She didn’t want to feel special around Brendan, though. Did she?
Since arriving in Westport, she’d had more frank conversations with Brendan than anyone in her life, save Hannah. She wanted to know more about him, to reveal more of herself in return, and that was intensely scary.
Because what could come of this?
She was only in Westport for three months, almost two weeks down already. Tomorrow he’d leave for two weeks. Then back in and out to sea, three days at a time. This had all the makings of a temporary hookup. But his refusal to put a label on this thing between them left the door of possibilities swinging wide open.
She actually didn’t even know how to be more than a temporary hookup.
That impossible-to-ignore white tan line around his ring finger and the fact that she was his first date since taking it off? It was overwhelming for someone whose longest relationship had only been three weeks and had ended with her confidence shot full of holes. Whatever he expected to happen between them . . . she couldn’t deliver on that.
And maybe that was the real problem.
The burly sea captain waited in silence for her to take the first bite, his elbows on the table, totally unpracticed at being on a date. A muscle ticced in his cheek, telling her Brendan was nervous about her reaction to his cooking. But every thought in her head must have been showing on her face, because he raised an eyebrow at her. She rolled the tension out of her shoulders and dug her fork into the flaky white fish, adding a potato, too, and pushing it between her lips. Chewing. “Oh. Wow, this is great.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally.” She took another bite, and he finally started eating his own meal. “Do you cook for yourself a lot?”
“Yes.” He ate the way he did everything else. No pussyfooting around. Insert fork, put food in mouth, repeat. No pausing. “Except for Monday nights.”
“Oh, the Red Buoy is a scheduled weekly event. I should have known.” She laughed. “I make fun of you for your routines, but they’re probably what make you a good captain.”
He made a sound. “Haven’t been in my routines this week, have I?”
“No.” She considered him. Even warned herself against delving too deeply into why he’d changed things up. But her curiosity got the best of her. “Why is that? I mean, what made you decide to”—take off your ring?—“rearrange your schedule?”
Brendan seemed to choose his words. “I’ll never be impulsive. Consistency equals safety on the water, and I got comfortable abiding by rules at all times. It makes me worthy to have lives in my hands, you know? Or that was my reasoning in the beginning, and it just stuck. For a long time. But recently, here on land . . . someone kept throwing wrenches in my routines, and the world didn’t end.” He studied her, as if to judge her reaction and whether or not to continue. “It was kind of like I’d been waiting for a shoe to drop. Then it dropped, and instead of chaos, I just, uh . . .” A beat passed. “Saw the potential for a new course.”
Piper swallowed hard. “The shoe dropped, but it was a peep-toe stiletto?”
“Something like that.”
“I can harness my chaos for good. I might need you as a character witness at a future trial.” Her words didn’t quite convey the levity she was hoping for, mostly because she sounded breathless over his admission. Piper Bellinger had had a positive effect on someone. He’d admitted it out loud. “But it’s not just me that forced the change,” she said, and laughed, desperate to dull the throb in her chest. “There had to be other factors.”
Brendan started to say something and stopped.
Since meeting this man, she’d suspected he never said anything without a reason. If he was holding back, she could only imagine how important it must be. She found herself setting down her fork, wanting to give him her undivided attention. “What is it?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m purchasing a second boat for next season. It’s being built now. I’m going to check on the progress while I’m in Dutch Harbor—that’s the port in Alaska where we’ll wait a week after setting our traps.”
“That’s exciting.” Her brow wrinkled. “How are you going to captain two ships?”
“I’m not. I’m going to put Fox in the wheelhouse of the Della Ray.”
Piper smiled into a sip of champagne. “Does he know yet?”
“No. I can’t give him time to talk himself out of it.”
“Would he? He seems . . . confident.”
“That’s a nice way of saying he’s a cocky asshole. And he is. But he’s smarter than he thinks.” Brendan paused, looking down with a knitted brow. “Maybe handing over the Della Ray is a good way to distance myself from the past.”