He was caught off guard by the urge to smile. “I, uh . . .” He replaced his beanie, tried to scare off a few locals with a loud sniff, gratified when they scattered in all directions. “It was rude to shout before. I apologize.” Lord, she was even prettier with the sunset in her eyes. That was probably why he added, “For this time and the other times.”
Piper’s mouth twisted and she ducked her head somewhat, like she was trying to camouflage her own smile. “Thank you. I accept.”
Brendan grunted, dipped his chin toward the Red Buoy. “They called my number right before you ran out on fire. Go in there and eat it.” When she blinked, he played back his demand and realized that’s exactly what it had been. A demand. “If you’d like,” he tacked on.
She hummed and slipped past him, her perfume reaching up and apparently doing something to his brain, because he followed in her wake without sending the order to his feet. Everyone turned and stared when they walked inside and sat down at the same table. Hell, the customers waiting for their orders didn’t even attempt to disguise their interest.
He didn’t want any of them to overhear their conversation. It was none of their business. That was the only reason he took the seat next to Piper and tugged her chair a little closer.
Brendan pushed the plate of fish and chips in front of her, then picked up the fork and put it in her hand.
“So . . .” She forked the smallest fry on the plate, and he frowned. “Your friend is your relief skipper. That makes you . . . the captain?”
Thank Christ. Something he could talk about.
“That’s right. I captain the Della Ray.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Where does that name come from?”
“I took the wheel from my father-in-law, Mick. It’s named after his wife.”
“How romantic.” If bringing up his in-laws made for awkward conversation, she didn’t let it show. Instead, her interest seemed piqued. “Me and Hannah walked up to the harbor this afternoon. So many boats are named after women. Is there a reason for that?”
He thought of Piper strutting along his harbor and wondered how many car accidents she’d caused. “Women are protective. Nurturing. A boat is given the name of a woman in the hopes that she’ll protect the crew. And hopefully put a good word in with the other important woman in our lives, the ocean.”
She took a bite of fish, chewing around a smile. “Have you ever had a woman on your crew?”
“Jesus Christ, no.” There went the smile. “I’m trying not to sink.”
Amusement danced across her face. “So the idea of women is comforting, but their actual presence would be a disaster.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that makes perfect sense.” Her sarcasm was delivered with a wink. “My stepfather told us a little bit about king crab fishing. It’s only a few weeks out of the year?”
“Changes every season, depending on the supply, the overall haul from the prior year.”
Piper nodded. “What do you do the rest of the year? Besides yell at harmless women in the street.”
“You planning on holding that over me for long?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Fair enough.” He sighed, noticed she’d stopped eating, and nudged her fork hand into action. When she’d put a decent-sized bite into her mouth, he continued. “In the summer, we fish for tuna. Those are the longer jobs. Four, five days out. In between those long hauls, we do overnight trips to bring in salmon, trout, cod.”
Her eyebrows went up, and she angled her fork toward the plate. “Did you catch this?”
“Maybe.”
She covered her mouth. “That’s so weird.”
Was it? He kind of liked sitting there while she ate something he’d brought back on his boat. He liked knowing most of the town either made money off his catches or fed them to their families, but it had never quite felt like the masculine pride hardening his chest right now. “You want me to put in an order for your sister? Or they can box up Fox’s dinner, and he can fend for himself.”
“She’ll be happy with the other half of yours.” She pushed Fox’s plate toward him. “You should eat his, though. I don’t know what it is, but it looks good.”
Brendan grunted. “It’s a potpie.”
“Ohh.” She waited, but he made no move to pick up his fork. “You don’t like potpie?”
“It’s not fish and chips.”
“And that’s bad.”
“It’s not bad, it’s just not what I order.” He shifted in his chair, wondering if the seats had always been so uncomfortable. “I always order the fish and chips.”
Piper studied him in that way again, from beneath her long eyelashes—and he wished she wouldn’t. Every time she did that, the zipper of his jeans felt tight. “You’ve never eaten anything else on the menu?”