“Soon.” Then she qualified: “If we can get permits to film.”
A beat passed. “Permits to film in Westport?”
“Pretty sure I just convinced Sergei it’s the only place on earth that will work for his vision.” Hannah sniffed. “My powers of persuasion often go unrecognized.”
“Like hell a film crew is coming here,” Brendan said in the background.
Hannah’s chest squeezed at the familiarity of her sister’s ebullient nature set alongside her fiancé’s growly, no-bullshit personality. She missed them so much.
“Tell the captain it will only be for a couple of weeks. I’ll make sure to scrub the Hollywood stink off every precious cobblestone before we leave.”
“Let me worry about him,” Piper said playfully. “He’s forgetting what a good mood I’ll be in having my sister in town. And of course you can stay here, Hanns. Of course. Just . . . I hope you’re not planning for this month? Brendan’s parents are coming to visit soon. They’ll be using the guest room.”
“Ooh.” Hannah winced. “If we get a fast enough turnaround on the permits, it could be late March. Sergei is on a mission.” Hannah turned on the counter to check her reflection, wincing at the hair sticking out of the sides of her ball cap. “But don’t stress, I can just stay wherever they put up the crew. Getting to see you will be more than enough.”
“Can’t you stall Sergei? Maybe tell him Westport is extra moody in April?”
“How did you know he was going for a moody vibe?”
“His last film was called Fragmented Joy, wasn’t it?”
“Valid point.” Hannah laughed, pressing the phone tighter to her ear, trying to feel her sister’s warmth over the phone. “Seriously, though. Don’t worry about the guest-room thing. It’s no big—”
“You know, there is one poss . . .” Piper trailed off. “Never mind.”
Hannah’s head tilted at her sister’s hasty retreat. “What?”
“No, really. It was a bad idea.”
“Then tell me. I want to pooh-pooh it, too.”
Piper humphed. “I was going to say that Fox has that empty bedroom at his place. And as you know, he’s out on the boat with Brendan for long stretches. But, like, he’s also home for stretches, which is why it’s a bad idea. Forget I said it.”
Stupid, really. The way Hannah sprang off the counter at the mention of the devilish charmer’s name and started shoving pieces of her hair back under the brim of her hat. “It’s not a bad idea,” she said, automatically defending Fox, even though they hadn’t seen each other in six months.
There had only been the daily texts.
That she definitely wouldn’t be mentioning to Piper.
“We’re friendly.” Lower your voice. “We’re friends.”
“I know that, Hanns,” Piper said indulgently.
“And you know”—she dropped her volume even more—“I still have that thing for a certain someone.” Why Hannah suddenly felt the need to prove to Piper—and possibly herself—that she was, indeed, only friends with a man who went through women like nickels in a slot machine, she had no idea. But there it was. “Staying with Fox isn’t a terrible idea. Like you said, he’ll only be there half the time. I’ll be able to keep food in the fridge, which I won’t in a hotel room. It will slice a little off the production’s expenditures and earn me points with Sergei.”
“Speaking of Sergei, are you finally going to ask him?”
Hannah took a deep breath, glancing toward the door of the bathroom. “Yeah, I think this might be my moment, since I just proved my worth in there. There is already a music coordinator on the payroll, but I’m going to ask to assist. It’s a step in the right direction, at least, right?”
“Damn right,” Piper said, clapping at the rate of a hummingbird’s wings in the background. “You got this, bish.”
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Hannah cleared her throat. “Will you talk to Fox for me about using the guest room? He might feel pressured if I ask him directly. It’s just to put the idea out there, in case it’s March for sure and the guest room will be taken.”
Piper hesitated briefly. “Okay, Hanns. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Hugs to the mean one.”
Hannah hung up the phone on a giggle from Piper and tapped the device against her mouth. Why was her pulse racing? Surely not because there was a possibility she could occupy a room in Fox’s apartment. There might have been an inescapable attraction toward the relief skipper the first time they met, but after his phone pinged for the thousandth time with blatant booty calls, it became woefully obvious that his incredible looks were used to his advantage with the opposite sex.
Fox Thornton has not her type. He was bad boyfriend material.
But he was her friend.
Her thumb hovered over the screen of her phone momentarily before tapping on their text thread, reading the one he’d sent last night just before she drifted off to sleep.