It Happened One Summer

by Tessa Bailey

  “Bah.”

  “You have your phone handy?” Brendan asked.

  Nodding, she turned on a heel, took two steps, and picked up the discarded pillow, holding it over her butt to end his suffering—and to let him know she’d gotten the friends-only message. She collected her cell from its place of honor beneath her pillow, then pivoted, transferring the pillow once again to block her front. When she turned around, Brendan was watching her curiously, but didn’t comment on her sudden modesty.

  “If you and your sister have any problems while I’m gone, call Mick.” He dipped his chin. “That’s my . . . my father-in-law.”

  “We met him yesterday,” Piper said, smiling through the odd tension at the mention of Brendan having a father-in-law. “He’s a sweetie.”

  Brendan seemed momentarily caught off guard. “Ah. Right. Well, he’s not too far from here. Let me give you his contact info in case you need something.”

  “Yes, Captain.” She clicked her bare heels together. “And after that, I’ll swab the deck.”

  He snorted. “She uses a mop once . . .”

  Piper beamed. “Oh, you noticed our spruce job, did you?”

  “Yeah. Not bad,” he commented, glancing around the apartment. “Ready?”

  Piper humored him by programming Mick’s number into her phone as he rattled it off. “Thanks—”

  “Take mine, too,” he said abruptly, suddenly fascinated by one of the menus. “I won’t have reception on the water, but . . .”

  “Take it in case I need cooking advice when you get back?”

  He made an affirmative sound in his throat.

  Piper pressed her lips together to hide a smile. She’d seen Brendan with his friend Fox. How they needled each other like brothers as a means of communication. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that making new friends didn’t come naturally to him. “All right. Give me those digits, Captain.”

  He seemed relieved by her encouragement, reciting the number as she punched it into her phone. When she hit dial on his number, his head came up as if trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.

  “That’s your phone,” she said, and laughed. “I’m calling you so you’ll have my number, too.”

  “Oh.” He nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging a little. “Right.”

  She cupped a hand around her mouth and whispered, “Should I be expecting nudes?”

  “Jesus Christ, Piper,” he grumped, straightening the takeout menus and signaling an end to the discussion. But he hesitated a second before striding for the door. “Now that I’m in your phone, does this mean next time you break into a rooftop pool, I’ll be on the mass invite?”

  Brendan winked to let her know he was joking. But she couldn’t help grinning at the mental image of this earthy giant of a man walking through a sea of polished LA social climbers. “Oh yeah. You’re in.”

  “Great.”

  After one more almost imperceptible sweep of her legs, Brendan coughed into his fist and turned again. He picked up his toolbox and started down the stairs. Just like that. His work was done and formalities were stupid. Piper followed, looking down at him from the top of the stairs. “Are we friends, Brendan?”

  “No,” he called back, without missing a beat.

  Her mouth hung open, a laugh huffing out of her as she closed the door.

  Hannah sat up and asked, “What the hell is going on there?”

  Slowly, she shook her head. “I have no freaking idea.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Brendan sat in the wheelhouse of the Della Ray stabbing at the screen of his phone.

  He should have been helping the crew load groceries and the ice they would need to keep the fish fresh in the hold. But they’d be pushing off in ten minutes, and he needed to take advantage of the last remaining minutes of internet access, spotty though it was in the harbor.

  He’d downloaded Instagram; now they were asking him for personal information. Did he have to be a member of this stupid thing to look at pictures? Chrissakes. He shouldn’t be doing this. Even if Piper had volunteered the information that she was apparently half-naked on this fucking app, he shouldn’t be looking. In fact, if he expected to concentrate worth a damn on this trip, he absolutely should not be adding to the treasure trove of Piper imagery already floating around in his head.

  First and foremost was the memory of Piper answering the door in those little white panties. White. He wouldn’t have figured on that. Maybe sparkly pink or peacock blue. But hell if the white cotton cupping her pussy, a contrast of innocent and sexy, had him sporting a semi an hour later and downloading apps like a goddamn teenager. He’d been grinding his back teeth since he walked out of No Name, bereft over his palms not sliding down the supple curve of her ass—and God, he had no business thinking about that.

