It Happened One Summer by Tessa Bailey

Damn.

This pint-sized girl with freckles had just gone toe-to-toe with the captain. Still looked spitting mad, too, underneath the brim of her red baseball cap.

It was a good thing Fox knew enough about women to wipe the amusement from his face. Hannah, the new girl in town, had briefly turned her wrath on him outside the Red Buoy, and he wasn’t eager to revisit the moment. Neither was his dick, which had momentarily retreated into itself like a hermit crab at the rare display of displeasure in his company.

Just then, a blustery August wind caught Hannah’s hat and knocked it off her head.

They went for it at the same time, his fingers wrapping around the brim before it could hit the ground. Still bent over—and with the most winning grin he could muster—Fox handed it back, his mouth widening further when she only peered at him suspiciously.

Hannah sniffed. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

With a skeptical hum, she pulled the hat back down over her eyes, but he’d already seen the evening sunlight travel over her face. A cute face, proclaimed the stubby nose located between two big hazel eyes and a dimple in her right cheek. Her toes peeked out of her flip-flops, showing off a musical note that ran the length of her second-largest toe.

Yup. Cute as hell.

But not so cute that she couldn’t turn his manhood into a crustacean.

What are you, his pretty-boy sidekick?

Apparently in addition to being adorable and fearless, she was astute.

The pretty part was obvious. And now, here he was, squiring this spitfire to the record shop so his best friend could get some time alone with the first woman to rouse his interest since the passing of his wife seven years earlier. Thus Fox ticking the sidekick box.

Truthfully, though? He didn’t mind not being taken seriously. Let Hannah put him in a neat little category. It saved him from having to try. Trying for anything worthwhile always led to disappointment.

Fox realized his smile had slipped and fixed it back in place, gesturing for Hannah to precede him along the sidewalk. “After you, sweetheart.”

She studied him down the end of her stub nose, then breezed past. “You can turn down the wattage, peacock. Nothing I say to Piper about you will affect her decision.”

Peacock? Brutal. “Her decision to what?”

“To embark on or decline an affair with the mean one.”

The mean one. Savage. “You two seem close. She doesn’t value your opinion?”

Hannah stopped short and turned, her expression that of a person jogging back their previous statement. “Oh no, she does. She does. But my sister, um . . .” Her fingers plucked at the air for the right words. “She is so desperate to see the good in people, she doesn’t always heed a well-placed warning.”

“Ah. Do you look for the bad in people?”

“Oh, my affliction is way worse than Piper’s; I like the bad in people.”

She showed him that dimple and kept sailing.

It took Fox a moment to regain his stride. Suddenly he was interested in a conversation. More than he’d been in a damn long time. Why? Apart from the fact that she’d gained his respect by refusing to back down from a man twice her size, there was no reason he should be picking up his pace to find out what Hannah was going to say next.

They weren’t even going to sleep together.

Doing so could seriously mess things up for Brendan—and Jesus, she wasn’t his type, anyway. For one thing, she’d be living in Westport for the foreseeable future. Way too close for comfort. Two, his charm was absolutely wasted on this out-of-towner. The way she speed-walked two yards ahead of him made that crystal clear.

Maybe that’s why he wanted to continue talking to her.

He’d gotten the sex-is-a-no-no speech and she was immune to him. The pressure was off.

It surprised him how much that pressure was present in his chest when it started to abate, gradually, like the air coming out of a beach ball. “Want to slow down a little, Freckles?” he said, a little testier than he’d intended, because of the weird feeling. “I’m the only one who knows where we’re going.”

Hannah gave him an eyebrow raise over her shoulder but downgraded from a sprint to a jog. Maybe even seemed a little more curious about him—but what sense did that make? “Really? You think I’m a ‘Freckles’?”

“It was that or Captain Killer.”

Was that a hint of a smile?

Out of habit, he was about to compliment her on her smile when the phone in his pocket started to vibrate. He made the rookie mistake of taking it out, instead of ignoring it, but quickly put the device back when the name “Carla” blinked on the screen.

Not before Hannah saw it, though. Her gaze danced away quickly, her expression remaining neutral, but she definitely noticed a woman was calling him. There was no reason that should bother him. No reason for the stupid, sinking disappointment in his belly. None at all.

Fox coughed into his fist and they continued to walk, side by side. “What exactly do you mean by ‘I like the bad in people’?”

Her dimple deepened while she thought about it. “It’s like . . . the bad in someone is also the most honest part, right? When you meet someone new, you dig and dig until you get to the good stuff. Imagine how much time we would save if our biggest flaw was our opening line.”

“You’re pretty intense for someone nicknamed Freckles.”

A laugh snuck out of her, and the weirdness that had been barrel-rolling in his chest stopped abruptly, slowed by satisfaction. Warmth. “Hey, I questioned your judgment. You were firm on Freckles.” Her smile melted into a sigh. “And I know, I am a little intense. It’s all the music I listen to. Everything is right on the surface in a song. Calamity, heartbreak, tension, hope. It’s hard to dip back into normal life after a Courtney Barnett song.” She snuck a glance at him. “I tend to overshare almost immediately after meeting someone. It’s why I don’t have a lot of friends back home. I come on stronger than cold brew.”

That made him chuckle. “Hold on, now. I didn’t say the intensity was a turnoff.”

Her gaze cut to his, mouth in a flat line.

Whoops. Stepped on a land mine. Better backpedal.“‘Turnoff’ was the wrong expression. This isn’t”—Fox seesawed a hand between them—“there’s nothing to turn off or on.”

She nodded her agreement and they went back to walking.

