It Happened One Summer (It Happened One Summer 1)

A drop of sweat slid down her spine, and she could suddenly hear her own shallow breaths. No one had ever looked her in the eye this long. It was like he could read her mind, knew everything about her, and liked it all. Wanted some of it for himself.

And then she knew, by the determined set of his jaw and his confident energy, that Brendan Taggart did not think of her as a friend.

“This donut is incredible,” Hannah said, her words muffled by the dough in her mouth. “There’s caramel in this glaze. Pipes, you have to try—” She cut herself off, her gaze bouncing back and forth between Piper and Brendan. “What’s happening here?”

“N-nothing,” Piper said in a high-pitched voice. “I don’t know. Um. Brendan, do you know if it’s, like, possible to paint concrete?”

Her flustered state seemed to amuse him. “It is.”

“Oh good, good, good.” Exasperated with her own awkwardness, she hopped off the stool. Then she knocked into another one in an attempt to give Brendan a wide berth. “We’ve decided to go with an industrial-meets-nautical theme. Kind of a chic warehouse vibe, but with like, fisherman-y stuff.”

“Fisherman-y stuff,” he repeated, sipping his coffee. “Like what?”

“Well, we’re going with darker colors, blacks and steels and grays and reds, but we’re going to distress everything a little. Most of the boats in the harbor have those muted, weathered tones, right? Then I was kind of thinking we could integrate new and old by hanging nets from the ceiling, but I could spray-paint them gold or black, so it’s cohesive. I’m just rattling all of this off, though. It might be . . .” Her hands fluttered at her waist. “Like, I might have to rethink everything . . .”

Brendan’s expression had gone from amused to thoughtful. Or maybe . . . disapproving? She couldn’t tell. It seemed like weeks had passed since the first night she’d walked through the doors and he’d made it clear No Name belonged to the locals. So he probably hated her ideas and the fact that she wanted to change anything in the first place.

“Right,” he said, rolling the word around his mouth. “Well, if you want nautical, you’re not going to overpay for anything in the tourist shops up at the harbor. There’s a fishing supply store in Aberdeen where they throw in netting for free with most purchases and everything doesn’t have a goddamn starfish glued onto it.” His lips twisted around a sip of coffee. “I can’t help you with gold spray paint.”

“Oh.” Piper let out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. “Thanks. We’re on a budget, especially after our little trip to the winery, so that’s helpful.”

He grunted and walked past her, stepping over the gap in the floorboards. It seemed like he was heading toward the back staircase, so Piper frowned when he continued past that, stopping in front of yet another piece of plywood that had been nailed over holes in the wall. Only, when he ripped off the wood with one hand and tossed it away, there was a door behind it instead.

Piper’s mouth fell open. “Where does that lead?”

Brendan set down his coffee on the closest surface, then tried the rusted knob. It turned, but the door didn’t open. Not until he put his big shoulder against it and shoved . . .

And Piper saw the sky.

A fallen tree and, of course, more spiderwebs, but there was sky. “An outdoor space?”

Hannah hopped up, mouth agape. “No way. Like a patio?”

Brendan nodded. “Boarded it up during a storm a few years ago. Wasn’t getting much use anyway, with all the rain.” He braced a hand on the doorjamb. “You want this cleared out.”

The sisters nodded along. “Yeah. How do we do that?”

He didn’t answer. “Once the tree is gone, you’ll see the patio is a decent size. Dark gray pavers, so I guess that’s in keeping with . . . What is it, your theme? There’s a stone hearth back in the corner.” He jerked his chin. “You want to put up a pergola, get a waterproof cover. Even in damp weather, you’ll be able to use it with a fire going.”

What he was describing sounded cozy and rustic and way outside their capabilities.

Piper laughed under her breath. “I mean, that sounds amazing, but . . .”

“We’re not leaving for crab season until next Saturday. I’ll work on it.” He turned and strode for the exit, pausing beside the impossible-to-lift trash bag. “You want this on the curb?”

“Yes, please,” Piper responded.

With seemingly zero effort, he tossed it over his right shoulder and walked out, taking the smell of salt water and unapologetic maleness with him. Piper and Hannah stared at the door for several long minutes, the wind coming in from the patio cooling their sweaty necks. “I think that was it,” Hannah finally said on a laugh. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”