by Nora Roberts
“We haven’t finished the bakery,” Owen pointed out. “We’ve barely started on the new restaurant.”
“And of all my sons, you’re the one who understands best the value of advance planning. I’m in negotiations. I haven’t bought it yet, and wouldn’t without discussing it with you first. Negotiations take time, settlement takes time. If it goes well, Beckett could start working on drawings when he’s back from his honeymoon.”
“Mom,” Beckett began, “have you been in that place lately?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. It needs work.” She offered him soup. “A lot of work. Aren’t we lucky we know how? And it’s not nearly as complicated as the inn was.”
“Ought to buy it just to level it,” Ryder muttered.
“And you know better. Gut it, yes, level it, no.”
“You already know what you want in there.”
She smiled at Owen. “I have ideas. We’d be on the small side, of course, compared to big, chain fitness centers. But we’d offer everything we could in that setting. A twenty-first-century fitness center with a small-town appeal—a large and varied menu of classes.”
“Even if we could turn that place into what you’re talking about, you’d have to staff it, find trainers, instructors.”
“Leave that end to me,” she told Ryder. “A large classroom on the second floor, and a small child-care area, maybe a treatment room for massages. Fitness area with cardio equipment, circuit training, weights on the main level, a small classroom, and locker rooms—each with a steam room and a sauna. Very spa-like in there, I’d think. We’ll figure it out.” She gave Beckett a pat on the cheek. “Won’t we?”
“I guess we will. If you get it.”
Her smile widened. “Leave that to me, too. Now, how about that tour?”
“Sure. We’ll start upstairs, work our way down.”
Frowning, Ryder watched them go. “Damn it. Damn it, it’s a good idea.”
“She mostly has them. Even if she got it quick, it would be mid-spring earliest, more like early summer before we had the plans and permits. That’s mostly on Beck.”
“Thank Christ. Wouldn’t mind gutting that place,” he considered. “I like me some serious demo. But we ought to get the bakery settled first. We have to get somebody in there, unless Mom thinks we’re going to start baking cupcakes.”
“I might have a line on that. Somebody Avery knows a little. She’s moved up here from D.C., where she worked as a pastry chef. She’s looking for a space for her own bakery.”
“Another city girl?” Ryder shrugged. “What does she look like?”
“Married.”
“Just as well. You figure that part out, Beck’ll figure out what we’re doing on the gym. And I’ll keep the crew going.”
“It’s what we do,” Owen said.
“And she has to run out of old buildings eventually.”
With a laugh, Owen took a sandwich after all. “Don’t count on it, son.”
* * *
“A GYM?” HOPE said.
“That’s the plan. If they get the property.” Avery sat with Hope in The Dining Room, finalizing the plans for Clare’s shower. “Owen says his mom’s all over it.”
“And they’d paint it, right? They wouldn’t leave it that fugly green it is now.”
“I think you can count on that. Owen said Beck’s made noises about raising the roof, getting rid of the flat job, doing a pitched one.”
“It’d be nice for guests. And for me. Just walk across the parking lot to a shiny new gym? Happy days. I’ve been limited to DVDs since I moved here. I’d love an honest-to-God yoga class.”
“I’ve always wanted to take one. Enough stretching, maybe I’d get taller. So, if this is the last of it, I can pick all this up at the end of the week when I do my next supply run.”
“Perfect. It’s going to be lovely. Flowers, pretty food, champagne, a fussy cake—a few silly games with classy prizes. It’ll be Clare.”
“And before we turn around again, we’ll be watching her marry Beckett.”
“Which leads me to ask if you and Owen are thinking about the same.”
“No. No,” Avery said with a half laugh. “We’re in a good place right now. Smooth, which is nice. And you know I’ve never been sold on marriage—for me. Maybe we’ll move toward living in sin one of these days.”
“I hear the words, but I don’t feel convinced. You love him.”
“I love him, and I’ve maybe slipped right along to in love with him.” It was easier to say it, to feel it, than she’d ever imagined. “I’m trying to get used to that, see if it sticks. Like I said, we’re in a good place right now. And we’re both crazy busy. It sounds like that’s not going to end anytime soon. The crazy busy.”
