“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I really didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s enough apologizing.”

“They all must hate me, even if you don’t. They have to.” He started to tell her that assumption was silly, too, but she spoke over him, sounding so forlorn he had to tighten his hold. “God, I am an airhead, aren’t I?”

He didn’t like anything about that question. Not the question itself. And not the way it was phrased, as if someone had used that bullshit term to describe her. Brendan turned her in his arms and promptly forgot the process of breathing. She was gorgeous as hell with her damp eyes and cheeks pink with lingering embarrassment, all of her bathed in moonlight. He had to call on every iota of willpower not to lower his mouth to hers, but it wasn’t the right time. There was a ghost between them and a ring on his finger, and all of it needed resolving first.

“Come on, let’s sit down,” Brendan said gruffly, taking her elbow and guiding her to one of the stone benches overlooking the nighttime harbor. She sat and crossed her legs in one fluid move, her expression bordering on lost. Lowering himself down beside her, Brendan took up the rest of the space on the bench, but she didn’t seem to mind their hips and outer thighs together. “You aren’t an airhead. Who said that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s true.”

“It is not true,” he barked.

“Oh yes, it is. I have left an endless trail of proof. I’m like a super-hot snail.” She smacked her hands over her eyes. “Did I really say ‘Why the long faces’ at a memorial dinner? Oh my God.”

Unbelievably, Brendan felt a rumble of laughter building in his sternum. “You did say that. Right before you took a shot.”

She punched him in the thigh. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“Sorry.” He forced his lips to stop twitching. “If it makes you feel better . . . that dinner needed a little levity. You did everyone a favor.”

Brendan felt her studying his profile. “Tonight must have been hard for you.”

“It was hard seven years ago. Six. Even five. Now it’s just . . .” He searched for the right word. “It’s respect. It’s duty.”

Piper was silent so long, he had to glance over, finding her with an expression of wonder. “Seven years?” She held up the appropriate number of fingers. “That many?”

He nodded.

She faced the harbor, letting out a rush of breath, but not before he saw her attention dip to his ring. “Wow. I thought it might have been a year. Maybe even less. She must have been really special.”

Of course that was true. Brendan didn’t know how to explain the convenience and . . . the practicality of his past marriage without it sounding disrespectful to a woman who could no longer speak for herself. Today, especially, he wouldn’t do that. But he couldn’t deny an urge to expose himself somewhat. It only seemed fair when she was sitting there, so vulnerable. He didn’t want her to go it alone.

“I was away fishing when it happened. An aneurysm. She’d been out for a walk on the beach. Alone.” He let out a slow breath. “She always went alone, even when I was home. I wasn’t, uh . . . the best at being married. I didn’t mold myself to fit new routines or different patterns—I’m sure you’re shocked.” She stayed quiet. “They say even if I’d been there, I couldn’t have done anything, but I could have tried. I never tried. So this . . . year after year, this is me trying, I guess. After the fact.”

Piper didn’t respond right away. “I don’t know a lot about marriage, but I think people mature and get better at it over time. You would have. You just didn’t get a chance.” She sighed into the night breeze. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

He nodded, hoping she would change the subject. Maybe Fox was right and he’d been serving a penance long enough, because dwelling on the past now just made him restless.

“My longest relationship was three weeks.” She held up the right number of fingers. “This many. But in weeks.”

Brendan hid a smile. Why did he kind of love knowing that there wasn’t a single man in Los Angeles who could lock Piper down? And . . . what would it take? “Is he the one who called you an airhead?”

“You’re hyperfocused on this.” She pulled her shoulders back. “Yes, he was the one who said it. And I proved him right in the next breath by assuming he was ending things because I’d discussed the compatibility of our astrological signs with my therapist. I couldn’t have sounded more like an LA bimbo if I tried.”

“It pisses me off when you call yourself names.”

She gasped. “Pissed off? That’s a real switch for you.”

The corner of Brendan’s lips tugged. “I deserve that.”

“No, you don’t,” she said, and sighed, falling silent for a few moments. “Since we got here, it has never been more obvious that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m really good at going to parties and taking pictures, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But what if that’s it? What if that’s just it?” She looked at him, seeming to piece her thoughts together. “And you keep witnessing these huge fails of mine, but I can’t hide behind a drink and a flirty smile here. It’s just me.”

He couldn’t hide his confusion. “Just you?”

Once again, he was seeing flashes of insecurity beneath the seemingly perfect outer layer of Piper Bellinger, and they roused his protective instincts. He’d ridiculed her at the outset. Now he wanted to fight off anything that made her sad. Fucking hell, it was confusing.

Piper hadn’t responded, quietly dabbing at her damp eyes—and he’d been okay with the crying for a while, but he should have been able to dry her tears by now. What was he doing wrong here? Remembering how the hug had at least gotten her to stop running away, he put his left arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side. Maybe a distraction was the way to go. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“You mean, besides enjoying harbor tours from all the local fishermen?”

Despite her teasing tone, something hot poked him in the jugular. “Funny.”

Her lips twitched, but over the course of a few seconds, she sobered. “A lot has happened since you left, actually. I met my grandmother, Opal.”

Brendan started a little. “You didn’t know her at all before this trip? No phone calls, or—”

“No.” Her cheeks colored slightly. “I never would have known about her, either, if we hadn’t come here. She’s just been sitting in her apartment all this time, grieving my father. Knowing that kind of makes my life in LA feel like make-believe. Blissful ignorance.” A beat passed. “She had some differences of opinion with my mother. We didn’t get into it too deeply, but I’m guessing my mother wanted to put it all behind her, and Opal wanted to . . .”

“Live in the fallout.”

“‘Fallout’ is a nice way of saying ‘the real world,’ but you’re right.” She looked down at her lap. “Me and Hannah went to see the memorial for Henry, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel, but I didn’t think it would be just nothing. It stayed that way right up until today when we found a whole collage of pictures in the bar. Behind some plywood. He was laughing in one of the photos, and that’s when . . . there was finally recognition.”