“It’s Saturday night—he doesn’t have”—her sister looked at her meaningfully—“plans?”
“Plans, like . . . oh.” Her stomach had no right to drop. “I—I mean, he didn’t mention anything. Like a date. But if I invite him, the worst he can say is no.”
Why was she nervous he would turn her down? Tell her he was headed to Seattle for his usual recreational activities? What Fox did with his time was none of her business. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a few more seconds before she tapped out a text.
HANNAH （7:18 PM）： Heading to Cross & Daughters with Piper if you’re interested.
A minute later, he answered.
FOX （7:19 PM）： See you there, Freckles.
Hannah let out a slow breath and tipped her head back against the seat. The speed with which her stomach calmed was alarming. But it did. Like a raging sea turning into a tranquil lake in the space of four words. What was that about? Did she simply covet the short length of time she had to spend with a friend? That was totally possible, right?
They walked into Cross and Daughters a little while later, the evening crowd only starting to trickle in. Hannah’s heart squeezed the moment she stepped over the threshold, bombarded by images of her and Piper sanding the old, neglected bar, finding that photograph of Henry behind a piece of plywood, sprinting to the door with a flaming frying pan, getting ready for the grand opening. So many memories packed into such a small space. And there was a definite satisfaction that came from looking up and knowing she was the one who hung the gold, spray-painted fishing net from the ceiling.
Piper slipped behind the bar to consult with Anita and Benny, the newly hired waitress and bartender Piper had told her about over lunch. Her sister looked so confident, pointing out things on the drink menu, answering a question about how to operate the register. A year ago, Piper had never seen a checkbook, let alone balanced one. Now she owned and operated a successful bar.
God, Hannah was proud of her.
“You okay over there?”
She turned at the sound of Fox’s deep drawl, finding him leaning back on a bar stool, one arm resting along the back of the seat, the other steadying a beer bottle in his lap. There was no help for the prickles that ran along her scalp, down her neck, and around to the front, hardening her nipples into points. It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to think of something to counter the effect, like slugs or snot or foot fungus.
Fox watched it happen knowingly, too, the blue of his eyes deepening a shade as they dipped to her breasts, the beer bottle lifting to his sculpted lips for a long, hard pull.
Get yourself together, Hannah.
This was simply the effect Fox had on women. But she didn’t have to be like everyone else and let it become A Thing. She could acknowledge his attractiveness and remain objective, right?
“Hey. Yes. I was just, um . . .” Begging herself to stop being an idiot, Hannah hopped onto the stool beside him. “I was just remembering all the work that went into this place.”
He nodded. “You girls brought it back to life.”
She nudged him with an elbow, sighing inwardly when his firm muscle didn’t budge in the slightest. “You helped.”
“I was just here for the company,” he said quietly, holding her gaze long enough to turn her stomach into a jungle gym. Then, as if forcing himself to switch gears, he reached over and tapped her nose. “What do you want to drink?”
“Hmmm. No liquor. I filled my yearly quota last night. Beer, maybe?”
“Beer it is.”
Fox nodded at Benny and ordered something vaguely German-sounding. A moment later, Hannah was sipping on a cold pint glass full of a golden substance, an orange wedge stuck on the rim. “This is good. This is beer?”
He grinned. “Uh-oh. Someone is going to fill their yearly beer quota, too.”
“Oh no. Not me. I have to be on set in the morning.”
“We’ll see.” Cockily, he crossed his arms. “You haven’t been here in a while.”
Hannah paused midway through a sip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She never got her answer, because at that same moment, Piper poked her in the shoulder, presenting Brendan’s parents with a flourish. “Hannah, this is Mr. and Mrs. Taggart. Michael and Louise, this is my sister, Hannah.”
Oh, these were Brendan’s parents, all right. No mistaking it. They were stiff shouldered and serious, not at all comfortable in the bar setting. But they were trying, even if their smiles were distracted. Without looking at Piper, Hannah could feel her sister’s nerves over having her future mother-and father-in-law in the bar, so Hannah did what she did best. She called forth her inner hype girl.