by Tessa Bailey
“If I’ll have you back . . .” She exhaled her disbelief, his words taking a moment to actually sink in. Oh wow. Wow. Her knees started to tremble around his hips, love surging up inside of her and filling every part of her that had cracked over the last three days. “You would do that, wouldn’t you? You would change your whole life for me.”
“I’d be honored to. Just say the word.”
“B-Brendan.” Her chest ached almost too much to speak. “When I was falling in love with you, I was falling in love with Westport at the same time. That is my home. Our home. And I don’t want to be anywhere else. I knew it as soon as I got here tonight. Nothing was right. Nothing was right without you.”
“Piper,” he rasped, their mouths heating, seeking. “Say you’re mine again. Be clear. I need you to be clear. I’ve been fucking miserable thinking I lost you forever.”
“I’m yours. Of course I’m yours. I’m sorry I ran. I’m sorry I doubted—”
He hushed her with a hard press of lips, his frame heaving with relief. “Thank Christ,” he said hoarsely. “And no. You did nothing wrong. Nothing.” His thumb brushed against the base of her spine, his body still rocking her side to side. “Everything is going to be okay now. We found our way back. I’ve got you back and I’m not letting you go ever again.”
She clung to him. “Promise?”
“I’ll make the promise every single day.”
A blissful smile bloomed across her face. “I’ll try again with Cross and Daughters. I’ll be stronger next time at the docks. I can be—”
“Oh God, no. Piper.” He ducked his head to make eye contact, his dark brows pulled together. “First of all, you don’t have to be tough. Not all the time. I don’t know who decided my perfect, kind, sweet, incredible girlfriend needed to fit some goddamn mold, but you don’t. You just be Piper, okay? She’s who I’m in love with. She’s the only woman who was made for me. Cry if you want to cry. Dance if you want to dance. Hell, scream at me, if you need to. No one gets to tell you how to act or feel when I leave. No one. And, baby . . .” He puffed a laugh. “When I got to the bar, it was packed. Everyone loves it. People just move at a different pace in Westport. They’re not all on a strict schedule like me.”
“Wait. Really? It was packed?” She gasped. “Oh no. Hannah—”
“Is fine. Fox jumped in to help. And she helped me find you tonight.”
“Oh! Oh. I’m so glad.” Happiness bubbled up inside of her chest, and she gave a watery laugh. “We better get home, then. I guess I have a bar to run.”
Brendan brought their mouths together and kissed her with painstaking affection that quickly started to burn. Her throaty moan met his urgent growl, their tongues winding deep, his hand scraping down to palm her backside. “We could go home tonight,” he rumbled, tilting his hips so she could feel the firm rise of his need. “Or we could walk across the street to my hotel room and worry about getting home in the morning.”
A sigh shuddered out. “Why aren’t we already there?”
“Give me a minute.” He jolted into a stride across the quiet avenue that turned into a jog, jostling her all over the place, sending her laughter ringing down the night-draped street, then a euphoric squeal when he threw her over his wide fisherman’s shoulder. “So . . .” he said when they were halfway through the hotel lobby, scandalizing everyone in their wake. “Are we just not going to talk about the mechanical unicorn?”
“I love you,” she gasped through mirthful tears. “So much.”
“Ah, Piper.” His voice shook with emotion. “I love you, too.”
Epilogue
One week later
It was a sad day.
It was a happy day.
Brendan was coming home from a fishing trip, but Hannah was going back to LA.
Piper sat up in bed and pushed off her eye mask, marveling—not for the first time—over how much the room had changed. Before leaving LA, Brendan had driven her to Bel-Air for a quick visit with Maureen and Daniel. Halfway through the stopover, Brendan had disappeared.
She’d found him upstairs in her room, packing her things.
Not just her clothes, although it was nice to have her full wardrobe back. But her knickknacks. Her perfumes, her bedspreads, her shoe display case and fashion scarves. And as soon as they’d gotten home to Westport—okay, fine, after a rough, sweaty quickie on the living room couch—he’d taken the items upstairs and made the room . . . theirs.
Her super-masculine sea captain now slept under a pink comforter. His aftershave was sandwiched in between nail polish bottles and lipsticks, and he couldn’t seem happier about the feminine clutter.
They’d only had a few days of officially living together before his trip, but they’d been the best days of her life. Watching Brendan brush his teeth with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, feeling his eyes on her as she bartended, pancakes in bed, shower sex, gardening together in their backyard, shower sex. And best of all, his whispered promise in her ear every morning and night that he would never, ever let her go again.
Piper flopped back against the pillows and sighed dreamily.
He’d be pulling into Grays Harbor in just a few hours, and she couldn’t wait to tell him every shenanigan that had happened in Cross and Daughters since he’d been gone. Couldn’t wait to smell the salt water on his skin and even continue their conversation about someday . . . someday having children.
He hadn’t forgotten Piper’s attempt to bring up the subject on the night of their argument. They’d tried to discuss it on four separate occasions since getting home, but as soon as the word “pregnant” was uttered, Piper always ended up on her back, Brendan bearing down on her like a freight train.
