Visibly bolstered, Opal nodded, then went straight to shaking her head. “I’m a lightweight. I’ve been drinking nothing but coffee since the nineties.”
“Sad. But that’s why we use the Bellinger method. One glass of water between each alcoholic drink. Then a piece of toast and two Advil before bedtime. Soaks it right up. You’ll be able to run a marathon tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t run one now.”
“I know. That’s how well it works.”
Opal guffawed. “Since you started visiting me, Piper, I’ve laughed more than I have in decades. Hannah wasn’t able to make it?”
“No, she had a shift at the record shop. But she sends a kiss.”
Her grandmother nodded and transferred her attention to the garment bag, missing the unexpected moisture that danced in Piper’s eyes. “Well, darling. Let’s see what you got.”
It only took three hours to transform Opal from grieving semi-hermit to a lady about town. After Piper added some styling mousse to the older woman’s hair and did her makeup, Opal chose her dress.
Clearly, she had taste, because she went straight for the puff-sleeved Versace.
“The student has become the master, Grandma.”
Opal started a little at the title, and Piper held her breath, too. It had slipped out unplanned, but felt oddly natural. Finally, Opal surged forward and wrapped Piper in a hug, holding tight a few moments before stepping back to study her. “Thank you.”
Piper could only nod, thanks to the log jammed in her throat, watching Opal as she swept off to the bedroom to change. Surprised to find her fingers trembling, Piper sloughed off the leggings and sweater she’d worn for the trip over, zipping herself into a green-and-black zebra-striped minidress from Balmain. Muscle memory kicked in, and she lifted her phone to take a selfie, noticing with a start that she had a text from Brendan.
Want to see you tonight.
Wave after wave of flutters coursed through her midsection. God, she loved how he got right to the point. No games. No beating around the bush. Just This is what I want, baby. Now it’s your turn.
Did she want to see Brendan? Yes. Undeniably yes. More than that, she wanted to be seen by him looking like this. Wanted to watch male appreciation draw his features tight and know with absolute conviction he was thinking about having sex with her. And it would be so much easier to play it cool in her battle armor, surrounded by witnesses in a bar. Westport’s nightlife might not be exactly what Piper was used to, but it was closer to her environment than a bar under construction or a hospital with bad lighting.
She needed to feel like herself. Needed a reminder of her old life.
The life she was going back to. Sooner rather than later.
Too often lately she’d been thrown off-kilter by her feelings. Or the situation she found herself in, over a thousand miles from home. Friendless, a fish out of water.
Brendan, since she’d met him, had made it impossible for her to keep up a pretense. She’d never been able to be anything but honest with him. Scarily honest. But he wasn’t standing in front of her now, brimming with all that intensity, was he? And LA Piper was rattling her hinges, demanding to be appeased. That Piper wouldn’t text back that she wanted to see him tonight, too. Uh-uh. She’d leave a bread crumb and dance off in a flash of strobe lights.
Heading out for the night. Maybe catch you later in Blow the Man Down. xo
Three little dots popped up, letting her know Brendan was writing back.
Then they went away.
She pressed a hand to her stomach to counteract a kick of excitement.
Opal walked out of the bathroom looking like a certified snack.
“Well?”
“Well?” Piper gave a low whistle. “Look out, Westport. There’s a stone-cold fox on the loose.”
* * *
Piper’s one and only experience in Blow the Man Down had been less than stellar and walking through the door again was nerve-racking. But tonight wasn’t just about reminding herself of old Piper; it was about bringing this woman she’d really come to like out of her shell.
Opal had her arm linked through Piper’s as they entered the noisy bar. Fishermen occupied the long row of stools near the entrance, toasting another week completed out on the water. And the survival of last night’s storm seemed to give the atmosphere an added buoyancy. Bartenders dropped pints in front of mostly older men, their friends and wives. No one was smoking, but the scent of cigarettes drifted in from outside and clung to clothes. Neil Young’s voice wove through the conversations and laughter.
Opal balked as soon as they stepped over the threshold, but Piper patted her arm, guiding her through the more boisterous section of the bar, toward the seating area in the back. Last time, she’d only stood at the bar long enough to order that fateful tray of shots, but it had been enough time to get the lay of the land. And she was relieved to see the tables in the rear of Blow the Man Down were occupied by women again tonight. Some of them were Opal’s age, others were closer to Piper’s, and they were all talking at once.