“Avery, I’ve never known you—or him, since I’ve gotten to know him—wanted anything but busy. It’s who you are. Both of you.”
“It’s a plus.”
“I’m not pushing, but I want to say every time I see the two of you, I think, perfect. Avery’s found her perfect match.”
Shifting, Avery rubbed her hands on her thighs. “I think you’re scaring me a little.”
“Toughen up. Take your time, sure, but if he’s not every bit as in love with you as you are with him, I don’t know how to organize an office.”
“Keep it up, I’ll start pairing you up with Ryder.”
“Talk about scary. My lips, from now on, are sealed. Tight.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AVERY GAVE HERSELF an extra hour in Owen’s bed. He’d been up, dressed, and gone by six forty-five to make a seven o’clock meeting on the job site.
Her job site this time, she thought as she snuggled in to let herself drift in and out. She’d considered going in with him, just to see the next stage, but she didn’t have to be told she’d be in the way, bog things down. She’d just stop in later in the morning, after she’d made her supply run, finished her list of errands. By then, the demo should be well under way.
More fun, she thought lazily, to be surprised by progress.
Lots of progress in lots of areas, she mused. Her best friend would be married in less than a month, and she’d be a part of it. She’d be a part of watching two good friends make promises to each other, make a family, celebrate a kind of miracle.
Love seemed a kind of miracle to her, one she’d never been absolutely sure existed. But she’d seen it for herself with Clare and Beckett, seen them come together, find that miracle—and have the faith and courage to trust it.
Part of her errands that morning included picking up the last of the party supplies for the shower—from the exacting and detailed list Hope had printed out for her.
She loved knowing Clare and Beckett would take a week for themselves after the wedding with an island honeymoon on St. Kitts.
One day, Avery thought, she’d have to take a vacation in some tropical paradise.
One day she’d have to take a damn vacation, she thought, opening one eye to look at the gloomy sky outside the bedroom window.
She would. She’d get her new place up and running, get the routine smooth—then reward herself with a few days of sun, white beaches, and blue water.
Someplace she’d never been—someplace where no one knew her.
Maybe Owen would go with her. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see how they dealt with nothing to do, with being strangers in a strange land—together.
And she loved that later in the summer, after school let out, the newlyweds planned a week’s vacation with the kids. A familymoon, she’d heard little Murphy call it.
What could be better, she decided, than a familymoon?
Meanwhile Owen—and Hope—dug deeper into the mystery of Eliza Ford when one or the other could squeeze out the time. Were Lizzy and Billy a kind of miracle? she wondered. Had love brought them together before tragedy crept in? Or was the answer less romantic—and probably more realistic—as Owen had suggested?
A young girl dreaming of love,
and a young man going his own way.
She’d dreamed of love once. But she’d been a child, and for a child, magic and miracles were always possible, and happy-ever-after simple and real.
Over time, she’d learned it was best to believe in the miracles and happy-ever-afters she could achieve herself, with hard work, determination, and long hours.
Plenty of satisfaction in that, she told herself. And she’d better get started on the day’s miracle and get the hell out of bed.
She sat up, then just hugged her knees in and smiled at the fire he’d left simmering. He was sweet that way, she mused. Sweet to stir up the fire, add a log so she’d wake up to its warmth and light on a gloomy March morning.
She was lucky to have him in her life—had always known that. But now she was lucky to have this new, fascinating connection with him, luckier still he was as content to take things one day at a time. No pressure, no scary talk about futures.
She’d barely rolled out of bed when her phone signaled an incoming text.
She rolled back, hoping it was Owen suggesting she come in and have a look at the initial demo after all.
But she read the quick message from Clare asking her to stop by the bookstore before she headed into Hagerstown for supplies.
A little puzzled, she answered, changed her plans to include a stop by the store—and hell, since she’d be right there, take a quick peek in at the demo.