Shit, this was kind of nice. Having a mildly antagonistic interaction with a girl. This girl. There was something invigorating about passing the time with her without expectations attached. Not that a lot of effort went into seducing women. That talent was kind of a built-in mechanism. Trying to seduce Hannah would have been a lot more complicated, and the fact that he didn’t have to . . .

The only remaining option was friendship.

Wow. What a turn the day had taken. When he woke up this morning, if someone had told him he’d be chumming around with a girl, he would have called them a damn liar. But here he was. Not even trying to have sex with her. It went against his nature not to check her out a little, just for posterity’s sake, and she had the kind of twitchy buns that drove him crazy. But he was filing that away under irrelevant.

“What kinds of things do you normally overshare about?” he asked her.

She looked up at the sunset-streaked sky but quickly ducked back underneath the brim of her hat when a gull circled above. “My greatest fears, what movies make me cry, my relationship with my mother. Things like that. In Los Angeles, you’re supposed to lead with what you do for a living.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what do you do for a living?”

An honest-to-God giggle tumbled out of her. “I’m a location scout for an independent movie house.”

Yeah, he could see her doing that. Clipboard, earpiece, chewing gum, watching some drama unfold on a movie set. “That sounds like it nurtures your intensity, sure enough. Is that what you want to do permanently?”

“No.” She seemed hesitant to say more.

“Come on, oversharer. Don’t let me down.”

“It’s just that I haven’t told anyone yet.” She dipped her cheek toward her shoulder. Her version of a shrug? “I want to craft movie soundtracks. Not scores. Just, selecting the perfect songs for a scene.”

“That sounds pretty fucking cool.”

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “Thanks.” Was she biting that lip to subdue a smile? Damn. He kind of wanted to see it. “What about you? I gather you’re a fisherman like the mean one?”

“That’s right.” He tapped his inner wrist. “Got salt water running in these veins.”

“Does it scare you? When the ocean gets rough?”

“I’d be an idiot if it didn’t scare me.”

For some reason, that seemed to bring this interesting girl over to his team. She nodded, examining him a little more closely. “I heard him call you the relief skipper. Do you ever want to captain your own vessel?”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“Too much responsibility.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I like things exactly the way they are now. Work a job, don’t make any mistakes, come home with cash in my pocket, and end of the bargain fulfilled. Let someone else think about the big picture.”

Hannah pursed her lips. “Are you lazy or afraid of messing up?”

Defensiveness stuck in his middle unexpectedly, and using the only weapon he had, Fox dropped his attention to her thighs. “I’m sure as hell not lazy, Freckles.”

She gulped, hands balling in her pockets. “So you’re . . . afraid, then?”

“Can’t help digging, can you?” Laughing, Fox shook his head. “You’re not going to find the bad in me that easily. It’s sealed up tight.”

“Famous last words,” she murmured, and they regarded each other for a drawn-out beat. “Is there really a record shop, or are you luring me to a watery grave?”

“Don’t be dark, Freckles.” He pulled her to a stop outside Disc N Dat before she could walk past it. “This is it.”

“Really?” She studied the low white-stucco building. “There’s no sign.”

“Don’t you know that’s what makes it cool? I thought you were from LA.” Fox opened the door for Hannah before she could respond, grinning as she passed. And yeah, fine, he was a little gratified when her cheeks turned pink. He could be friends with a girl, but it wouldn’t hurt for her to at least recognize his attractiveness. After all, he worked so hard to make sure it was the main thing people noticed about him.

Hannah set foot inside the record shop and came to a dead halt.

He wasn’t a record enthusiast like this girl, but he’d been in Disc N Dat enough times growing up in Westport that he knew there was something magical about it. The fact that he’d been the one to present it to Hannah gave him a surprising sense of pride. Still standing in the doorway, he tried to see the shop through her eyes. The shelves had blue inset lighting, casting the rows of records in a dreamlike glow. Vintage bulbs hung down from the ceiling, amber and gold and silver, paper mobiles turning around them to cast shapes and shadows onto the walls and original flooring. The place smelled like coffee and dust and leather.

Hannah turned to him with wide eyes. She took off her hat, letting loose a tumble of dirty-blond hair, her face awash in jewel-toned lighting, drying up his mouth.

Cute.

Friend.

Fox repeated those words three times each, but he stopped thinking altogether when she took two steps and wrapped her arms around his neck. Hugging him. Snuggling her dips and peaks right up against his muscles and squeezing tight.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

Her breath was warm, her chin propped in that spot where his neck and shoulder met, and Jesus, it felt nice. Too nice. Way too nice. But that didn’t stop him from leaning down slightly to compensate for their height difference and pull her closer to his chest.

Hannah shifted slowly, turning her head . . . and their eyes met.

“Fade Into You” played low and entrancing from the speakers. Nothing about this was expected or remotely resembled real life. Not for him. He didn’t have moments like this. Not with anyone. But this . . . girl. This off-limits girl.

She was making him need to kiss her. How was she doing it?

Already mentally calling himself a moron, Fox lowered his head—and his phone vibrated in the front pocket of his jeans. This time, he didn’t pull it out, but Hannah stepped back, visibly shaking herself free of the moment, because it seemed to hover unspoken between them that a woman was calling. Most likely it was. No sugar-coating it. Fox’s hands didn’t seem capable of doing anything but dropping heavily to his sides.

“I’m going to browse,” Hannah said, hidden beneath her hat once more, already turning for the first aisle. “If you want to take your call.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll just . . . be outside.”

But when Fox left the store, he let the call go to voicemail and watched Hannah moon over records through the window instead.