So. No complaints.
Fanning her face, Piper climbed out of bed and went through her morning routine of jogging and walking Abe to the museum. When she got home an hour later, Hannah was just zipping her packed suitcase, and Piper’s stomach performed an uncomfortable somersault.
“I’m going to miss you,” Piper whispered, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb.
Hannah turned and dropped down onto the edge of the bed. “I’ll miss you more.”
Piper shook her head. “You know . . . you’re my best friend.”
Her sister seemed caught off guard by that, giving a jerky nod of her head. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine, too, Pipes.”
“If you hadn’t come . . .” Piper gestured to their surroundings. “None of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have figured it all out on my own.”
“Yes, you would have.”
Piper blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “You ready to head to the airport?”
Hannah nodded, and—after kissing the Pioneer record player good-bye—she wheeled her suitcase to the front of the house. Piper opened the door to let her sister through, frowning when Hannah pulled up short. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
Piper followed her sister’s line of vision and found a brown parcel, in the shape of a square, leaning up against the porch. It definitely hadn’t been there when she returned from her run. She stooped down and picked it up, inspecting the delivery label and handing the box to her sister. “It’s for you.”
Letting go of the handle of her suitcase, Hannah pried open the cardboard, revealing a cellophane-wrapped record. “It’s . . . oh.” Her throat worked. “It’s that Fleetwood Mac album. The one that spoke to me at the expo.” She tried to laugh, but it came out choked. “Fox must have tracked it down.”
Piper gave a low whistle.
Hannah continued to stare down at the album. “That was so . . . friendly of him.”
It was definitely something. But Piper wasn’t sure “friendly” was the right word.
Several beats passed, and Piper reached over to tuck some hair behind her sister’s ear. “Ready to go?” she asked softly.
“Um . . .” Hannah visibly shook herself. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Let’s go.”
A couple of hours later, Piper stood on the dock and watched the Della Ray approach, her pulse going faster and faster the closer it came, white wake spreading out around the vessel like rippling wings. The crew’s significant others, mothers, and fathers stood around sipping coffee in the cool fall weather, speculating on the trip’s haul. They’d been kind to Piper this afternoon, but more important, she was learning to be kind to herself.
Learning to love herself, just as she was.
Frivolous and silly on occasion, determined and stubborn on others. When she was mad, she raged. When she was sad, she cried.
And when she was happy, like she was in that moment, she threw her arms open and ran right toward the main source, letting him sweep her away . . .
Acknowledgments
This book was my mental escape during the Great Quarantine of 2020 and will always have a special place in my heart. When everything got too overwhelming, I was able to close my office door and travel to Westport to help two people fall in love—and I’m very grateful for it. I couldn’t have written this book without my husband, Patrick, who kept a confused nine-year-old occupied without the benefit of school or any sense of normalcy for months on end.
Thank you, as well, to my friends—Nisha, Bonnie, Patricia, Michelle, Jan, and Jill—who bolstered my spirits via text or socially distanced visits, from the curb, while I shouted from the porch in sketchy pajamas. Thank you to the character Alexis Rose from Schitt’s Creek, whom I fell so madly in love with that I needed to give her a happily ever after via Piper. Thank you to the essential workers and medical personnel who worked tirelessly at the risk of their health throughout 2020 and beyond. You are heroes. As always, thank you to my fantastic editor, Nicole Fischer; my agent, Laura Bradford; and, of course, the readers who continue to read my stories. I treasure each and every one of you.
About the Author
Photo by Nisha Ver Halen
New York Times bestselling author TESSA BAILEY aspires to three things: writing hot and unforgettable character-driven romance, being a good mother, and eventually sneaking onto the judging panel of a reality-show baking competition. She lives on Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter, writing all day and rewarding herself with a cheese plate and Netflix binge in the evening. If you want sexy, heartfelt, humorous romance with a guaranteed happy ending, you’ve come to the right place.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Announcement
Keep an eye out for Hannah’s story in . . .
Hook, Line, and Sinker
Coming early 2022!
Read on for a bonus scene featuring Hannah and Fox!
Bonus Scene
Damn.
This pint-sized girl with freckles had just gone toe-to-toe with the captain. Still looked spitting mad, too, underneath the brim of her red baseball cap.
It was a good thing Fox knew enough about women to wipe the amusement from his face. Hannah, the new girl in town, had briefly turned her wrath on him outside the Red Buoy, and he wasn’t eager to revisit the moment. Neither was his dick, which had momentarily retreated into itself like a hermit crab at the rare display of displeasure in his company.
Just then, a blustery August wind caught Hannah’s hat and knocked it off her head.
They went for it at the same time, his fingers wrapping around the brim before it could hit the ground. Still bent over—and with the most winning grin he could muster—Fox handed it back, his mouth widening further when she only peered at him suspiciously.
