

Officer Off Limits

Asking for Trouble

Staking His Claim

SERVE

Owned by Fate

Exposed by Fate

Driven by Fate

BEACH KINGDOM

Mouth to Mouth

Heat Stroke

Sink or Swim

STANDALONE BOOKS

Unfixable

Baiting the Maid of Honor

Off Base (with Sophie Jordan)

Captivated (with Eve Dangerfield)

Getaway Girl

Runaway Girl

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER. Copyright © 2022 by Tessa Bailey. Excerpt from IT

HAPPENED ONE SUMMER © 2021 by Tessa Bailey. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Cover illustration by Monika Roe

Woman-dancing emoji © streptococcus / Adobe Stock Other emojis throughout © Giuseppe_R; Valentina Vectors; weberjake; TMvectorart /

Shutterstock

FIRST EDITION

Digital Edition MARCH 2022 ISBN: 978-0-06-304570-5

Version 12272021

Print ISBN: 978-0-06-304569-9 (paperback)

ISBN 978-0-06-321274-9 (hardcover library edition)

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