She grabbed a shower, pulled on jeans, added a sweater over a short-sleeve shirt to accommodate the fickle March weather. Lips pursed, she considered her hair. The latest rinse had faded some, so she added a mental note to check out the range of colors, see what she was in the mood to be.
Downstairs, she discovered he’d made coffee, set a travel mug for her beside the pot. Another reason to smile, she thought. You could always count on Owen. She couldn’t think of another man, other than her father, who was so consistently solid.
On impulse, she went to his kitchen board, drew a heart with their initials in the center.
Fueled with coffee and a quick yogurt, she pulled on boots, wrapped on a scarf and shrugged into her coat before she saw the note by the door.
Take this, it read.
She rolled her eyes and grabbed the folding umbrella.
She’d take it, but he’d be lucky if she didn’t lose it somewhere along her morning run.
Halfway to Boonsboro, the first drops of rain splatted her windshield. She could only cast her eyes skyward and think how annoying it was that Owen was always right.
Minutes later, going over her morning plans, she forgot the umbrella and dashed through the rain to the bookstore’s covered porch.
She tapped on the glass, then used the key Clare had given her after the trouble with Sam Freemont the previous fall. As she stepped in, shaking rain from her hair, Clare walked down the stairs.
“Coffee’s fresh,” Clare announced.
“I just had some, but . . . who can say no to a latte?”
“I’ll fix you up. Thanks for coming by.”
“No problem. It’s just the excuse I needed to nose into the new place. They’re starting the demo this morning.”
“I know. Exciting.” She steamed milk while Avery glanced at the bestsellers on the front display.
“I need an afternoon off, a rainy afternoon like this one will probably be, so I can catch up on my reading. I couldn’t get through the book club book this time. Why do I want to read about someone else’s misery? Is it supposed to make me feel better about my life? Smug? Or just depressed? Because it was bringing me down.”
“I hated it, too. I choked it down the way I used to choke down the brussels sprouts my mother insisted were good for me. It was a brussels sprout book, and I’m not convinced they’re good for me.”
“Exactly.” Idly, Avery pulled down a thriller, skimmed the copy. “Plus, if I sit down to read, I want crème brûlée, or a good meaty steak, maybe pepperoni pizza, possibly a hot fudge sundae. And now I’m hungry.”
She turned back, smiling as she reached for the coffee. “Thanks. Hey, you look a little ragged-out.”
“Feeling a little draggy, a little off this morning.”
“You can’t catch anything.” Avery pointed a decisive finger. “You’re getting married in less than a month. You’re not allowed to catch anything. Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”
Clare shook her head at the offered latte. “I haven’t caught anything the way you mean, and I’m off coffee for now. I’m not sick.” Clare drew in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
“What? Now? Pregnant as in baby-on-board?”
“Yes, now. Pregnant as in.” On a laugh, Clare pressed her hands to her belly. And Avery wondered how pale could go to glow so fast.
“Oh, Clare. You’re pregnant, and you’re happy.” Setting the coffee down, Avery rushed around the counter, folded Clare into a hug. “I’m so happy for you. When did you find out? How far along are you? What did Beckett say?”
“I don’t think I could be happier. This morning, though I suspected yesterday. Probably about two weeks. And I haven’t said anything to Beckett yet.”
“Why?”
“I need you to do me a favor first. You’re going into Hagerstown, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I’ll be heading that way.”
“Could you pick me up a home pregnancy test?”
“You haven’t taken one already? You said you found out this morning.”
“Morning sickness, the second day running. I know the signs—this would be the fourth time. I’m wifty and tired, and sick in the mornings, and my body feels . . . It’s hard to explain.” Again she touched her belly, then her breasts. “My body feels pregnant. But I want to confirm before I tell Beckett just in case I’m wrong. I just don’t want to pop in the pharmacy here or in Sharpsburg to buy the kit.”
“Word spreads fast.”
“You got it, and since you’re going into Hagerstown anyway, you could get one for me, in anonymity.”
“Happy to. Wow. Wedding, honeymoon, familymoon, baby! Beckett’ll be good with it, right?”