  Why had she covered herself with the pillow the second time?

  Had he been so obviously turned on it made her uncomfortable?

  Considering that, he frowned. He didn’t like the idea of her being nervous.

  Not around him. Not at all.

  “All loaded. Ready to go,” Fox said, swinging into the wheelhouse, his Mariners cap pulled down low over his eyes. But not low enough that Brendan could miss them lighting up. “You downloading Instagram, Cap?”

  “Who’s downloading Instagram?” Sanders asked, ducking his red curly head under the doorframe. “Who doesn’t already have Instagram?”

  “People who have better shit to do,” Brendan growled, snapping both of their mouths shut. “They’re asking me to make a username.”

  In came a third member of the crew, Deke, his dark brown fingers wrapped around a bottle of Coke as he took a sip. “Username for what?”

  Brendan tipped his head back. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Instagram,” Sanders said, filling in Deke.

  “You’re doing a little Piper recon, aren’t you?” Fox asked, his expression one of pure, everlasting enjoyment. “Downloading a few pictures to keep you warm on the trip?”

  “You can do that?” Brendan half shouted. “Anyone can just download pictures of her?”

  “Or me, or you, or anyone,” Deke said. “It’s the internet, man.”

  Brendan stared at his phone with renewed disgust. As far as he was concerned, this was even more reason to get on this dumb app and see what’s what. “It won’t let me just use my own name as my username.”

  “Yeah, probably because about nine hundred Brendan Taggarts joined before you.”

  “So what should I use?”

  “CaptainCutie69,” Fox spat out.

  “IGotCrabs4U,” Deke supplied.

  “SlipperyWhenWet.”

  Brendan stared. “You’re all fired. Go home.”

  “All right, all right, we’ll be serious,” Fox said, holding up his hands. “Did you try CaptainBrendanTaggart?”

  He grunted, punched it in with one blunt digit. It took him forever, because his finger was so big, he kept hitting erroneous characters. “Accepted,” he grumbled finally, shifting in the captain’s chair. “Now what?”

  Deke settled in next to Sanders, like they were in the middle of goddamn gossip hour. “Search her name,” he said, pulling out his own phone.

  Brendan pointed at him. “You better not be looking.”

  The man pocketed his phone again without another word.

  “The captain is a little sensitive about Piper,” Fox explained, still wearing that shit-eating grin. “He doesn’t know what to do with his confusing man feelings.”

  Brendan ignored his friend in favor of typing Piper’s name into the search bar, sighing when a whole list of options came up. “Does the blue check mark mean it’s her?”

  “Ooh.” Sanders perked up. “She’s got a check mark?”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  Deke polished off his Coke, letting out a belch that no one reacted to. It was merely a component of the fishing-boat soundtrack. “It means she’s got a big following. Means s
he’s internet famous, boss.”

  Making a low sound in his throat, Brendan punched the check mark . . . and Piper exploded across the screen of his phone. And Christ, he didn’t know where the hell to look first. One little square had a picture of her kneeling in the surf at the beach, her back on display, wearing nothing but a thong bikini bottom. He could have stared at her gorgeous ass all day—and he’d definitely be coming back to it later when he was alone—but there was more. So much more. Thousands of pictures of Piper.

  In another one, she had on a red dress, with lips to match, a martini in her hand, her foot kicking up playfully. More beautiful than anyone had the right to be. He zeroed in on a recent one, from a few weeks ago, and found his mouth dropping open at the spectacle. When she’d told him that story about how she’d gotten arrested and sent to Westport, he’d assumed she’d embellished a little.

  Nope.

  There she was, among the rowdy crowd, wreathed in smoke and fireworks, arms thrown up. Happy and alive. And was that the number of people who’d clicked the heart?

  Over three million?

  Brendan dragged a hand down his face.

  Piper Bellinger was from a different, flashier planet.

  She’s out of your league.

