The Last Boyfriend tibt-2

by Нора Робертс

  And when she unreeled it that way, she decided she had every reason in the world to be impatient and stressed.

  “I just don’t have time to make you dinner and play right now.”

  “I got that, and it’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then there’s nothing to talk about. I’ve got stuff to do. That’s it, that’s all.”

  She stalked over to put his gyro in, take the other out, and caught the inside of her forearm on the oven.

  “Shit.”

  By the time she slammed the oven shut, turned, Owen was around the counter. He gripped her wrist when she tried to jerk away.

  “Let me see.”

  “It’s nothing. It happens.”

  “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

  “I just need some aloe. That’s why I keep a plant in the kitchen. Let me—”

  He simply pulled her into the closed kitchen where Franny worked. Before Franny could speak, Owen jerked his head to indicate she needed to go out, and kept pulling Avery to the back.

  “Will you let go!” she demanded. “I know how to take care of a damn burn. I’ve got customers.”

  “Stop it, right now.”

  The whip-snap of his tone, so rare, stopped her protests. She said nothing as he switched on the cold water in the sink, held her arm under it.

  “You weren’t paying attention. That’s not like you.”

  “You wouldn’t shut up.” She set her jaw when he stared down at her. “Well, you wouldn’t. I can take care of this, Owen. It’s just a burn.”

  “It’s not blistering. Why weren’t you paying attention?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. I’ve got a lot on my mind, I’m busy. I messed up. It’s not like I sliced a finger off.”

  He continued to hold her arm under the cool water while he studied her face. “I’ve seen you with a lot on your mind. I’ve seen you busy. If you don’t think I know you well enough to see something else is going on, you’re stupid. Is there a problem with you and me?”

  “There’s about to be.”

  “Keep the water on that,” he told her, then broke off a piece of her aloe plant. “All I know is everything was fine when you were on your way home from shopping with Clare and Hope.”

  He cut open the fat leaf, scooped out the inside. “And the next day, you’re canceling and don’t have time for two words.”

  He pulled a spoon out of the tray, mashed the aloe into paste.

  She should’ve known he’d be up on home remedies. Right at the moment, his patient efficiency made her want to stab him with a fork.

  “Let’s see that now.” He switched off the water, carefully dried her arm while he examined the burn. “Not bad.”

  “I told you it wasn’t bad.”

  “You also told me nothing’s wrong, when it clearly is. Hold still.” Gentle, thorough—in a way that made tears burn the back of her eyes—he coated the burn with aloe paste.

  “So something happened between the drive home and the next day. What?”

  “Maybe I just realized I had a lot on my plate, and I need to get some of it off—prioritize. Organize. We went from zero to sixty . . . Okay, more like thirty to sixty,” she amended when she got another Owen look. “I need a little time to sort through everything, get my work squared away. The new restaurant needs attention now if it’s going to work later. I got caught up in the sixty. I let stuff slide.”

  “Maybe. Maybe that’s some of it, but it’s not all of it. We’re going to have to talk about this, Avery.”

  “This isn’t the time. I’m at work. I—”

  “No, it’s not the time.” He laid a dry dressing from the first-aid kit over the coated burn. “But we’re going to make the time. Make sure somebody changes that dressing later.” He studied her face another moment, bent down, laid his lips on hers.

  “Okay.” He nodded, eyes on hers again. “Okay. I’m going to take the gyro to go, get back to work myself. I’ll see you later.”

  “Sure.”

  When he’d gone she leaned on the sink, had a vicious argument with herself followed by a short pity party.

  “Are you okay, Avery?”

  With a sigh, and a wish people would stop asking, she glanced toward the doorway and Franny. “Fine. It’s just a burn, nothing major. How is it out there?”

  “We’re pretty slow today.”

  “Listen, I’m going to go upstairs, get some things done. If we pick up, just call, and I’ll come back down.”

  “No problem.”

