“If you want to, Pipes,” Hannah said softly, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Leaving you is going to suck, but I can’t be here forever. I’ve got my job with Sergei waiting. If you decide to stay . . .”

“I know,” Piper managed, the sign blurring.

“Are you? Staying for sure?”

Through the window, they watched Brendan inside the bar where he screwed a light bulb into the chandelier. So capable and reassuring and familiar now, her heart drew up tight, lodging in her throat. “Yeah. I’m staying.”

“Shit,” Hannah breathed. “I’m torn between happy and sad.”

Piper swiped at her eyes, probably smearing blue paint all over her face but not caring one bit. “I swear to God, you better visit.”

Her sister snorted. “Who else is going to bail you out when all this goes south?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Things were too good to be true.

On the water, that usually meant Brendan was missing something. That he’d forgotten to flush out a fuel line or replace a rusting winch. There was no such thing as smooth sailing on a boat, not for long. And since he’d long lived his life in the same manner he captained the Della Ray, he couldn’t help but anticipate a time bomb going off.

He had this woman. This once-in-a-hundred-lifetimes woman who could walk into a room and rob him of fucking breath. She was courageous, sweet, clever, seductive, adventurous, kind, guileless one moment, mischievous the next. So beautiful that a smile from her could make him whisper a prayer. And she loved him. Showed him exactly how much in new ways every day—like when he’d caught her spraying his cologne onto her nighttime shirt, holding it to her nose like it could heal all ills. She whispered her love into his ear every morning and every night. She asked him about fishing and googled questions to fill in the blanks, which Brendan knew because she was always leaving her laptop browser open on the kitchen counter.

Too good to be true.

He was missing something.

A line was going to snap.

It was hard to imagine anything bad happening at the moment, however, while cooking in the kitchen with Piper. With her hair over her shoulder in a loose braid, she was barefoot in yoga pants and a clingy sweater, humming between him and the stove, absently stirring pasta sauce with one hand. They’d cooked it three nights in a row, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her he was sick of Italian, because she was so proud of herself for learning to make sauce. He’d eat it for a decade straight as long as she held her breath for the first bite and clapped when he gave her a thumbs-up.

Brendan had his chin on top of Piper’s head, arms looped around her waist, swaying side to side to the music drifting from Hannah’s room. In these quiet moments, he continually had to stop himself from asking for a decision. Was she going back to LA for the party? Or at all?

This party in her honor made him nervous for a lot of reasons. What if she went home and was reminded of all the reasons she loved it there? What if she decided that being celebrated and revered by millions was preferable to being with a fisherman who left her on a weekly basis? Because, Jesus, that wouldn’t be such a fucking stretch. If she would just tell him Westport was her home, he’d believe her. He’d let the fear drop. But every day came and went with them dancing around the elephant in the room.

Despite his refusal to pressure her, the unknown, the lack of a plan, was getting to him.

He’d never compare his relationship with Piper to his marriage, but after the typhoon and Piper’s subsequent race to the hospital—not to mention the tears she’d shed in his bed afterward—a new anxiety had taken root.

Bad things happen when I leave. When I’m not here to do anything about them.

He’d returned home once to find himself a widower.

It felt like just yesterday that he’d scared the hell out of Piper. Sent her running through a dangerous storm and driving to reach him in a state of panic.

What if he came home next time to find her gone? Without an answer in regard to the future, the upcoming trip loomed ominously, impatience scraping at him.

“Who cooks when you’re on the Della Ray?” she asked, leaning her head back against his chest.

Brendan shook off his unwanted thoughts, trying his best to be present. To take the perfection she was giving him and be grateful for every second. “We take turns, but it’s usually Deke, since he likes doing it.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry you’ll never be able to enjoy anything as much as my sauce.”

“You’re right.” He kissed her neck. “Nothing will ever compare.”

“I’ll have some ready when you get home. Two servings.”

“Just have yourself ready,” he rumbled, running a finger along the waistband of her pants.

Piper tipped her head back, and their mouths met in a slow kiss that made him anxious for later, when they could be alone in bed together. Anxious to hear those sobs of urgency in his ears. Anxious to memorize them so he could bring them on the boat tomorrow. “Brendan?”

“Yeah?”

She bit off a laugh. “How long are you going to eat this sauce before you admit you’re sick of it? I’m going to lose my bet with Hannah.”

He laughed so hard she dropped the spoon into the sauce.

“Oh!” Piper tried to fish the utensil out of the bubbling sauce with her fingers, but yanked them out with a yelp. “Oh crap! Ouch!”

His laughter died immediately, and he turned her around, swiftly using a kitchen towel to clean off her burned fingers and kissing them. “You okay, baby?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her petite frame starting to shake with laughter against him. “I guess losing a couple of fingers is the price of winning the bet.”

“I love the sauce.” Curious, he shifted. “How long did Hannah think it would take to . . .”

“Admit you were sick of my sauce? Eternity.”

“That’s how long it should have taken,” Brendan growled, pissed at himself. “You should have lost. And you should have assumed it would take an eternity, too.”

Her lips twitched. “I’m not mad.” She laid her cheek against the center of his chest. “I got to hear that big, beautiful laugh. I’m a double winner.”

“I love the damn sauce,” he grumbled into the crown of her head, deciding to give voice to another one of the worries that had been needling him. “Are you going to be all right when I leave tomorrow?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him with a furrow between her brows. “Don’t worry about me when you’re out there, please. I need to know you’re focused and safe.”

“I am, Piper.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “I will be.”

Her body relaxed a little more against him. “Brendan . . .” With his name lingering in the air, she seemed to come out of a trance, starting to turn away from him. “We should order pizza—”

He kept her from turning. “What were you going to say?”

Based on the way she squared her shoulders, she was remembering her promise not to keep anything locked in her head. Away from him. A mixture of dread and curiosity rippled in his stomach, but he stayed silent. This was good. The openness between them was coming easier and easier, because of trust. “I was going to ask if you wanted kids someday. And I realize that sounds like . . . like I’m asking if you want them with me, which . . .” Color suffused her cheeks. “Anyway. It’s just that we never talked about it, and kids seem like something you’d have a firm plan on—”