They were driving for five minutes before Piper noticed the address on the navigation screen. It included the name of a very upscale hotel. “Wait. That’s not where we’re staying, is it?”

Brendan grunted, turned onto the highway.

Marble bathtubs, Egyptian cotton, white fluffy robes, and flattering mood lighting danced in her head. “It is?” she breathed.

“Uh-oh. Someone is breaking out the big guns.” Hannah chuckled in the backseat. “Well played, Brendan.” Her voice changed. “Wait, but . . . how many rooms did you book?”

“I’m staying with Hannah,” Piper said preemptively, passing her sister an I-got-you-bitch look over the cab divider.

“Of course you are,” Brendan said easily. “I got three rooms. Fox and I will have our own. He gets enough of my snoring on the boat.”

Three rooms? A month ago, she wouldn’t even have considered the cost of staying the night at a luxury hotel. But she mentally calculated the price of everything now, right down to a cup of afternoon coffee. Three rooms at this hotel would be pricey. Well into the thousands. How much money did fishermen make, anyway? That hadn’t been part of her research.

She’d worry about it later. Right now, she was too busy being turned on by the thought of a room service cheese plate and complimentary slippers.

The captain really did have her figured out, didn’t he?

“I made a road-trip playlist,” Hannah said, leaning forward and handing Piper her phone. “I named it ‘Seattle Bound.’ Just hit shuffle, Pipes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She plugged it into Brendan’s outlet. “I never question the DJ.”

“The Passenger” by Iggy Pop came on first. “That’s Bowie’s voice joining in on the chorus,” Hannah called over the music. “This song is about their friendship. Driving around together, taking journeys.” She sighed wistfully. “Can you imagine them pulling up next to you at a stoplight?”

“Is that what you’ll be shopping for at the expo?” Fox asked her. “Bowie?”

“Maybe. The beauty of record shopping is never knowing what you’ll leave with.” Animated by her favorite topic, Hannah sat forward, turning in the seat to face Fox. “They have to speak to you. More importantly, you have to listen.”

From behind her sunglasses, Piper watched the conversation with interest via the rearview mirror.

“Records are kind of like fine wine. Some studios had better production years than others. It’s not just the band, it’s the pressing. You can be as sentimental as you want about an album, but there’s a quality aspect, too.” She grinned. “And if you get a perfect pressing of an album you love, there’s nothing like that first note when the needle touches down.”

“Have you had that?” Fox asked quietly after a moment.

Hannah nodded solemnly. “‘A Case of You’ by Joni Mitchell. It was the first song I played on her Blue album. I’ve never been the same.”

“Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman came up next on the playlist.

Piper’s sister hummed a few bars. “Mood is also a factor. If I’m happy, I might shop for Weezer. If I’m homesick, I’ll look for Tom Petty . . .”

Fox’s lips twitched. “Do you listen to anything from your own generation?”

“Sometimes. Mostly no.”

“My Hannah is an old soul,” Piper called back.

Brendan’s friend nodded, regarding Hannah. “So you have songs for every mood.”

“I have hundreds of songs for every mood,” Hannah breathed, unzipping her backpack and yanking out her headphones and jam-packed iPod, pressing them to her chest. “What kind of mood are you in right now?”

“I don’t know. Uh . . .” Fox exhaled up at the ceiling, that smile still playing around the edges of his lips. “Glad.”

Glad, Hannah mouthed. “Why?”

Fox didn’t respond right away. “Because I don’t have to share a room with Brendan. Obviously.” He nodded at Hannah’s headphones. “What do you got for that?”

Looking superior, Hannah handed him the headset.

Fox put them on.

A moment later, he let out a crack of laughter.

Piper turned in the seat. “What song did you play him?”

“‘No Scrubs.’”

Even Brendan laughed at that, his rusted-motor laugh making Piper want to crawl up into his lap and nuzzle his beard. Probably best to wait until they weren’t driving for that.

Over the course of the two-hour trip, Fox and Hannah inched closer together in the backseat until they were eventually sharing the set of headphones, taking turns choosing songs to play each other and arguing over whose picks were better. And while Piper hadn’t liked the tension between Fox and her sister, she wasn’t sure she liked this any better. She’d gone on enough dates with players to spot one a mile away—and unless she was wildly mistaken, Fox had playboy royalty written all over him.

After a quick stop to pick up the chandelier and cover it with a tarp in the back of Brendan’s truck, they arrived at the hotel before lunchtime. Piper was given precious few minutes to enjoy the lobby waterfall and soothing piano music before they were headed for the elevators.

“I asked them to put us as close as possible, so we’re all on the sixteenth floor,” Brendan said, passing out room keys, so casually in charge, Piper had to bite down on her lip. “The expo starts at noon. You want to meet in the lobby then and walk over?”

“Sounds good,” said both sisters.

Although I want to jump you is what Piper was thinking.

They reached the sixteenth floor and headed in different directions—and Piper was grateful to have half an hour alone with her sister. “Hey, getting a little cozy with Fox there, eh?” she whispered, tapping the room key against the sensor, releasing the lock.

Hannah snorted. “What? No. We were just listening to music.”

“Yeah, except music is like sex for you—” Piper broke off on a gasp, running the rest of the way into the room. It was magnificent. Muted sunlight. A view of the water. A white fluffy comforter on the king-sized bed, complete with mirrored headboard and mood lighting. Elegant creams and golds and marble. A seating area with a plush ottoman and tasseled throw pillows. Vintage Vogue covers even served as the artwork. “Oh, Hannah.” Piper turned in a circle, arms outstretched. “I’m home.”

“The captain done good.”

“He done real good.” Piper trailed her fingertips along a cloudlike pillow. “But we’re still talking about Fox. What’s going on there?”

Hannah plopped onto the love seat, backpack in her lap. “It’s dumb.”

“What is dumb?”

Her sister grumbled. “That day we walked to the record shop, I might have thought he was cute. We were having a good conversation—deeper than I expected, actually. And then . . . his phone just starts pinging nonstop. Multiple girl names coming up on the screen. Tina. Josie. Mika. It made me feel kind of stupid for looking at him that way. Like there was even . . . potential.” She set aside her backpack with a shudder. “I think maybe the cleaning products we’d set on fire went to my head or something. But it was a momentary lapse. I’m all about Sergei. All about him. Even if he treats me like a kid sister.”