Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters #2)

Hannah started, replaying that explanation six times in her head, some unwanted trepidation turning over in her gut. “You did? Was that a last-minute decision?”

“It was. Didn’t want to give him a chance to back out.” Brendan hesitated, trading a glance with Piper. “It seemed like a good idea. And it might work out exactly like I hoped it would. The man has great instincts, knowledge, and respect for the ocean—he just needs to believe in himself.” He cleared his throat. “It didn’t occur to me until after the boat left that it might have been bad timing. With everything . . . going on between you two. He was game for the challenge, but it’s a lot at once.”

“Wait . . .” Hannah swallowed a robin’s-egg-sized lump, pleasure and shock turning her very still. “He told you about us?”

“Some.”

Hannah made an exasperated sound. “What does that mean?”

“He told Brendan he hasn’t been to Seattle since last summer,” Piper supplied, leaning forward on the bar to join the conversation. “He’s been waiting for you, Hanns. Like a ‘lovesick asshole’—and that’s a direct quote.”

She barely had time to process the immense weight of that revelation when she noticed Brendan still looked nervous. And she knew there was more.

“I put the rest together without him telling me. I figured with him feeling like that, and you two in close quarters, something was . . . probably happening. Even though I went and spoke to him before you arrived. Asked him to keep things platonic—”

“You did what?”

“And,” Brendan continued, “I may have reminded him to keep things friendly a couple of times since.” He cleared his throat. “A couple . . . dozen.”

“I take partial blame,” Piper called, wincing. “We were trying to look out for you. But I think maybe . . . No, I know we underestimated him in the process. We’ve been doing it for a long time.”

“Yeah. He had every right to throw that back in my face before he left.” Brendan replaced the beanie on his head and accepted the pint Piper placed on the bar in front of him, drinking from it deeply as if the whole conversation had made him thirsty. When he set it down again, he took his time looking at Hannah. “I kept crowing about how much I trust him, wanting him to take my spot behind the wheel, but I didn’t put my money where my mouth is. I regret that.”

Heat tingled in the tip of Hannah’s nose. Fox had told her his worst fear was someone questioning his intentions toward her, but it had already happened. His own best friend had done it. Had he been hurting over it all this time?

God, she was so proud of him for taking the keys to the boat.

For trying.

She couldn’t help but worry, though. Brendan was right. It was a lot at once.

They were right on the verge of carving out a unique place for themselves. A place to try to be together. To build on what was already a treasured friendship and make it into so much more. But a lot of Fox’s insecurities were wrapped up in how people saw him. The town. The crew. What if his turn as captain didn’t go as planned? What if he came home too discouraged to pick up where they’d left off?

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in him. She did. But they’d left things unsettled, and this unexpected change of plans might have thrown off the balance even more.

Two weeks ago, she’d wanted to be a leading lady. For the sake of her career, not her love life. But tonight she’d have to gather up her newfound sense of self-purpose and be prepared to go to war if necessary, wouldn’t she? Because she was no longer the type to watch from the sidelines or live vicariously through others, bolstering them when required. No, this was her story line, and she had to write it herself. Scary, sure. But if she’d learned anything since coming to Westport a second time, it was that she was capable of so much more than she realized.

Hannah signaled Piper for a drink. “Some liquid courage, please.”

“Coming right up.” A moment later, Piper shook something in a metal tumbler and poured it into a martini glass, sliding it in front of her sister. “You know”—Piper twisted an earring—“alcohol doesn’t hurt, but I find some ice-pick heels and great hair lend the most courage of all.”

“Let’s do it.” Hannah tossed back the drink. “I’m slightly ticked at both of you for warning Fox away from me, a capable adult human, but I need all the help I can get.”

“That’s fair,” Brendan rumbled.

“Totally fair. I’m about to make it up to you.” Piper threw back her shoulders with a sense of purpose. “Brendan, watch the bar. We have work to do.”

*

Fox checked the final item off his clipboard and hung it back on the nail, letting out the breath he’d been holding for the last five days. He took the hat off his head and dropped into the captain’s chair, staring out at the harbor. Letting the tension seep out.

Below, on the deck of the Della Ray, he watched the last of the haul get loaded by Deke, Sanders, and the rest of the crew. Normally he would be down there helping them, but he’d been on the phone with the market, preparing them for the arrival of fresh swordfish. He’d been inspecting the boat from top to bottom, making sure everything in the engine room was running properly, the equipment sound, the numbers recorded.

He’d done it.

A successful five-day trip.

He’d given orders and they’d been followed. It helped that he’d been insulated by the wheelhouse, instead of down on the deck where most of the ball breaking took place. Moreover, when the men retired to their bunks at night, exhausted, Fox had stayed up late mapping their course for the following morning, refusing to disappoint Brendan.

Or Hannah.

There hadn’t been much of a chance to determine how the men felt about him taking over—and maybe that was for the best. Maybe if he kept his head down and completed a few more jobs without incident, he could ease back into the group slowly, having built the beginnings of a new reputation. Hard to believe such a thing was possible after years of the lifestyle he’d been living. Then again, he never thought he’d give up sex for half a year in exchange for witty text messages and record collecting. But here he was.

Dying. Fucking dying to get home to his girl.

He missed her so much, he was full of cracks.

She’d fill all of them in. And he was starting to think . . .

Yeah. That he could eventually do the same for her.

“Hey, man,” Deke said, slapping the side of the wheelhouse and ducking his head in. “All set. I’m leaving for the market.”

“Great,” Fox said, fitting his hat back on. “Call me when you have a number.” At the market, an attendant would test the fish for a grade of quality and decide on the price paid for each one. The process was important, because it determined the amount of everyone’s paycheck. “I’ll pass it on to Brendan, and he can contact them for payment.”

“Sounds good.” Deke nodded at him, followed by a playful look of disgust. “Look at you in the captain’s chair. All large and in charge and making extra bank. Like you needed any help getting laid, huh?”

Sanders swung into the wheelhouse beside Deke, elbowing his friend. “Right? Why don’t we just roll out a red carpet to the end of the dock? Make it even easier for the ladies to find you.”

Fox was frozen to the seat.

Jesus. Really?