It Happened One Summer (It Happened One Summer 1)

“Think of all the giant hats you could buy.”

“You know what, assho—” She turned on a heel and started to bail, but he caught her elbow to halt her progress. When she ripped out of his hold immediately and backed away with a censorious expression, it caught him off guard. At least until he noticed she was looking pointedly at his wedding ring.

The temptation to put her misconception to rest was sudden and . . . alarming.

“I’m not interested,” she said flatly.

“I’m not, either.” Liar, accused the tripping of his pulse. “What you said before, about your sister being your roots. I get that.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve got other ones, too. Here in Westport. If you feel like bothering.”

Her disapproval cleared slightly. “You mean my father.”

“For a start, yes. I didn’t know him, but he’s part of this place. That means he’s part of us all. We don’t forget.”

“There are barely any memories for me to forget,” she said. “I was four when we left, and after that . . . it wasn’t spoken about. Not because I wasn’t curious, but because it hurt our mother.” Her eyes flickered. “I remember his laugh, though. I . . . can hear it.”

Brendan grunted, really beginning to wish he’d stepped back and considered her from more than one angle before going on the defensive. “There’s a memorial for him. Across from the museum, up on the harbor.”

She blinked. “There is?”

He nodded, surprised by the invitation to bring her there that nearly snuck out.

“I’m almost scared to go look at it,” she said slowly to herself. “I’ve gotten so comfortable with what little memories I have. What if it triggers more?”

The more minutes ticked past in Piper’s presence, the more he started to question his first impression of her. Was she actually an overindulged brat from the land of make-believe? He couldn’t help but catalogue everything else he knew about her. Such as, she wouldn’t pursue an unavailable man. Thought she couldn’t belong in a room full of people she knew. And she was in the store at eight thirty in the morning to buy ingredients to make a meal for her sister. So. Maybe not as selfish as he’d originally thought.

Honestly, though. What the hell did his impression of her matter?

She’d be gone soon. He wasn’t interested. End of.

“Then I guess you’ll have to call your therapist. I’m sure you’ve got one.”

“Two, if you count my backup,” she responded, chin raised.

Brendan staved off his interest in inspecting the line of her throat by rooting around in his basket. “Look. Make your sister an easy Bolognese sauce.” He transferred his jar of marinara into her basket, along with the flute of pasta. “Come on.”

He turned to make sure she was following on the way to the meat aisle, where he picked up a pound of ground beef and wedged it in along with her other purchases, which still included the lima beans and apple cider vinegar. He was kind of curious if she’d buy those two items just to be stubborn.

Piper looked between him and the meat. “What do I do with that?”

“Put a little olive oil on the pan, brown it up. Add some onions, mushrooms if you want. When it’s all cooked, add the sauce. Put it over pasta.”

She stared at him like he’d just called a football play.

“So like . . . everything stays in layers?” Piper murmured slowly, as if envisioning the actions in her head and finding it mind-blowingly stressful. “Or do I mix it all up?”

Brendan took the sauce back out of her basket. “Here’s a better idea. Walk up to West Ocean and grab some takeout menus.”

“No, wait!” They started a tug-of-war with the sauce jar. “I can do it.”

“Be honest, you’ve never used a stove, honey,” he reminded her wryly. “And you can’t sell the building if you burn it down.”

“I won’t.” She gave a closed-mouth scream. “God, I feel sorry for your wife.”

His grip loosened automatically on the jar, and he snatched his hand back like he’d been burned. He started to respond, but there was something caught in his throat. “You should,” he said finally, his smile stiff. “She put up with a lot.”

Piper paled, her eyes ticking to the center of his chest. “I didn’t mean . . . Is she . . . ?”

“Yeah.” His tone was flat. “Gone.”

“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes, rocking back on her heels. “I want to curl up and die right now, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Don’t. It’s fine.” Brendan coughed into his fist and stepped around her, intending to grab a few more things and check out. But he stopped before he could get too far. For some stupid reason, he didn’t want to leave her feeling guilty. There was no way she could have known. “Listen.” He nodded at her basket. “Don’t forget to have the fire department on speed dial.”