  Way out.

  Remembering how he’d fed her fish and chips last night when she was obviously used to caviar and champagne, he was embarrassed. If he could go back in time and not bring her those stupid takeout menus, he would do it in a heartbeat. God, she must have been laughing at him.

  “Well?” Fox prompted.

  Brendan cleared his throat hard. “What does ‘follow’ mean?”

  “Don’t,” Deke rushed to say. “Don’t press it.”

  His thumb was already on the way back up. “Too late.”

  All three of his crew members surged to their feet. “No. Brendan, don’t tell me you just tapped the blue button,” Sanders groaned, hands on his mop of red hair. “She’s going to see you followed her. She’s going to know you internet stalked her.”

  “Can’t I just unfollow now?” Brendan started to tap again.

  Fox lunged forward. “No! No, that’s even worse. If she already noticed you followed her, she’s just going to think you’re playing games.”

  “Jesus. I’m deleting the whole thing,” Brendan said, throwing the offending device onto the dashboard, where it bashed up against the windshield. His crew stared back expectantly, waiting for him to put his money where his mouth was. “Later,” he growled, firing up the motor. “Get to work.”

  As soon as the three men were out of sight, he picked the phone back up slowly. Weighing it in his hand for a moment, he opened the app again and scrolled through Piper’s feed until one image stopped him. She was sitting beside Hannah on a diving board, both of them wrapped in the same towel, water droplets all over her face. This looked like the Piper he’d had dinner with last night. Was she that girl? Or the daring jet-setter?

  The sheer number of photos of her glittering at parties, balls, even awards shows suggested she loved the spotlight, the wealth and luxury. Shit he knew nothing about. More than that, she clearly liked polished, manicured men, probably with bank accounts that matched her own. And that meant his interest in her wasn’t only annoying, it was laughable. He was a set-in-his-ways fisherman. She was a rich, adventurous socialite. He couldn’t even order something new at a restaurant, and she dined with celebrities. Dated them.

  He’d just have to spend the next few months keeping his admiration of her to himself, lest he make himself look like a fucking fool.

  With one last glance at the picture of her smiling on the diving board, he determinedly shoved his phone into the front pocket of his jeans and focused on what he knew.

  Fishing.

  Chapter Twelve

  Obviously they visited the winery first.

  Brendan was right about Piper loving the selfie spot—damn him—a jewel-toned wall painted to look like stained glass, vines crawling up the sides and wrapping around a neon vino sign. Essentially an altar at which to worship the social media gods.

  Hannah was not a drinker. Thanks to four glasses of wine, many attempts were made to get a non-blurry picture of Piper before an adequate one was selected.

  Piper applied a filter before swiping over to Instagram. Automatically, she tapped her notifications. “Oh, look at that.” Her pulse stuttered. “Brendan followed me.” She tapped his profile and choked. “Oh. I’m the only one he’s following. He just joined.”

  Hannah squished her cheeks together. “Oh boy. Rookie move.”

  “Yeah . . .” But it was a really, really endearing move, too.

  How did she feel about Brendan looking at her plethora of side boob and booty? Even her most modest pictures were kind of provocative. What if her lack of modesty turned him off? Did he really create a profile just to follow her?

  Maybe Hannah had a point about social media having too much ownership over her thoughts and enjoyment. Now she was going to spend the next three days wondering which pictures Brendan looked at and what he thought about them. Would he laugh at her captions? If this Instagram feed was his glimpse into Piper Bellinger’s life, would it override the real-life impression she’d given him?

  “You should have seen this little record shop, Pipes,” Hannah said around a sip of wine. Leave it to her sister to wax poetic about a record store after too much to drink, instead of an ex-boyfriend or a crush. As far back as she could remember, Hannah had been hunkered down in headphones, her face buried in song lyrics. When she turned sixteen, Piper brought Hannah to her first concert—Mumford & Sons—and the poor girl had almost passed out from stimuli. Her soul was made of musical notes. “They had a poster for a 1993 Alice in Chains concert. Just tacked to the wall! Because they haven’t had a chance to take it down!”

