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.

A couple of the older women nudged each other at Opal’s appearance. One by one, the dozen or so ladies started to notice her. For long moments, they stared at her with mouths agape—and then they all ambushed her at once.

“Opal,” said a kind-looking woman with a red bob, rising to her feet. “You’re out!”

“And looking like hot shit!” inserted another.

Laughter rippled over the tables, and Piper could sense Opal’s pleasure. “Well, I have a fancy stylist now,” Opal told them, squeezing Piper’s arm. “My granddaughter.”

Westport was a small town, and it was obvious some of the women already knew the Bellinger sisters had taken up residence, as well as their familial connection to Opal, while others were visibly connecting the dots and marveling. Either way, the group as a whole seemed surprised to see them out together and looking so close.

“Is there . . . room for two more?” Opal asked.

Everyone shuffled at once, dragging chairs over from other tables. Opal’s eyes held a suspicious luster when she looked up at Piper and let out a breath. “It’s like I never left.”

Piper leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you go sit down. I’ll go grab us some drinks. Tequila for you, right?”

“Oh, stop.” Opal tapped her arm playfully. “Stoli and Seven with two limes, please.”

“Damn,” Piper muttered with a smile, as Opal walked off. The older woman claimed a chair and was immediately heaped with well-deserved attention. “I have a feeling you’ll be just fine.”

Piper bought a round of drinks for her and Opal, taking a seat beside her. After half an hour of easy conversation, the evening appeared to be shaping up as a low-key lady hangout. Until one of the twentysomething girls bought Piper a drink in exchange for a beauty consultation. Really, the drink hadn’t been necessary. She was happy to dole out advice based on the girl’s skin tone and oval face shape . . . but then another girl slapped down a shot in front of Piper, wanting to know her beauty regimen. Another traded a lemon drop for tips on dressing sexy when it was always “balls-ass cold and raining” in the winter.

And then it all went downhill from there.

* * *

“It’s all about swagger,” Piper shouted over the music an hour later, an eye squinted so she would only see one set of people, instead of two.

Unless there were two sets? When did they get there?

She tried to remember what she’d been saying in the first place. Had all of it been a slurred mess? But no, the girls who’d pushed tables to the side to create a runway down the back of Blow the Man Down were listening to her with rapt focus. Deliver, Piper. “You, me, all of us, ladies. We wield the power.” She threw out a finger aimed at the bar full of men. “They know it. They know we know it. The secret is to show them we know that they know that we know. Does that make sense?”

A chorus of yeses went up, followed by the clinking of glasses.

“Watch me walk,” Piper said, pushing her hair back over her shoulders and strutting along the floorboards, turning on a dime at the end of her makeshift runway. Not her best work, but pretty decent after four, maybe eight drinks. “Look at my face. It’s like, I don’t have time for your shit. I’m busy. I’m living!”

“Is this going to get me laid?” one girl asked.

Piper grabbed the girl’s face and stared into her soul. “Yes.”

“I believe you.”

“Hey, Piper.” Another girl stumbled into view. Or was she twins? “Labor Day is coming up. We should have a party and try out the makeup tips.”

“Oh my gosh,” Piper breathed, the best/worst idea breaking through her delightful drunkenness. “I should throw the party. I own a bar.”