  * * *

  She cooked. Cooking was her teddy bear when upset, so she comforted herself by experimenting with a ham and potato soup and a smoked tomato bisque. She used her laptop in the kitchen to note down her tweaks.

  It calmed her, soothed her, settled her enough so she sat awhile, soups simmering on the stove, worked on a layout for booths, high tops, low tops, sofa and chairs in her new space.

  “Knock, knock!” Clare called out.

  “In the kitchen.” So much, Avery thought, for alone with her teddy bear time.

  “I was going to grab a salad downstairs, and Franny said you’d burned your arm and had a fight with Owen.”

  “I didn’t have a fight with Owen. I did burn my arm, but it’s nothing.”

  Clare frowned at the simmering pots. “Then why are you cooking up here? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. And the next person who asks me that is going to get a knuckle sandwich that won’t be so freaking tasty. I’m testing recipes. We’re slow downstairs, as I’m sure you saw for yourself. I’m grabbing some time to refine the menu for the new place.”

  “I thought you were refining the menu on Owen.”

  “Do you see Owen?” Avery demanded. “I have time now. I’m refining now.”

  “You’re upset. I haven’t seen you for a couple days because you’ve been so busy, and now you’re upset and fighting with Owen.”

  “I’m not fighting with Owen, and if I’m upset it’s because everybody keeps hovering and asking me why I’m upset. Including Owen, who just won’t back the hell off!”

  “You are fighting with Owen.”

  “I’m not.” Though she ground her teeth nearly to dust, Avery managed a calmer voice. “I’ve been busy. Beckett’s done with the plans, and they’re submitted for the demo permit. Now the mechanical plans are in the works. I’ve got a ton to do yet, to plan and decide on, all while I run Vesta.”

  “So you’re nervous. I’d be nervous, too. But you know it’s going to be great.”

  “Knowing it and making it great aren’t the same.” Her stomach hurt from the evasions. Lying always made her stomach hurt—and added to the side effect, she just sucked at lying, evasions, and half-truths.

  “It takes a lot of time and thought,” she continued, sticking with the theme. “And that doesn’t leave a lot of time and thought for boyfriends. So I think we should slow it down a little until I’m back on keel. That’s all.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. I swear.” Too tired to cry, Avery just laughed at Clare’s automatic assumption. “I’m just a little overwhelmed right now.”

  At last! she thought. The truth.

  “It’ll work itself out. Here, instead of a salad, try this.”

  Avery got out a bowl, ladled in some of the potato soup, then sprinkled a little parsley, a little grated Parmesan on top.

  “I have to decide on dinnerware, too. I may just go with restaurant white, then play up the linens, the glassware. Or maybe I need something bolder.”

  “It’s not going to matter.” Clare spooned up another bite. “Nobody’s going to care what this is in. It’s delicious. Why were you so stingy with it?”

  “Because you have to try the smoked tomato bisque, too.”

  Another bowl, another ladle—and a sprinkle of croutons, a basil leaf.

  “Oh God, this is so good. It’s smooth, a little creamy, and still has a bite.”

  “Excellent.” To se
e for herself, Avery got out her tasting spoon. “Yes, excellent,” she decreed. “No more changes on these. I’ll give you a container of both to take home for dinner.”

  “You mean I have to share?” Clare slid an arm around Avery’s waist. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready?”

  Yes, she sucked at lying. Giving up, Avery leaned her head on Clare’s shoulder. “Yes. Just not right now.”

  * * *

  She’d cooked through it, Avery decided. Or nearly. Wallowing wasn’t getting her anywhere, and only drawing attention—the exact opposite of what she’d wanted.

  She tubbed up the potato soup, snagged some Italian bread from downstairs. That cost her an hour, but she didn’t mind. Things had picked up for dinner, and though she wasn’t scheduled, she pitched in awhile.

  That, too, smoothed her mood.

  She needed to talk to her father, and hoped that would top off the recovery. He deserved to know, she reminded herself as she drove out of town. And he was the only person in the world from whom she never, ever kept secrets.

