It Happened One Summer

by Tessa Bailey

  Add it to the list of reasons her stay in Westport couldn’t be over fast enough.

  “Still here?” Jaw bunched, Brendan tore his eyes away from her long, achingly smooth-looking legs and moved down the aisle, dropping pasta and a jar of sauce into his basket. “Thought you’d be long gone by now.”

  “Nope.” He could sense how pleased she was with herself as she fell into step beside him. “Looks like you’re stuck with me at least one more day.”

  He lobbed a box of rice into his basket. “Did you make peace with the mice horde?”

  “Yes. They’re making me a dress for the ball right now.” She paused, seeming to study him to see if he got the Cinderella reference. But he gave away nothing. “Um . . .”

  Did he just slow his step so she could keep up with him? Why? “Um, what?”

  To her credit, she didn’t bat an eyelash at his shitty tone. Her smile might have been a little brittle, but she kept it in place, chin up. “Look, I sense you’re in a hurry, but . . .”

  “I am.”

  That fire he’d seen in her eyes last night was back, flickering behind the baby blue. “Well, if you’re late for an appointment to go roll around in fish . . .” She leaned forward and sniffed. “Might as well cancel. You’re already nailing it.”

  “Welcome to Westport, honey. Everything smells like fish.”

  “Not me,” she said, cocking a hip.

  “Give it time.” He reached for a can of peas. “Matter of fact, don’t.”

  She threw the hand holding her phone, let it slap down against the outside of her thigh. “Wow. What is your problem with me?”

  “Bet you’re used to men falling all over themselves to make you happy, huh?” He tossed the can up in the air, caught it. “Sorry, I’m not going to be one of them.”

  For some reason, his statement had Piper’s head tipping back on a semi-hysterical laugh. “Yes. Men salivate to do my bidding.” She used her phone to gesture between them. “Is that all this is? You’re being rude to me because I’m spoiled?”

  Brendan leaned close. Close enough to watch her incredible lips part, to catch the scent of something blatantly feminine—not flowers. Smoky and sensual, yet somehow light. The fact that he wanted to get closer and inhale more pissed him off further. “I saw your judgment of this place before anyone else last night. The way you looked up at the building and laughed, like it was some cruel joke being played on you.” He paused. “It’s like this. On my boat, I have a crew, and each member has a family. A history. Those roots run all through the town. They’ve lived a lot of it inside No Name. And on the deck of my boat. Remembering the importance of each member of my crew and the people waiting on shore for them is my job. That makes this town my job. You wouldn’t understand the character it takes to make this place run. The persistence.”

  “No, I don’t,” she sputtered, losing some steam. “I’ve been here less than one day.”

  When sympathy—and a little regret over being so harsh—needled him in his middle, he knew it was time to move on. But when he turned the corner into the next aisle, she followed, trying to look like she knew what she was doing by putting apple cider vinegar and lima beans in her cart.

  “Jesus Christ.” He set his cart down and crossed his arms. “Just what the hell are you planning on making with that combination?”

  “Something to poison you with would be nice.” She gave him one last disgruntled look and stomped off, that work-of-art backside twitching all the way to the end of the aisle. “Thank you for being so neighborly. You know, you obviously love this place. Maybe you should try being a better representation of it.”

  All right. That got him.

  Brendan had been raised by a community. A village. By the time he was ten years old, he’d seen the inside of every house in Westport. Each and every resident was a friend of his parents. They babysat him, his parents returned the favor, and so on. His mother always brought a dish to celebrations when the men came back from sea, did the same for acquaintances who were sick. Kindness and generosity could be counted on. It had been a damn long while since he’d wondered what his mother would think of his behavior, but he thought of it now and grimaced.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, snatching up his basket and following Piper. Spoiled rich girl or not, she’d been right. About this one thing. As a resident of Westport, he wasn’t doing this place justice. But just like the rare times he got off course on the water, he could easily correct the path—and get the hell on with his day. “All right,” he said, coming up behind Piper in the baking aisle and watching her shoulder blades stiffen. “Based on the conversation you were having with your phone, it sounds like you’re looking for a quick meal. That right?”

