Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

Without a doubt, if she went with option number two, Fox knew he’d sit in his room and wait until she was safely inside.

“I should definitely go now if I don’t want to be a zombie on set tomorrow,” she said, turning and throwing her arms around Brendan and Piper. “I love you guys. See you soon.”

“We love you, too,” Brendan said, patting her on the head and earning heart eyes from his wife. Not that he saw it, because he was busy giving Fox a death stare.

Right.

It was easy to see what his friend was trying to communicate to him.

Walking out of the bar with Hannah would send the wrong signal. A bad one. Get everyone’s tongues wagging and ultimately make her look bad. God, that was the last thing he wanted. He needed to be more careful. As of now, they’d kept her temporary stay in his guest room pretty quiet, but leaving the bar together on a Saturday night would whip up any speculation that might already be brewing.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Fox said in a rush, turning and walking blindly through the crowd with a pit in his stomach. When he stepped out into the cool spring mist, he couldn’t resist looking back through the window from where he’d just come, watching Hannah wave to everyone on the way out, getting caught up in long good-byes, until finally she joined him in the nighttime shadows.

Without a word, Hannah linked their arms together, laying her head against Fox’s shoulder, the show of trust cementing right over the hole in his belly.

“Jesus, Freckles,” Fox said, tracing the part running down the center of her head. “We need to work on your quarters game.”

She gasped. “What do you mean? I won!”

“Ah, no. You were the least-worst loser.”

Her laughter rang down the misty street. “What is the advantage of winning when you have to tell people something embarrassing about yourself? It’s backward.”

“Welcome to Westport.”

She sighed, rubbed her cheek against his arm. “On nights like this, I think I could live here.”

Fox’s heart lurched so hard he had to wait a moment to speak. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But then I remember what a crazy idea that is. I can’t live in Westport and continue working in entertainment. And the bar . . .” She smiled. “The bar is Piper’s.”

Well, that’s that. Right?

How the hell would he handle it if Hannah moved here, anyway? He’d see her constantly. Every Saturday night would be like this. Pretending to her and everyone watching that he didn’t want to take her home. Really take her home. And once that happened, well. He’d be screwed. He’d have broken his own rule about not hooking up in Westport, fucked his relationship with Brendan, and potentially hurt Hannah’s feelings. It was best for everyone if she stayed in LA.

But tell that to the disappointment so heavy that it almost dragged him down to the cobblestones.

They turned right on Westhaven and crossed the street, walking along the water without verbally agreeing to it. “Do you love the ocean as much as Brendan does?”

There she went, asking him questions that made him think. Questions that wouldn’t allow him to skate by with a quip—and he didn’t really like doing that with Hannah, anyway. He liked talking to her. Loved it, actually, even when it was hard. “I think we love it in different ways. He loves the tradition and structure of fishing. I love how wild nature can get. How it can be more than one thing. How it evolves. One year, the crabs are in one place, the next they’re in another. No one can . . . define the ocean. It defines itself.”

Hannah must have been holding her breath, because she blew it out in a rush. “Wow.” She looked out over the water. “That’s lovely.”

He tried to ignore the satisfaction of being acknowledged and understood because of something that came out of his mouth. It wasn’t often that happened to him. But he couldn’t shrug it off, so he just let it settle in.

“Okay, I think you’ve convinced me. I want to hunt king crabs.” Hannah nodded firmly. “I’m going to be your newest greentail.”

He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

She better be joking.

“A rookie is called a greenhorn—and that isn’t happening, babe. You can’t even keep your balance during quarters.” An actual shiver blew through him thinking of Hannah on the deck, fifteen-story waves building in the background. “If you hear me screaming in the middle of the night, you’re to blame for my nightmares.”

“I can just be in charge of the music on the boat.”

“No.”

“You got me feeling all romantic about the ocean. It’s your fault.”

He looked down into her face and finally, thank God, was positive she was joking. And goddamn. In the moonlight, her amused features, her shining eyes . . . they were a masterpiece. His body thought so, too. It liked her mouth most of all, how she moistened the lush pillows of her lips, as if preparing for a kiss. Who wouldn’t kiss this beautiful girl, so full of life, in the moonlight?