  She’d treat him to some soup, and they’d talk it out. They could talk anything out.

  But when she pulled in, spotted the bright blue Lexus with Nevada plates in his drive, her temper spiked.

  He didn’t know anyone in Nevada.

  Moved around, Traci had said.

  The MacTavish Gut told her Traci had moved around most recently to Nevada. And was here trying to dip into the next well.

  She charged into the house.

  Willy B pushed out of his chair when Avery stormed in. Traci stayed in her seat, eyes drenched, fingers twisting a soggy tissue.

  “You’ve got some nerve. You bitch.”

  “Avery! You calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down.” She rounded on her father. “Has she got to the ‘can you make me a loan’ part yet, or is she still on the how fucking sorry she is?”

  “Just sit down and . . . What?”

  “Didn’t she mention she’d paid me a visit a couple days ago?”

  “No.” He put an arm around Avery, as much to restrain as to unify. “She didn’t.”

  “I was going to. I had to see Avery first, Willy B. I wasn’t even sure I could face you at all, and I wanted to see Avery, to tell her I’m sorry.”

  “And to hit me up for money.”

  “I’m broke. I’m in trouble. That doesn’t stop me from being sorry.” Her fingers trembled as she gave up on the tissue and knuckled a tear away. “I wish I’d done things different. I wish I’d been different. I can’t change any of it. We lost the house, right before Steve died. Everything went wrong. He had some deals in the works, and it all fell through. He didn’t have time to turn things around.”

  “You’ve got a shiny new Lexus in the drive,” Avery pointed out. “Sell it.”

  “It’s leased, and I’m going to lose that, too. It’s all I’ve got. I just need a stake until I can find a place, get some work.”

  “You took money from Avery?” Willy B demanded.

  Color flooded Traci’s face. “I just need a loan.”

  “How much?” When Traci shook her head and wept again, he turned to Avery. “How much?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Whatever was in my wallet. More than I usually carry because I was going out and wanted cash if I needed it.”

  Anger, so rare in her easygoing father, kindled in Willy B’s voice. “You walked away from my girl, Traci. Now you come back and take her money?”

  “She’s got her own business. She’s got a nice place. I did my best by her as long as I could.”

  “No, you didn’t.” He kissed Avery gently on the top of the head. “Have you talked to your mother, Traci?”

  “I . . . She helped me out some right after Steve died. Everything was a mess. I didn’t know he owed so much money. She helped me some, but she said that was all I’d get. She meant it. I went to see her before I came here, and she wouldn’t help.”

  “How much are you looking for?”

  “Daddy, don’t—”

  “You hush, Avery.”

  “But, you can’t—”

  “This is my business.” He didn’t raise his voice—he’d never had to. He simply stared Avery in the eye. “You hush. How much, Traci?”

  “If I could have five thousand, to get me settled. I’ll pay you back. I swear it. I’ll sign papers. I know I’ve got no right, but I’ve got no one else.”

  “Avery, you go up, get my checkbook. You know where I keep it.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “You do what you’re told, and you do it now. You want to argue with me, we’ll do it later.” Now he laid a hand on Avery’s shoulders. “You can say your piece to me, but not now. That’s our business, not hers.”

  He rarely drew a hard line, but once he did, it didn’t budge. “All right, but it’s going to be a big, ugly piece.” She stomped upstairs, stomped back down.

  He sat, opened the checkbook. “I’ll give you the five thousand. It’s not a loan.”

  “But I’ll pay you back.”

  “I don’t want you to pay me back. Unless Avery has a change of mind, I don’t want to see or hear from you after you leave. You take the money, and go. I hope you find your way.”

  “I know you hate me, but—”

  “I don’t hate you. You gave me the light of my life, and I don’t forget it. Ever. So I’ll give you what you need, and we’re done.”

  A hard line, Avery thought again, and he’d drawn it for her.