Hannah sniffed. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
With a skeptical hum, she pulled the hat back down over her eyes, but he’d already seen the evening sunlight travel over her face. A cute face, proclaimed the stubby nose located between two big hazel eyes and a dimple in her right cheek. Her toes peeked out of her flip-flops, showing off a musical note that ran the length of her second-largest toe.
Yup. Cute as hell.
But not so cute that she couldn’t turn his manhood into a crustacean.
What are you, his pretty-boy sidekick?
Apparently in addition to being adorable and fearless, she was astute.
The pretty part was obvious. And now, here he was, squiring this spitfire to the record shop so his best friend could get some time alone with the first woman to rouse his interest since the passing of his wife seven years earlier. Thus Fox ticking the sidekick box.
Truthfully, though? He didn’t mind not being taken seriously. Let Hannah put him in a neat little category. It saved him from having to try. Trying for anything worthwhile always led to disappointment.
Fox realized his smile had slipped and fixed it back in place, gesturing for Hannah to precede him along the sidewalk. “After you, sweetheart.”
She studied him down the end of her stub nose, then breezed past. “You can turn down the wattage, peacock. Nothing I say to Piper about you will affect her decision.”
Peacock? Brutal. “Her decision to what?”
“To embark on or decline an affair with the mean one.”
The mean one. Savage. “You two seem close. She doesn’t value your opinion?”
Hannah stopped short and turned, her expression that of a person jogging back their previous statement. “Oh no, she does. She does. But my sister, um . . .” Her fingers plucked at the air for the right words. “She is so desperate to see the good in people, she doesn’t always heed a well-placed warning.”
“Ah. Do you look for the bad in people?”
“Oh, my affliction is way worse than Piper’s; I like the bad in people.”
She showed him that dimple and kept sailing.
It took Fox a moment to regain his stride. Suddenly he was interested in a conversation. More than he’d been in a damn long time. Why? Apart from the fact that she’d gained his respect by refusing to back down from a man twice her size, there was no reason he should be picking up his pace to find out what Hannah was going to say next.
They weren’t even going to sleep together.
Doing so could seriously mess things up for Brendan—and Jesus, she wasn’t his type, anyway. For one thing, she’d be living in Westport for the foreseeable future. Way too close for comfort. Two, his charm was absolutely wasted on this out-of-towner. The way she speed-walked two yards ahead of him made that crystal clear.
Maybe that’s why he wanted to continue talking to her.
He’d gotten the sex-is-a-no-no speech and she was immune to him. The pressure was off.
It surprised him how much that pressure was present in his chest when it started to abate, gradually, like the air coming out of a beach ball. “Want to slow down a little, Freckles?” he said, a little testier than he’d intended, because of the weird feeling. “I’m the only one who knows where we’re going.”
Hannah gave him an eyebrow raise over her shoulder but downgraded from a sprint to a jog. Maybe even seemed a little more curious about him—but what sense did that make? “Really? You think I’m a ‘Freckles’?”
“It was that or Captain Killer.”
Was that a hint of a smile?
Out of habit, he was about to compliment her on her smile when the phone in his pocket started to vibrate. He made the rookie mistake of taking it out, instead of ignoring it, but quickly put the device back when the name “Carla” blinked on the screen.
Not before Hannah saw it, though. Her gaze danced away quickly, her expression remaining neutral, but she definitely noticed a woman was calling him. There was no reason that should bother him. No reason for the stupid, sinking disappointment in his belly. None at all.
Fox coughed into his fist and they continued to walk, side by side. “What exactly do you mean by ‘I like the bad in people’?”
Her dimple deepened while she thought about it. “It’s like . . . the bad in someone is also the most honest part, right? When you meet someone new, you dig and dig until you get to the good stuff. Imagine how much time
we would save if our biggest flaw was our opening line.”
“You’re pretty intense for someone nicknamed Freckles.”
A laugh snuck out of her, and the weirdness that had been barrel-rolling in his chest stopped abruptly, slowed by satisfaction. Warmth. “Hey, I questioned your judgment. You were firm on Freckles.” Her smile melted into a sigh. “And I know, I am a little intense. It’s all the music I listen to. Everything is right on the surface in a song. Calamity, heartbreak, tension, hope. It’s hard to dip back into normal life after a Courtney Barnett song.” She snuck a glance at him. “I tend to overshare almost immediately after meeting someone. It’s why I don’t have a lot of friends back home. I come on stronger than cold brew.”
That made him chuckle. “Hold on, now. I didn’t say the intensity was a turnoff.”
Her gaze cut to his, mouth in a flat line.
Whoops. Stepped on a land mine. Better backpedal. “‘Turnoff’ was the wrong expression. This isn’t”—Fox seesawed a hand between them—“there’s nothing to turn off or on.”
She nodded her agreement and they went back to walking.
Shit, this was kind of nice. Having a mildly antagonistic interaction with a girl. This girl. There was something invigorating about passing the time with her without expectations attached. Not that a lot of effort went into seducing women. That talent was kind of a built-in mechanism. Trying to seduce Hannah would have been a lot more complicated, and the fact that he didn’t have to . . .