Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

Hannah joined Opal on the new indigo-colored couch and cupped her knees through her jeans. “I’m actually in town because the production company I work for is shooting a short film. Kind of a heartbreaking art house piece.”

“A movie?” Opal winced. “In Westport? I can’t imagine people being too thrilled with the disruption.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I thought of that. We’re giving as many background parts and walk-on roles as we can. Once the locals realized they might be in a movie, it was smooth sailing.”

With a sound of delight, Opal slapped her thigh. “That was your idea?”

Hannah fluffed her ponytail. “Yes, ma’am. I made my director think it was his idea to add locals for authenticity. It’s a good thing I don’t use my powers for evil, or everyone would be in big trouble.”

It would be fantastic if she could use her powers to move ahead in her career, too, wouldn’t it? Greasing the production wheels was easy for her. There were no personal stakes. No risk. Applying herself to music coordinating was scarier. Because it mattered.

A great deal.

Opal laughed, reached over to squeeze Hannah’s wrist. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve missed your spunk.”

The sound of a key turning in the lock made Hannah whip around, and Opal clapped happily. Piper was only halfway through the door when Hannah launched herself over the back of the new couch and plowed into her sister, tension she’d hardly been aware of seeping from her pores. Hugging Piper was like walking into a room filled with your best memories. Her sheer-sleeved romper, impractical heels, and expensive perfume made Hannah feel like they were back in Bel-Air, sitting on the floor of Piper’s room, sorting her jewelry collection.

They hopped in a happy circle, laughing, while Opal fumbled with her phone, trying and failing to open her camera app.

“You’re here.” Piper sniffed, squeezing Hannah tightly. “My perfect, beautiful, hippie-hearted little sister. How dare you make me miss you this much?”

“I could say the same to you,” Hannah said, voice muffled by her sister’s shoulder.

The sisters pulled back, wiping their faces in very different manners. Hannah swiped for efficiency, while Piper dragged a careful pinkie in a perfect U shape to repair her eyeliner. Arm in arm, they moved around the couch and sat down plastered up against each other. “So when are you moving here permanently?” Piper asked, her tone still slightly watery. “Like . . . tomorrow. Right?”

Hannah sighed, resting her head on the back of the couch. “Part of me doesn’t hate that idea. Get my job back at Disc N Dat. Haunt the guest room at your house forever”—she poked at a sequin in Piper’s bodice—“but LA is keeping me, I’m afraid. It’s where my dream career awaits.”

Piper stroked her hair. “Have you made any headway on that?”

“Imminently . . .” Hannah responded, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I think.”

Opal leaned forward. “Dream career?”

“Yes.” Hannah sat up straighter but kept her side pressed to Piper’s. “Movie soundtracks. The making of them.”

“Isn’t that interesting.” Opal beamed.

“Thank you.” She moved some of her hair out of the way and performed a show-and-tell with the bandaged knot on her forehead. “Unfortunately, this is what happened the first time I tried to ask.” Piper and Opal both looked at her wound with an appropriate level of concern. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.” She laughed lightly, letting her hair drop back into place. “Fox bandaged me up and gave me ice cream.”

It was fleeting and subtle, but she felt Piper stiffen, giving off definite protective-older-sister vibes. “Oh, did he?”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “This is your one and only reminder that me staying with Fox was your idea.”

“I took it back right away,” Piper fretted. “Has he tried anything?”

“No!” Hannah squawked. Never mind that she could still feel the shape and exquisitely defined musculature of his shoulder on her midsection. “Stop talking about him like he’s some kind of sexual predator. I’m adult enough to make these judgment calls by myself. And he’s been a perfect gentleman.”

“That’s because he hasn’t been in town,” Piper grumbled, smoothing her romper.

“He decorated my room with a Himalayan salt lamp.”

Piper sputtered, “He might as well be mauling you!”

“Someone explain to me what is going on here!” Opal scooted her chair closer. “I want to be involved in a conversation about men. It’s been an age.”

“There is no conversation to have,” Hannah assured her grandmother. “I am friends with a man who happens to . . . appreciate women. Frequently. But it has been established that he won’t be appreciating me.”

“Tell her about the Fleetwood Mac album,” Piper said, patting Hannah vigorously on the knee. “Go on and tell her.”

Hannah released a gusting breath toward the ceiling. Mostly to hide the weird twist that happened inside her when she thought of the album and how she’d gotten it. “It’s no big deal, really.” Liar. “Last summer, we all went to Seattle. Me, Piper, Fox, Brendan. We broke off for a while, and Fox took me to this record convention. And I found an album that sang to me. Fleetwood Mac. Rumours.” A paltry description for a shock to the nervous system. “But it was expensive. At the time, me and Pipes were on a tight budget, so I didn’t buy it . . .”