  “Yes,” she mumbled without turning around.

  He waited for Piper to look at him, but she didn’t. And he definitely wasn’t impatient to see her face. Or anything like that. This close, he judged that the top of her head just about reached his shoulder, and felt another minor pang of regret for being a dick. “Italian’s easiest, if you don’t need it to be fancy.”

  Finally, she faced him, mid–eye roll. “I don’t need fancy. Anyway, it’s mostly . . .” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “What?”

  “It’s mostly for Hannah.” She fluttered her fingers to indicate the lined shelves. “The cooking. To thank her for coming with me. She didn’t have to. You’re not the only one with important people and roots. I have people who I want to look out for, too.”

  Brendan told himself he didn’t want to know anything about Piper. Why exactly she’d come, what she planned to do here. None of it. But his mouth was already moving. “Why are you in Westport, anyway? To sell the building?”

  She wrinkled her nose, considered his question. “I guess that’s an option. We haven’t really thought that far ahead.”

  “Think of all the giant hats you could buy.”

  “You know what, assho—” She turned on a heel and started to bail, but he caught her elbow to halt her progress. When she ripped out of his hold immediately and backed away with a censorious expression, it caught him off guard. At least until he noticed she was looking pointedly at his wedding ring.

  The temptation to put her misconception to rest was sudden and . . . alarming.

  “I’m not interested,” she said flatly.

  “I’m not, either.” Liar, accused the tripping of his pulse. “What you said before, about your sister being your roots. I get that.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve got other ones, too. Here in Westport. If you feel like bothering.”

  Her disapproval cleared slightly. “You mean my father.”

  “For a start, yes. I didn’t know him, but he’s part of this place. That means he’s part of us all. We don’t forget.”

  “There are barely any memories for me to forget,” she said. “I was four when we left, and after that . . . it wasn’t spoken about. Not because I wasn’t curious, but because it hurt our mother.” Her eyes flickered. “I remember his laugh, though. I . . . can hear it.”

  Brendan grunted, really beginning to wish he’d stepped back and considered her from more than one angle before going on the defensive. “There’s a memorial for him. Across from the museum, up on the harbor.”

  She blinked. “There is?”

  He nodded, surprised by the invitation to bring her there that nearly snuck out.

  “I’m almost scared to go look at it,” she said slowly to herself. “I’ve gotten so comfortable with what little memories I have. What if it triggers more?”

  The more minutes ticked past in Piper’s presence, the more he started to question his first impression of her. Was she actually an overindulged brat from the land of make-believe? He couldn’t help but catalogue everything else he knew about her. Such as, she wouldn’t pursue an unavailable man. Thought she couldn’t belong in a room full of people she knew. And she was in the store at eight thirty in the morning to buy ingredients to make a meal for her sister. So.
Maybe not as selfish as he’d originally thought.

  Honestly, though. What the hell did his impression of her matter?

  She’d be gone soon. He wasn’t interested. End of.

  “Then I guess you’ll have to call your therapist. I’m sure you’ve got one.”

  “Two, if you count my backup,” she responded, chin raised.

  Brendan staved off his interest in inspecting the line of her throat by rooting around in his basket. “Look. Make your sister an easy Bolognese sauce.” He transferred his jar of marinara into her basket, along with the flute of pasta. “Come on.”

  He turned to make sure she was following on the way to the meat aisle, where he picked up a pound of ground beef and wedged it in along with her other purchases, which still included the lima beans and apple cider vinegar. He was kind of curious if she’d buy those two items just to be stubborn.

  Piper looked between him and the meat. “What do I do with that?”

  “Put a little olive oil on the pan, brown it up. Add some onions, mushrooms if you want. When it’s all cooked, add the sauce. Put it over pasta.”

  She stared at him like he’d just called a football play.

