It Happened One Summer (It Happened One Summer 1)

Piper stayed very still. “Why do you want to distance yourself?”

“Apart from it being time? I think . . . a part of me feels obligated to remain in the past as long as I’m captaining Mick’s boat.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, laughing without humor. “I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud when normally I’d just bury it. Maybe I should bury it.”

“Don’t.” Her mouth was dry over this man opening up to her. Looking at her across the table with rare male vulnerability, as if he truly valued her response. “You don’t have to feel guilty about wanting some space after seven years, Brendan,” she said quietly. “That’s a lot more than most people would give. The fact that you feel guilty at all just proves you’re a quality human. Even if you wear a beanie at the dinner table.”

The green of his eyes warmed. “Thank you. For not judging me.”

Sensing his need to move on from the subject, Piper looked around the dining room. “Who am I to judge anyone? Especially someone who has a cool house his parents don’t own. Two boats and a life plan. It’s intimidating, actually.”

He frowned. “You’re intimidated by me?”

“Not so much you. More like your work ethic. I don’t even know if I’m pronouncing that right. That’s how not often I’ve said ‘work ethic’ out loud.” She felt the need to even the playing field, to reward his honesty with some of her own. His confessions made it easy to confess her own sins. “My friend Kirby and I started a lipstick line called Pucker Up, maybe three years back. Once the launch party was over and we realized how much work we had to do, we gave away our inventory to friends and went to Saint-Tropez. Because we were tired.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the right career path.”

“Yeah, well.” Her lips twitched. “Professional napper was my fallback, and I nailed that. That’s partially why I’m here. But also because my friend Kirby ratted me out to the cops.”

“She didn’t,” he said, his expression darkening.

“She did! Fingered me as the ringleader from the shallow end of the pool. Appropriately.” Piper waved a hand around. “It’s fine, though. We’re still friends. I just can’t trust her or tell her anything important.”

He seemed to be concentrating hard on what she was saying. “Do you have a lot of friends like that?”

“Yes.” She drew a circle on the side of the champagne flute. “It’s more for image than anything, I guess. Influence. Being seen. But it’s weird, you know. I’ve only been out of Los Angeles for two weeks, and it’s like I was never there. None of my friends have texted or messaged me. They’re on to bigger and better things.” She shook her head. “Meanwhile people still leave flowers at Henry’s memorial after twenty-four years. So . . . how real or substantial is an image if everything it earns someone can all go away in two weeks?”

“You haven’t gone away, though. You’re sitting right there.”

“I am. I’m here. At this table. In Westport.” She swallowed. “Trying to figure out what to do when no one is watching. And wondering if maybe that’s the stuff that actually matters.” Her laugh came out a little unsteady. “That probably sounds amateurish to someone who would build a freaking boat and not tell a soul about it.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He waited until she met his eyes. “It sounds like you’ve been uprooted and dropped somewhere unfamiliar. Do you think I’d cope as well if I was shipped off someplace where I knew no one, had no trade?”

She gasped. “How would you get your fish and chips on Monday nights?”

A corner of his lips jumped. “You’re doing just fine, honey.”

It was the gruff honey that did it. Her legs snuck together under the table and squeezed, her toes flexing in her shoes. She wanted Brendan’s hands on her. All over. But she was also scared of going to him, because once again, the sexy smoke screen she’d been hiding behind had dissipated, leaving only her. Brendan was looking at her with a combination of heat and tenderness, and she needed to turn up the dial on the former.

This was all going too far, too fast, and she was starting to like him too much.

She might be having an existential crisis, but she still wanted Los Angeles back and all the glittery trappings that came with it. Didn’t she? Sure, after weeks with no contact from her friends, the call of LA had quieted slightly. She’d actually started to enjoy not checking her notifications every ten seconds. But fame waxing and waning was part of the deal, right? That rush of recognition and adoration she’d stopped craving of late would come back. It always did. There was no other option but going home, and if anything, her time in Westport would make her appreciate her privilege this time around. Wasn’t that the lesson she’d been sent to learn?