  “I want you to send me your address or a phone number when you’re settled,” Willy B continued. “To me, Traci, not to Avery. You don’t contact her again. If she wants to talk to you or see you, she can come to me and I’ll give her what you send me.”

  “All right.”

  He folded the check, handed it to her.

  “Thank you. I . . . You kept the place real good. You’re a good man. I mean that.”

  “I expect you do.”

  “She’s beautiful.” Traci pressed a hand to her lips. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

  “I expect you are. You’d best go on now. It’s dark, and there might be weather coming in later tonight.”

  Gathering herself, Traci stood. “I guess you were the best thing I ever did,” she said to Avery. “And I did the worst thing to you. It’s hard knowing that.”

  When Traci left, Avery walked to the window, watched her drive away. “Why did you give her that money?”

  “Because she’s grieving. She lost someone she loved, and now she realizes she threw away something precious. She’ll never get it back, so she’s grieving over that, too. And because, for us, it closes the door.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she’d come to see you?”

  “That’s why I came tonight. To tell you. I just . . . I couldn’t talk about it for a while. I should’ve told you, then you’d have been prepared. I should’ve called Grandma. I just closed up. It hurt, so I closed up.”

  “I know.” He went to her, folded her into his big arms.

  “But tonight when I saw her, it just made me mad. That’s better, isn’t it?”

  “For you? Always.” Holding her close, he swayed her side to side. “We’ll be all right, baby. You and me? We’re going to be just fine. Don’t you worry.”

  Soothed by his voice, his scent, the mere fact of him, she pressed her face to his chest. “You told me that then, and a lot of times between now and then. It’s always been true. I love you, so much.”

  “I’m bigger. I love you more.”

  She laughed a little, squeezed hard. “I made soup. The MacTavish cook-out-the-blues potato-and-ham soup.”

  “Sounds just right.”

  “I’ll go get it out of the car.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Owen opted to work in the shop. It gave him time to think—okay, maybe brood was the word, but he felt entitled.

  Just as he started to take the next steps, she pulled back. What
kind of sense did that make? While he makes the effort not to let things just slide, to be sure he wasn’t taking her for granted, to treat their relationship like a damn relationship, she’s suddenly too busy to spare ten minutes of her time.

  “What kind of bullshit is that?” he demanded of Cus, and got a sympathetic tail thump as an answer.

  He measured his board, marked it, and remeasured automatically before feeding it into the saw.

  “She likes being busy,” he continued over the scream of the blade. “She likes the freaking chaos of a crazy schedule. But out of the blue she doesn’t have time, not to go out, to stay in, to have a goddamn conversation.”

  He switched off the saw, stacked his board, pulled down his safety goggles. “Women are a pain in the ass.”

  But Avery never had been, wasn’t supposed to be. So it all made less sense.

  Something was up with her. Didn’t she get he could see it? Avoiding him, making excuses, closing off when she’d always been up front. She was acting like . . .

  “Uh-oh.”

  He’d started taking her out, making plans. Christ, he’d given her jewelry. He’d changed the balance—was that it? She didn’t want that next step. Everything had been fine, had been smooth until he’d started treating their thing like a thing.

  Casual and easy, all good. Add a few shades of serious, and she pulls the plug. Just sex, fine, but try a little—romance, he supposed—and she shuts the door.

  And made him look, made him feel, like an imbecile.

  Couldn’t she have told him if she wanted to keep things simple? Didn’t he, and a lifetime of friendship, rate that?

  Plus, fuck it, didn’t he have a say in the whole business?

  Damn right he did.

  “I’m not her damn sex toy.”

  “Words a mother longs to hear from her beloved son.”

  On a wince, Owen shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, Owen.” Justine closed the shop door behind her, rubbed her chilled hands together. “What’s going on?”

  “Just working on one of the built-ins for Beck’s place.”

  “You’re a good brother.”

  “Yeah, well. I had some time. I didn’t see your car when I came in.”