The Last Boyfriend tibt-2

by Нора Робертс

  She waved weakly when Clare came in. “I think I used up all my electrolytes. Did they come to your place?”

  Clare held up the go-cup from her bookstore. “Skinny latte with a double shot of espresso.”

  “That answers that.”

  “It was good though. Good for Turn The Page, for the inn, for the town, I think.”

  “I bet Hope didn’t have to rush down to TTP and do your makeup.”

  “No, but I don’t work in a hot kitchen all day.”

  “Good answer.”

  “The reporter from Hagerstown Magazine wants to pitch a follow-up, or a related story to her editor. You, me, Hope.”

  “Us? What kind of story?”

  “Three women, three friends. One who runs a bookstore, one who runs a restaurant—soon two—and one who runs the B&B.”

  “I don’t want to wear a saucy apron.”

  “Saucy as in sauce, or saucy as in French maid?”

  “Guess.” Smirking, Avery pointed at her stained apron. “We’d have more warning, right? Not have a four-minute-from-naked-face-to-camera-face deal again.”

  “Much more. If it flies, we’d coordinate the day and time. It’d be good promotion for all of us. Still, I don’t know how Hope does it. She walked one of the reporters down to the bookstore. She looked—”

  “Perfect.”

  “Perfect. And relaxed. I can’t wait to see how the whole thing comes out on the news tonight, then in the paper. Beckett’s picking up the kids from school—or has by now. He said they needed some man time.”

  Everything in Avery went soft. “You struck gold there, Clare.”

  “A mountain of it. I was also ordered to pick up Vesta spaghetti and meatballs. Manly portions.”

  “We can help you with that.”

  “I’m going to need help with more soon. After the opening, I’ll only have two months before the wedding. I know we’re not doing a huge bash, but . . .”

  “Everything has to be wonderful.”

  “Starting with the dresses. Mine, yours, and Hope’s.”

  “We’ll take a day. Name it. I’ll make it work.”

  “Thursdays are best right now—as soon after the opening as possible. I need to check with Hope. I could shift some things and do a Wednesday if that’s better.”

  “Either way I can make it work.”

  “I’ve talked with Carol at Mountainside about the flowers. That’s pretty much set. I haven’t talked to you about food.”

  “Why don’t you leave that to me? I’ll put something together, then you can adjust, change, eliminate, or add. I can give you the launch pad.”

  “That takes a weight off. Thanks.” Leaning forward, smile brilliant, Clare took her friend’s hands. “I’m getting married, Avery.”

  “I’ve heard rumors.”

  “Everything’s moving so fast. Do you remember when they first started work on the inn? It seemed like forever. Now it’s finished, about to open. I’m getting married, Beckett’s finishing the house. I’m looking at tile and faucets and lighting fixtures.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “No, not nervous. A little overwhelmed here and there. Marriage, a new home, and if things go as we hope, a new baby on the way in a few months.”

  “It all looks really good on you.”

  “It all feels really good. Are you nervous?”

  “About what?”

  “You and Owen.”

  “No. No, not exactly nervous. But maybe, yeah, maybe a little overwhelmed here and there, too. One minute I think, sure, of course. Then the next it’s, what? Where did this come from, and what do I do with it?”

  She propped her chin on her fist. “Then it’s back to of course. We’ve been friends since we were kids, and now we’re looking at each other in a new way. That’s a little overwhelming. But maybe that’s good. Otherwise, maybe it would be too easy for that ‘of course’ to turn into ‘so what?’”

  Before she sat back again, Clare gave Avery’s hand a quick squeeze. “You think you’re careless with people. I don’t know where that comes from. I’ve known you a long time, and you’ve never been careless with people. We were friendly in high school. We ran in different crowds even though we co-captained the cheerleading squad.”

  “Go Warriors.”

  “Go Warriors. But when I came back home after Clint was killed, you were right there for me. Right there, Avery. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. I still don’t.”

  This time Avery took Clare’s hand. “You’ll never have to find out.”

