Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

A bell started ringing behind the bar, Piper yelling, “Last call. Pay up and hit the bricks, kiddies.”

Hannah tugged out of his arms, shrugging. “Oh well.”

His mind struggled to play catch-up, the fly of his jeans infinitely tighter than it had been upon walking into the bar. “Wait. What?”

Despite her flushed complexion, her tone was casual. “Bad timing, I guess.”

“Hannah,” he growled, stepping into her space, twisting his hands in the sides of her dress. “You’re getting the kiss.”

She made a wishy-washy sound. “I mean, I guess I need to grab my bag from your apartment, anyway. The bus leaves at seven in the morning.”

His head swam, stomach bottoming out, crashing straight down through the floorboards of Cross and Daughters. He’d known the bus would eventually depart, but somehow he’d blocked out that information. No staving it off now. She was going. Leaving. Her decision had been hinging on him, and they both knew he’d made it.

You’re doing the right thing.

“I’m going to change out of this dress, too,” she muttered, half to herself.

Oh, but he heard it. And definitely pictured her stepping out of the turquoise material in nothing but a G-string and heels. Definitely imagined his mouth on her skin and, Christ, that utterly perfect coming-home feeling only Hannah gave him.

Piper rang the bell again, and the bar lights flashed.

“I guess we better go,” Hannah said, breezing past him.

Worried he might very well be walking to his doom, Fox was helpless to do anything but follow.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Hannah’s heart was breaking.

He’d done it. He’d really done it.

She’d been concerned, of course. That Fox would return from his trip, having been duped by his best friend, and strain under the pressure of simultaneous shifts in his career and personal life. But she’d hung on to her faith, positive he wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye and put a stop-work order on what they were building together. He’d done it, though. He’d really, actually done it, and as she clipped up the stairs to his apartment, her heart bumped along behind her, bruised and bloody.

God. The disobedient organ had almost burst free from her chest when he walked into Cross and Daughters, she’d been so happy to see him.

Stupid. So naive and stupid.

Get your bag and leave.

Just go.

Kissing him would only make the pain ten times worse, anyway. She’d kept the good-bye kiss in her back pocket as a last resort, knowing it would break down any defenses he’d built up over the last five days, but now . . . now she didn’t want to fall back on last resorts. She wanted to find a dark place to crawl into and cry.

Part of her knew that wasn’t fair. If Fox didn’t want to be in a relationship, she should respect that, be a big girl, and wish him well. After all, she’d known about his cemented bachelor status since the beginning. This wasn’t breaking news. But tell that to her heart.

Hannah unlocked the door and went inside, heels clicking as she traversed the apartment, Fox entering slowly behind her. The scent of his shower still hung in the air, and she breathed it in, making her way to the bedroom, where she’d left her suitcase packed and ready to go, some sixth sense telling her being prepared was wise. She’d hoped to unpack it again tomorrow, however. To stay in Westport. That he wouldn’t let her leave without figuring out where they stood.

As was her routine, she tapped on the pink Himalayan salt lamp, forgoing the overhead light, casting the dark room in a blushing glow. Heaving the case up onto the bed and unzipping it, she took out a pair of cotton panties, jeans, and a Johnny Cash T-shirt. Laid the outfit on the bed and went to close the guest-room door so she could change. But she drew up short when she found Fox standing in the doorway, outlined in pink, watching her with a forearm propped high on the jamb, expression torn and tortured.

“I need to change.”

He didn’t move.

Frustrated with him, with everything, she marched over and shoved at the center of his chest to try to get him out of the room, her annoyance only increasing when his sturdy fisherman frame didn’t budge an inch. “Let me change so I can go.”

“I don’t want you to leave like this.”

“We don’t always get what we want.”

Still, he stayed put, grinding glass with that square jaw.

And she’d had enough.

Hannah couldn’t remember a single time in her life she’d wanted to lash out so badly. By nature, she was not a lasher. She was a helper. A mediator. A solver. He didn’t want her to stay but wouldn’t let her change so she could leave, either? Who the hell did he think he was? Her hands itched to push him again. Harder. She had a more effective weapon, though, and she’d learned from the best how to use it. She’d be hurting herself in the process, sure, but at least she’d have her pride.