It Happened One Summer (It Happened One Summer 1)

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Piper asked Brendan.

“No, thanks. Already had one.”

“Let me guess.” After adding a mug of water, she lowered the lid on the maker and switched it on. “You never have more than a single cup.”

Grunt. “Two on Sundays.” His brows angled down and together. “What’s that red mark on your head?”

“Oh.” Her fingers lifted to prod the sore patch. “I’m not used to sleeping with another bed three feet above mine. I keep whacking my head on the top bunk.”

He made a sound. Kept frowning.

His visible grumpiness made the corner of Piper’s mouth edge up. “What are you going fishing for this time?”

“Halibut. Rockfish.”

She rolled her eyes at his abrupt answer, leaned back against the chipped kitchen counter. “Well, Hannah and I talked it over and we’re running with your suggestion.” She picked up her finished coffee, stirring it with her finger and sipping. “We want to enjoy our time in Westport. Tell me where to go. What to do.”

Brendan took another minute to finish up the lock. He tested it out and replaced his tools in the box before approaching her, digging something out of his back pocket. She caught a tingle on the soft inner flesh of her thighs and knew he was checking her out, but she pretended not to notice. Mostly because she didn’t know how to feel about it. That familiar burn of a man’s regard wasn’t giving her the obligatory thrum of success. Brendan’s attention made her kind of . . . fidgety. He’d have to be dead not to look. But actual interest was something else. She wasn’t even sure what she would do if Brendan showed more than a passing notice of her hotness.

And he was still wearing his wedding ring.

Meaning, he was still hung up on his deceased wife.

So she and Brendan would be friends. Definitely only friends.

Brendan cleared his throat. “You’re a five-minute walk to the lighthouse. And it’s still warm enough for the beach. There’s a small winery in town, too. My men are always complaining about having to go there on date nights. They have something called a selfie spot. So you should love it.”

“That tracks.”

“I also brought you some takeout menus,” he said in a low voice, slapping them down on the counter, and with him standing so close, it was impossible not to register their major size difference. Or catch a whiff of his saltwater-and-no-nonsense deodorant.

Friends, she reminded herself.

A grieving widower was not fling material.

Swallowing, Piper looked down at the menus. He’d brought three of them.

She pursed her lips. “I guess it’s too early to be insulted.”

“This isn’t me telling you not to cook. These are fallbacks.” He opened the first folded menu, for a Chinese restaurant. “In each of them, I went ahead and circled what I order every time, so you’d know the best dish.”

She hip-bumped him, although thanks to him being a foot taller, her hip landed somewhere near the top of his thigh. “You mean, the only one you’ve ever tried?”

A smile threatened to appear on his face. “They’re one and the same.”

“Bah.”

“You have your phone handy?” Brendan asked.

Nodding, she turned on a heel, took two steps, and picked up the discarded pillow, holding it over her butt to end his suffering—and to let him know she’d gotten the friends-only message. She collected her cell from its place of honor beneath her pillow, then pivoted, transferring the pillow once again to block her front. When she turned around, Brendan was watching her curiously, but didn’t comment on her sudden modesty.

“If you and your sister have any problems while I’m gone, call Mick.” He dipped his chin. “That’s my . . . my father-in-law.”

“We met him yesterday,” Piper said, smiling through the odd tension at the mention of Brendan having a father-in-law. “He’s a sweetie.”

Brendan seemed momentarily caught off guard. “Ah. Right. Well, he’s not too far from here. Let me give you his contact info in case you need something.”

“Yes, Captain.” She clicked her bare heels together. “And after that, I’ll swab the deck.”

He snorted. “She uses a mop once . . .”

Piper beamed. “Oh, you noticed our spruce job, did you?”

“Yeah. Not bad,” he commented, glancing around the apartment. “Ready?”

Piper humored him by programming Mick’s number into her phone as he rattled it off. “Thanks—”

“Take mine, too,” he said abruptly, suddenly fascinated by one of the menus. “I won’t have reception on the water, but . . .”

“Take it in case I need cooking advice when you get back?”

He made an affirmative sound in his throat.

Piper pressed her lips together to hide a smile. She’d seen Brendan with his friend Fox. How they needled each other like brothers as a means of communication. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that making new friends didn’t come naturally to him. “All right. Give me those digits, Captain.”