“A few weeks ago,” she said on an exhale. “Wow, it sounds a lot worse when it’s all strung together like that.” Chewing her bottom lip, she searched his face. “What are you thinking? That you were right and I’m just some rich, spoiled brat?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re already making me eat this goddamn pie.”
“No, I’m not!”
He shoveled in another bite of crap, his mind circling back to the bad breakup she’d mentioned. Why did his spine feel like it was getting ready to snap? “I’m thinking a lot of things,” he said. “Mostly, I can’t imagine you in jail.”
“It wasn’t so bad. The guard, Lina, was a doll. She let me use the regular bathroom.”
“How’d you pull that off?”
“People like me.” She looked down her adorable nose at him. “Most of the time.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I can see that. Flirt.”
She gasped. Then shrugged. “Yeah.” A couple of seconds ticked past. “You didn’t let me flirt with you. And then I thought you were married. My whole pattern got thrown off, and now I don’t know how to act. Trying to flirt again seems pointless.”
The hell it was. “Try it.”
“No. I can’t!” she sputtered. “The third wall is already down.”
Was he sweating under his clothes? What the hell was wrong with him? “What is the next stage after flirting? Once you’ve settled in?”
“Settled in? Ew.” She shrugged. “Also, I don’t know. I’ve never gotten that far.” She crossed her legs, drawing his gaze to the slide of her shorts along that smooth underside of her thigh. And there went his zipper again, confining things. “We’ve gotten way off the topic of my whole sordid story.”
“No, we haven’t,” he responded. “I’m still digesting it all. Along with—”
“Don’t you dare bring up the pie again.” They each offered up half a smile. “Anyway, unless I can finagle a way back to Los Angeles, me and Hannah will be here until Halloween. I think my best bet is to spend less time cooking, more time figuring out how to finagle.” She tapped a fingernail on the table. “Maybe if there was a way to prove I’ve learned how to be responsible, Daniel would let me come home.”
Brendan was brooding over Piper being at a party that involved nudity—in what capacity, exactly? Had she been naked?—so he spoke more harshly than intended. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you try and actually enjoy your time outside the ninth circle of hell that is Los Angeles?”
“Who said I’m not enjoying myself? Look at me, getting snipped at over fish and chips. If this isn’t living it up, I’ve been doing it wrong.” Smirking, she popped a fry into her mouth, and he tried not to watch her chew. “But you’re right. I could try harder. Maybe I’ll charm one of those cute fishermen up on the harbor into taking me fishing.”
Something acidic burbled in his windpipe at the prospect of her on another man’s boat. “You could. If you wanted a subpar experience.”
“Are you saying you could deliver a better one?”
“Damn right.”
Were they still talking about fishing? Brendan didn’t know. But he was turned on . . . and she appeared to be waiting for something. For him to ask her out on his boat?
A breeze of panic kept his mouth shut a moment too long. Piper gave him an assessing look and visibly moved on, rising to her feet when her sister and Fox appeared outside the restaurant. “There they are. I’ll grab a to-go box for the rest of this.” She leaned down and kissed both of his cheeks, like they were in goddamn Paris or something. “Thanks for dinner, Captain. I promise to stay out of your hair.”
As she dumped the remaining fish and chips into a container and bounced off to join her sister, Brendan wasn’t sure if he wanted Piper out of his hair. If he didn’t, he’d just missed a clear opening to ask her out. In the morning, he’d be leaving for a three-day fishing trip, so—assuming he wanted the opportunity to see more of the girl from Los Angeles—he’d have to wait for another one. And it might never come.
Fox dropped into the chair beside him, grinning ear to ear. “How’d it go, Cap?”
“Shut up.”
Chapter Ten
Piper was stuck in a nightmare in which giant mice with twitchy little noses chased her through a maze while she wielded a flaming frying pan. So when she heard the knock on the door the following morning, her waking thought was The mouse king has come for me. She pinwheeled into a sitting position and soundly smacked her head on the top bunk.
“Ow,” she complained, pushing her eye mask up to her forehead and testing the collision spot with a finger. Already sore.
A yawn came from above. “Did you hit your head again?”