Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

Piper made a pleasurable sound, picking up the folder and leafing through. “Hannah, you should take these.”

“Me?” Mentally, she recoiled but tried to soften her tone for Opal’s sake. “Why me?”

“Because they’re songs,” Piper said, as if she’d been crazy to ask the question. “This is what you love.”

Opal reached over and rubbed Hannah’s knee. “Maybe Henry is where you got your love of music.”

Why did she want to deny that so badly?

What was wrong with her?

It was right there on the tip of her tongue to say no. No, my love for so many kinds of music is mine. I don’t share it with anyone. It’s a coincidence. But, instead, she nodded. “Sure, I’d . . . love to take them for a while and give them a read.”

Opal lit up. “Fantastic.”

Hannah accepted the folder from Piper and closed it, a familiar desperation to change the subject from Henry settling over her. “Okay, Pipes. We’ve been in suspense long enough. Tell us about Brendan’s parents. How is the visit with your future in-laws going?”

Her sister settled back into the seat, crossing long legs that had been buffed to a shine. “Well. As you know, I brought them down to Seattle this week, since Brendan is out on the boat. I planned all our time there, down to the second.”

“And then?” Opal prompted.

“And then I realized all the plans were . . . shopping-related.” Her voice fell to a scandalized whisper. “Brendan’s mother hates shopping.”

Opal and Hannah fell back in their seats laughing.

“Who hates shopping?” Piper whined, covering her face.

Hannah raised her hand. Piper smacked it down.

“Thank God Brendan is coming home tonight. I am running out of ways to entertain them. We’ve been on so many walks, Hanns. So many walks to nowhere.”

The spread of anticipation in Hannah’s belly had nothing to do with Fox coming home tonight along with Brendan. She was simply excited to see her friend again and not be alone in his oddly barren apartment.

Piper split a look between Opal and Hannah. “Give me some ideas?”

Hannah thought for a second, slipping into her supporting role as easily as a second skin. “Ask her to teach you how to make Brendan’s favorite childhood meal. It’ll make her feel useful, and it’s not terrible knowledge to have, like for birthdays and special occasions, right?”

“That’s genius,” Piper squealed, wrapping her arms around Hannah’s neck and wrestling her down to the couch while Opal laughed. “I’m totally going to bond it up with my future mother-in-law. What would I do without you, Hanns?”

Hannah pressed her nose to her sister’s skin and inhaled, absorbing the hug, the moment, “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper playing in the back of her mind. It was tempting to stay there, to bask in the comfortable feeling of being the one to prop others up. There was nothing wrong with it, and she loved that role. But being comfortable had kept her in the second-fiddle position so long . . . and tonight she was finally going to conduct the orchestra herself.

Chapter Six

Hannah walked extra slowly down the sidewalk, a bottle of wine in hand. Her snail’s pace had a lot to do with the three-inch heels, but it was mainly the dress delaying her progress. As soon as Piper unzipped the garment bag, she’d started to shake her head. Red? Red? Her wardrobe had been compiled for comfort and functionality. Lots of grays, blues, blacks, and whites so she wouldn’t have to worry about matching. The only red items she owned were a baseball hat and a pair of Chucks. It was a color you used for a pop. Not the whole ensemble.

Then she’d put it on—and she’d never been more annoyed to have someone be right. There was something kind of nineties about the dress, and that spoke to the grunge-headed old soul inside Hannah. It reminded her of the red minidress Cher wore to the Valley party in Clueless. Piper had agreed, making Hannah say, “I totally paused,” at least forty-eight times while they straightened her hair.

In most lines of work, this outfit would have been considered inappropriate, but entertainment was its own animal. At the end of the night, it wouldn’t be unusual to catch crew members making out in the hallways. Or right out in the open. Often there were drugs, and always alcohol. But really, as long as everyone showed up the next morning and got their job done, pretty much anything went. While judgments and gossip were inevitable, being unprofessional after hours made you one of the gang as opposed to a pariah.

A block away from the rented house, Hannah could see the silhouettes of cast and crew in the dimly lit windows and hear the low thunder of music. The raucous laughter. Well aware of how rowdy industry parties could get, even on this small a scale, she’d booked a place on the semi-outskirts of town to avoid noise complaints. And it was a good thing she had, because someone was already passed out on the front lawn and it wasn’t even ten P.M.