  “So like . . . everything stays in layers?” Piper murmured slowly, as if envisioning the actions in her head and finding it mind-blowingly stressful. “Or do I mix it all up?”

  Brendan took the sauce back out of her basket. “Here’s a better idea. Walk up to West Ocean and grab some takeout menus.”

  “No, wait!” They started a tug-of-war with the sauce jar. “I can do it.”

  “Be honest, you’ve never used a stove, honey,” he reminded her wryly. “And you can’t sell the building if you burn it down.”

  “I won’t.” She gave a closed-mouth scream. “God, I feel sorry for your wife.”

  His grip loosened automatically on the jar, and he snatched his hand back like he’d been burned. He started to respond, but there was something caught in his throat. “You should,” he said finally, his smile stiff. “She put up with a lot.”

  Piper paled, her eyes ticking to the center of his chest. “I didn’t mean . . . Is she . . . ?”

  “Yeah.” His tone was flat. “Gone.”

  “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes, rocking back on her heels. “I want to curl up and die right now, if it makes you feel any better.”

  “Don’t. It’s fine.” Brendan coughed into his fist and stepped around her, intending to grab a few more things and check out. But he stopped before he could get too far. For some stupid reason, he didn’t want to leave her feeling guilty. There was no way she could have known. “Listen.” He nodded at her basket. “Don’t forget to have the fire department on speed dial.”

  After the briefest hesitation, Piper huffed at him. “Don’t forget to buy soap,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face. But he didn’t miss the gratitude in those baby blues. “See you around. Maybe.”

  “Probably not.”

  She shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Guess we will.”

  Fine.

  Done.

  Nothing more to say.

  It took him another handful of seconds to get moving.

  And hell if he didn’t smile on his way back up West Ocean.

  Chapter Seven

  After the groceries had been purchased and organized in the mini-fridge, the Bellinger sisters decided to go exploring—and escape the grunge of the upstairs apartment. Now Piper sat perched on the wooden railing overlooking the harbor, head tilted to allow the early afternoon breeze to lift the hair from her neck, sunshine painting her cheek. She looked inspired and well rested, fashion-forward in a scoop-back bodysuit and skinny jeans. Chloe ankle booties that said, I might go on one of these boats, but someone else will be doing the work.

  “Hanns,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “Lift the phone and angle it down.”

  “My arms are getting tired.”

  “One more. Go stand on that bench.”

  “Piper, I’ve gotten no fewer than forty shots of you looking like a goddess. How many options do you need?”

  She gave an exaggerated pout. “Please, Hannah. I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

  “I’m not a seven-year-old,” Hannah grumbled, climbing onto the stone bench. “I’m getting sprinkles.”

  “Ooh, that would be a cute picture of you!”

  “Yes,” her sister replied drily. “I’m sure all nineteen of my followers would love it.”

  “If you’d let me share just once—”

  “No way. We talked about this. Tip your head back.” Piper complied, and her sister snapped the pic. “I like being private. No sharing.”

  Piper swung herself off the rail, accepting her phone back from Hannah. “You’re just so cute, and everyone should know it.”

  “Uh-uh. Too much pressure.”

  “How?”

  “You’re probably so used to it by now, you don’t stop to think of how . . . all these strangers and their responses to your posts are determining your enjoyment. Like, are you even experiencing the harbor right now, or are you trying to come up with a caption?”

  “Oof. Below the belt.” She sniffed. “Is ‘Feeling a little nauti’ cute?”

  “Yes.” Hannah snorted. “But that doesn’t mean you can tag me.”

  “Fine.” Piper harrumphed and shoved her phone into her back pocket. “I’ll wait to post it so I won’t be checking for likes. I can’t get any reception, anyway. What should I look at with my eyeballs? What does reality have to offer me? Guide me, O wise one.”