  Piper smiled at her sister’s enthusiasm. “Why didn’t you buy anything?”

  “I wanted to. There was a really nice Purple Rain LP, but they had it way underpriced. It would have felt like stealing.”

  “You’re a good apple, kid.” Piper had the niggling urge to scroll her Instagram feed and see everything through Brendan’s eyes, but she determinedly ignored it. “So. What’s Fox like?”

  Hannah set down her glass. “Uh-uh. Don’t ask me like that.”

  “What? He’s cute.”

  “He’s not my type.”

  “Not depressed and bitter enough?”

  Her sister snorted. “His phone dinged like a hundred times in twenty minutes. That’s either one passionate girl or several admirers, and my money is on the latter.”

  “Yeah,” Piper admitted. “He did have that playboy look about him.”

  Hannah swung her feet. “Besides, I think he was just doing the wingman thing. He wasted no time extolling Brendan’s virtues.”

  “Oh?” Piper took a too-casual gulp of wine. “What did Fox have to say about him? Just out of curiosity.”

  Her sister narrowed her eyes. “Tell me you’re not interested in him.”

  “Whoa. I’m not. His wedding ring is like, welded onto his finger.”

  “And he’s mean to you.” Hannah shifted her weight on her stool, looking as if she was working up to saying something. “You’ve been tread on by some mean guys lately, all right? There was Adrian. The one before him who produced that sci-fi HBO pilot, whose name I can’t remember. I just want to make sure you’re not falling into a bad pattern.”

  Piper reared back a little. “A pattern where I pick men who’ll make me feel shitty?”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  She replayed her last three relationships. Which didn’t take that long, since collectively they’d lasted six weeks. “Shit. You might be onto something.”

  “I am?” Hannah’s eyebrows shot up. “I mean . . . I know.”

  “Okay, I’ll be more aware of it,” Piper said, rubbing at the dull ache in the center of her chest. If her sister was right, why was she picking bad apples on purpose? Did the
idea of a good relationship scare her? Because she didn’t think she could pull one off? It was not only possible, but probable. Still, putting Brendan in the “bad apple” category didn’t quite sit right. “None of those other guys were the type to apologize. They definitely weren’t the kind of guys who’d pine for their dead wife. I think maybe I’m just curious about Brendan more than anything else. We don’t grow them like him in LA.”

  “That is true.”

  “We had an actual conversation without sexual overtones. Neither one of us checked our phones even once. It was fucking weird. I’m probably just . . . fascinated.”

  “Well, be careful.” Tongue tucked in the corner of her mouth, Hannah started folding a bar napkin into an airplane. “Or have some fun with Fox instead. Bet it would be way less complicated.”

  Piper couldn’t even remember the guy’s face. Only that she’d classified it as attractive.

  Now, Brendan’s face. She could recall crow’s-feet fanning out at the corners of his eyes. The silver flecks dotting the green of his irises. His gigantic, weathered hands and the breadth of his shoulders.

  She shook herself. They’d had a meal together yesterday.

  Of course she recalled those things.

  Can you even remember Adrian’s voice?

  “I think maybe I’ll just stick to myself on this trip,” Piper murmured.

  Two hours later, they weaved down the sidewalk on the way home. It was well past time to put her little sister to bed. At four o’clock in the afternoon, but who was keeping track?

  Crossing the street toward home, Piper’s step slowed. It appeared they had a visitor. A little old man with a toolbox and a smile like sunshine.

  “Ma’am.”

  “Um, hi.” Piper nudged Hannah into alertness, nodding at the man waiting outside No Name. Come to think of it, returning home to find a local at their door was beginning to be a habit. “Hi. Can I help you?”

  “Actually, I’m here to help you.” With his free hand, he plucked a slip of paper from the pocket of his shirt. “I own the hardware store down on West Pacific. My sons have the run of the place now, but they have little ones, so they don’t make it in until later in the morning. When I opened up today, there was a note taped to my door.”