  “The same to you. You’re not the so what type, Avery. Not with people. I’ve got to get back. I’ll run up for the spaghetti and manly meatballs around five.”

  “I’ll send it down, save you a trip.”

  Avery sat alone for another moment. She’d had enough of a break, all around, she decided. And enough worrying about what might be later rather than enjoying what was now.

  She pulled out her phone, texted Owen.

  Off in an hour. Want to come over, share a bottle of wine and a large pie upstairs?

  She finished off her drink, rolled her tired shoulders. Then smiled when he texted back.

  Knocking off shortly, having a beer with Ry at your place. I’ll walk you home.

  “Yeah, you walk me home, Owen. That’s what a good boyfriend does.”

  She got up, did a little dance in place, then went back to work.

  Chapter Thirteen

  From the bitterly cold morning of the opening of Inn BoonsBoro to the teeth-chattering afternoon, Avery calculated she had run twenty miles just dashing back and forth across Main Street.

  She wouldn’t have missed a single yard.

  Throughout the day Hope and Carolee polished and primped the inn until every inch gleamed. Each time Avery ran over, more flowers graced the tables, the mantels, even the deep windowsills in The Dining Room. Tables and chairs stood in The Courtyard and on the porches, while indoors, fires simmered in hearths.

  At one point, Avery ran through with trays of food while Hope—in jeans and a sweatshirt—signed for delivery of the rental dishes and glassware.

  “I’ll be back,” Avery told her. “One of my crew will bring the rest, then more as we need it.”

  “We’re right on schedule. Carolee just went home to change.”

  “I’m going to do that, but I’ll be back—an hour tops.”

  “Take your time,” Hope assured her in her ready-steady way. “We’re good.”

  “Why am I nervous? It’s not my inn.” On a dash, Avery streaked out and back across the street.

  In fifty-five minutes, overnight bag in hand, feeling smug at her early readiness, she found Hope setting up a bar. And wearing a killer red dress.

  “You’re dressed! You look amazing. It’s not fair. I hate you again.”

  “I timed it out. I didn’t want to have to run up and finish putting myself together once the Montgomerys got here. Which is any minute.”

  “I was supposed to be ready first. It’s annoying.”

  “Live with it.” Eyebrows arched under spiky black bangs, Hope gestured. “I might point out you’re wearing two different shoes.”

  “Which ones do I go with?” Testing, Avery heel-toed it, did quick pivots. “I can’t decide. Plus the dress is wrong, isn’t it? It’s gray.”

  “It’s not gray. It’s moondust. I love the sparkle on the bodice. Where did you get those sapphire shoes? I want them.”

  “I bought them last year in a weak moment. I haven’t worn them yet. I wasn’t sure if—”

  “Yes, you are. I’ll tell you what’s annoying. Your feet are a full size smaller than mine. Otherwise, I’d take you down for those shoes. I still might.”

  “Blue shoes it is. Can I put this stuff, including the rejected black pumps, in your place?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’ll be right down, give you a hand.”

  She slipped out of both shoes, ran upstairs in her bare
feet. She left the bag, the shoes inside Hope’s door, put the blue ones back on.

  Since the door to The Penthouse stood open, she wandered into its rarified air. Flowers spread under the windows in the parlor, stood on the floating counter in the bath, with more in the bedroom. Everything shimmered and gleamed.

  She couldn’t imagine what the Montgomerys felt, not when she felt such pride and satisfaction, and she’d only watched it evolve. And added a little elbow grease.

  She walked down, letting her hand trail on the iron banister.

  Wanting more, she walked down to Nick and Nora. She’d stay here tonight, she thought, with Owen. In that beautiful bed, with the scent of flowers, the sparkle of crystal.

  They’d make love here, in the crystal dark, the first ones to reach for each other in this room. She thought it a kind of magic.

  She turned at the sound of footsteps, smiled at Owen.

  “I was just thinking about you, and there you are. And handsome, too.” So handsome in his dark suit, with a tie—that magic again—almost the same color as her dress.