  With an indulgent grin, Hannah locked her arm through Piper’s. They each got an ice cream from a small shop and headed toward the rows of moored fishing vessels. Seagulls circled ominously overhead, but after a while, the sight of them and their shrill calls became part of the scenery, and Piper stopped worrying about being shat on. It was a clammy August afternoon, and tourists in sandals and bucket hats shuffled past signs advertising whale watching and boarded boats that bobbed in the water. Others stood in circles on the edges of the docks dropping what looked like steel buckets into the blue.

  Piper noticed up ahead the white building proclaiming itself the maritime museum and recalled what Brendan had said about Henry Cross’s memorial. “Hey. Um . . . not to spring this on you, but apparently there’s a memorial for our father up here. Do you want to go look?”

  Hannah considered. “That’s going to be weird.”

  “So weird,” Piper agreed.

  “It would be weirder for his daughters not to visit, though.” She chewed her lip. “Let’s do it. If we wait, we’ll keep finding reasons to put it off.”

  “Would we?” Not for the first time today, it occurred to Piper how little they’d spoken about the weird elephant in the room. Also known as the blurry start of their lives. “Finding out about Henry is something you’d want to avoid?”

  “Isn’t it?” They traded a glance. “Maybe following Mom’s lead on this is just natural.”

  “Yeah.” Only it didn’t feel natural. It kind of felt like a chunk was missing from her memory. Or like there was a loose string in a sweater that she couldn’t ignore. Or like perhaps Brendan’s judgment had gotten to her in the supermarket. Her mother and grandparents had kept important details about Henry from her, but she could have found out about him on her own, right? Maybe this was her chance. “I think I want to go.”

  “Okay.” Her sister studied her. “Let’s do it.”

  Piper and Hannah continued along the harbor, scanning for the memorial. They returned the wave of an elderly man who sat on the museum lawn reading the paper. Shortly after, they spotted a brass statue outlined by the sea. Their steps slowed a little, but they kept going until they stopped in front of it. Gulls screeched around them, boats hummed in the distance, and life continued as usual while they stood in front of an artist’s rendering of their long-lost father.

  There he was. Henry Cross. He’d been standing there, immortalized, the who
le time. A larger-than-life brass version of him, anyway. Maybe that’s why his frozen smile and the metal ripple of his fisherman’s jacket seemed so impersonal, foreign. Piper searched for some kind of connection inside of her, but couldn’t find it, and the guilt made her mouth dry.

  A plaque positioned at his feet read: Henry Cross. Deeply Missed, Forever Remembered.

  “He looks like a young Kevin Costner,” Piper murmured.

  Hannah huffed a sound. “Oh shit, he really does.”

  “You were right. This is weird.”

  Their hands met and clasped. “Let’s go. I have that Zoom call with Sergei in ten minutes, anyway.”

  Hannah had agreed to do some remote administrative work while in Westport, and she needed time to brush her hair and find a good background.

  Their pace brisk, the sisters turned down the street that would guide them back to No Name and their apartment, but neither spoke. Hannah seemed deep in thought, while Piper tried to contend with the guilt—and a mild sense of failure—that she hadn’t been . . . grabbed by her first encounter with Henry.

  Was she too shallow to feel anything? Or was the beginning of her life so far removed from her reality, she couldn’t reach it so many years later?

  Piper took a deep breath, her lungs rejoicing from the lack of smog. They passed fishermen as they walked, most of the men on the older side, and every single one of them gave the sisters a tip of the cap. Piper and Hannah smiled back. Even if they stayed a year in Westport, she’d probably never get used to the friendly ease of the locals, as they went around acknowledging other humans for no reason. There was something kind of nice about it, though she definitely preferred the bored indifference of Los Angeles. Definitely.

  There was also something to be said for not looking at her phone as she walked. If she’d been responding to comments on her post, she might have missed the woman putting fresh fish into the window of her shop, two seagulls fighting over a French fry, a toddler trundling out of a candy shop stuffing saltwater taffy into his mouth. Maybe she should try to put her phone down more often. Or at least take in the real moments when she could.