  “You keep surprising me, Avery.”

  Her smile warmed. “Tonight calls for some style, and we’re definitely stylish. I was thinking how you and your family must feel. It must be amazing because I feel so proud and happy, and I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did. You hauled, fed, cleaned. You helped us get Hope.”

  “You’re right; I did. And I put that sparkly floor lamp together solo.” She gave one of its drops a light flick. Her eyes sparkled nearly as brightly. “Pretty major.”

  “I think so. I have something for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Something to thank you for everything you did to help us get here tonight.”

  “A present?” On a sound of surprise she stepped toward him. “I didn’t do anything for presents—even considering lamp assembly—but I do love presents. So I’ll take it. Hand it over.”

  He pulled a little box out of his pocket—then took the wrapping she ripped off, balled it up while she lifted the lid.

  “Oh. Oh, God, it’s beautiful.”

  The little platinum key hung on a thin chain fired with tiny diamonds.

  “I saw it, and thought, that’s it. It’s symbolic. The key to Inn BoonsBoro. Anytime you want to use it.”

  “That’s beautiful, too, the thought of that. Thank you. Thank you,” she repeated, leaning in for a kiss. “I love it. My first diamonds.”

  “Really? They’re pretty puny.”

  “No diamond is puny. I want to wear it now.”

  “I’ll help you out.” He moved behind her, working on the clasp. She reached a hand up to the little key, studying them both in the silver-framed cheval glass.

  Then lifted a hand to the one he laid on her shoulder.

  She couldn’t find words, not when she saw the way they looked together, reflected in the mirror.

  The flutter came again when his gaze met hers. Then something new, a slow steady beat that spread out, spread through her until she felt it even in the soles of her feet.

  “Owen.” Whatever she might have said, could have said, slipped away when she saw the shadow in the glass. “Owen,” she repeated.

  “Yeah, I see.”

  She swallowed. “What do you see?”

  “Her. Elizabeth.”

  “I see a shadow. A silhouette.”

  “I see her. She’s smiling, but she has tears in her eyes. She . . . Is she waving? That’s—no, showing me her hand. Her left hand. A ring. It’s red—the little stone in it.”

  “A ruby?”

  “I don’t think—it’s darker, I guess.”

  “A garnet?”

  “Maybe. Yeah, maybe. An engagement ring?”

  In his head he heard it, soft as a wish. Billy.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “No. I smell the honeysuckle, I see the shape of her, I guess. Or did,” Avery said when the shadow faded. “What did you hear?”

  “She said his name again. Billy.”

  Avery turned. “A ring, an engagement ring, you said.”

  “That’s just a guess.”

  “She showed you the ring, then you heard her say his name. I’m betting engagement ring. She and Billy were going to get married. We have to find him for her, Owen.”

  The urgency in her voice as she turned, gripped his arms, surprised him. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Such a long time,” Avery murmured. “Such a long time to hold on.”

  It gave her hope, she realized. Hope that love really could matter most. Matter enough to last.

  “I haven’t had a lot of time to try to pin it all down, which is probably why I haven’t gotten anywhere yet. I’ll have more after tonight. And we’ve got to get downstairs. We’ve got the ribbon-cutting thing in about twenty minutes.”

  “I told Hope I’d be right down to help, and I got distracted.” She laid a hand on the key again. “Thank you, again.”

  “Looks good with the dress.” He brushed her shoulder absently. “Go ahead. I’ll be right down.”

  He wanted a moment, just another moment, and alone walked down to Elizabeth and Darcy. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy getting ready for tonight, and dealing with . . .” Life seemed the wrong term. “Things. But I promise I’ll keep trying to find him. You should know we’re going to have a lot of people here tonight, wandering around, coming into the room. It’s a party, okay? And after, my mother’s sleeping in here. It’s my mother, so . . . I just wanted to let you know.”

  He caught himself, shook his head. “Beckett probably already has. So, it’s a big night for my family, for the town. I’ve got to get to it.”

  He thought he felt something brush at his lapels—as a woman might brush a man’s before going out. “Ah . . . thanks. I think.”

  He glanced back on his way out, but saw nothing. So walked down to the lights, the voices.

  * * *

  After centuries of change, of war and weather, of neglect and of sweaty effort, the old hotel on The Square again welcomed guests. They toured rooms that offered warmth and welcome, gathered in groups near simmering hearths and connected with neighbors in the open kitchen.

  Light filled spaces dark for so long; voices brought life to the years of silence. People walked over pretty tiles and polished wood, lounged on a sofa yellow as butter or sipped drinks under an archway. Those brave enough to face the chill wandered out to admire The Courtyard or enjoy the view from a graceful porch.

  Some caught the light summery drift of honeysuckle, but thought nothing of it. More than once someone felt a brush on their shoulder, only to turn and find no one there. Twice Owen took friends through and found the doors to the porch in Elizabeth and Darcy open. He simply closed them while guests commented on the bed or the tile work, or the pretty stained-glass shade of the lamp.

  “Cut it out,” he said under his breath, and moved on.

  Later in the evening he checked again, pleased to find them closed. Probably too busy partying, he thought, to play games with him.

  As he turned to go, Franny came in. She wore black pants and a frilly blouse rather than her usual jeans and tee, and had added a fitted black jacket.

  “Hi! I brought over some more trays, and I’m taking my turn at the grand tour.”

  “You look nice, Franny.”

  “Thanks. I wanted to spruce it up a bit since I’m going back and forth. Gosh, Owen.” Looking everywhere at once, Franny trailed her fingers over the upholstered footboard. “It’s all so beautiful. Honestly, I know how much time and work went into it, but I swear, it’s like a miracle.”

  “Thanks. We’re really proud of it.”

  “You should be. I’ve only seen the rooms on this floor, and I’m already arguing with myself over my favorite.”

  He’d heard variations of that sentiment all evening, and it still made him smile. “I do the same thing. Want me to show you around?”

  “No, I’m fine on my own. I
t’s like exploring,” she said with a laugh, “and I’m loving it—and I’m running into people everywhere I go. I just saw Dick in Eve and Roarke.”

  “Dick the barber or Dick the banker?”

  “Ha. You’re funny. Dick the barber. And I saw Justine and Clare’s parents in The Library.” Moving past him, she stepped into the bath. “Oh, look at the tub. It’s like something out of an English novel.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “It’s a great idea. I’d live in this bathroom, which I’ve said about every one of them so far. Don’t worry about me. Get back to the party.”

  “It’s nice to take a quick break.”

  “I guess it is. Since I’ve got you alone for a minute, I wanted to say how good it is to see you and Avery together.”

  “Oh. Ah—”

  “I got used to seeing you as friends—I guess everyone did—so it was a surprise. A really nice surprise.”

  “It was . . . a surprise for us, too. I think.”

  “It’s good. She deserves some happy, and you might just deserve her.”

  “Doing my best.”

  “I like your best. She matters a lot to me.”

  “I know.”

  “And just so you know.” She walked back, tapped him on the chest. “If you hurt her, I’ll slip a hefty dose of laxatives in your calzone. You’ll never know when.”

  She arched her brows, nodded. “And, because you matter, too, and because I’m fair, I’ll do the same to her if vice versa.”

  Maybe, just in case, he’d stick with gyros for a while. “You’re a little scary, Franny.”

  “Be afraid. I’m onto the next.”

  As she walked out, Owen caught the whisper of laughter and honeysuckle behind him. “Oh yeah, you women are a riot.”

  Once again he started out, and once again stopped short. This time Willy B filled the doorway. Owen supposed if highland chieftains wore suits and polka-dot ties, they’d look pretty much like Willy B MacTavish.

  “Hey. I was sort of looking for Justine.”

  “I heard she was in The Library. Might still be. It’s down the hall, to the left.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Willy B shuffled his feet, a sure sign he was about to address something that embarrassed him. “Ah, since I’ve got you alone for a minute . . .”