“Very good.” Reaching down, she chose a ginger ale for herself from the under-counter cooler. “We wanted a baby, though we thought we’d wait a few months. We weren’t trying, but obviously, we weren’t not trying. If I’ve calculated right, we’ll be a family of six next January, right about the time the inn has its first anniversary.”
“Can I tell Hope? I’m going to see her later, but I’ll swear the vow of silence if you want.”
“I’ll let you know once I’ve taken the test. You can tell her right after I tell Beckett.”
“Vow of silence until. This is such good news. Good, happy news,” she added with another huge hug for Clare. “I’m not going to stop by to see the demo before I go. I don’t want to risk it. I talk to no one. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Oh boy!”
“Think, oh girl.” Clare laughed. “I know it’s silly, but God, I’d love to have a girl this time.”
“Thinking pink.” She gave Clare a last hug. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Thanks. Wait, it’s pouring. Let me get you an umbrella.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got one in the car.” She ran out, was soaked through before she got behind the wheel.
But she grinned all the way out of town.
* * *
OWEN LEFT THE crew to the demo, did a quick pass through the bakery project. Mostly on schedule, he noted, and with Ry at one helm, Beckett at the other, he was free to drive into Hagerstown for materials, knock off some personal errands—and the ones his brothers had added to his list.
He didn’t much mind the multiple stops—more materials meant more progress. He didn’t much mind driving in the rain. It could’ve been the snow currently hammering the northern part of the county and up into Pennsylvania.
He’d had enough of snow, enough of winter, so he’d take the rain.
He hoped Avery hadn’t ignored
the umbrella, as he knew she’d be doing just what he was doing. Multiple stops, multiple parking lots and dashes into stores, crossing off chores.
Too bad they couldn’t have gone together, but the stops didn’t match up well enough to make it practical. If the weather guys were right, they were in for a full day of rain, a full night of it. He remembered Avery had scheduled herself to work, and to close. He could grab dinner at Vesta after work, use her apartment to finish up paperwork while she was downstairs.
Stay at her place.
He had to remind himself not to assume, but damn it, he’d reached the point he wanted to assume. He wanted her to do the same.
Why shouldn’t they? Why wouldn’t they? But he couldn’t shake the certainty that she’d braked on that particular step and wasn’t quite willing to take the next.
Then again, he had to admit the step they’d stopped on was pretty comfortable.
He swung off for hardware, put an order in for lumber, picked up paint, then carpet samples for the over-the-bakery apartments.
He streamed through his list, making a circuit, making his last stop the drugstore. He clicked through his own items, added Ryder’s shaving cream, Beckett’s Motrin, tossed in a couple of fresh sets of playing cards—to supplement the naked women cards he’d already bought for Beck’s poker night bachelor party.
He started to turn down the next aisle, and spotted Avery.
It gave his heart a quick lift, to see her like this, unexpectedly—and made him shake his head when he noticed her damp hair.
She hadn’t used the umbrella after all.
He thought he’d ease down to her, come up behind—grab her. Imagined her reaction—the jolt, the squeak, the surprise, then the laugh.
She was concentrating so hard, he thought, amused, trying to figure out which . . . pregnancy test to buy.
Jesus Christ.
It was his last clear thought as he watched her take one off the shelf, give it another long study, front and back, then add it to her basket.
He stood exactly where he was, rooted to the floor as she strolled away down the aisle, turned the next corner.
A home pregnancy test? But she took . . . He used . . . How could . . . ?
Avery pregnant? How could she be pregnant? Well, he knew how, but she’d never said anything. Never gave the slightest hint she thought maybe.
She just picked up the am-I-or-aren’t-I kit and added it in with her shower gel and shampoo and mouthwash.
Just another item on the list?
He wanted to go after her, ask her what the hell.
Not the time or place, he told himself. Not the right frame of mind since he couldn’t decide what his frame of mind was, exactly.
He stared down at the things in his own basket, couldn’t think what to do, couldn’t think at all. Numb, a little shaky in the knees, he set the basket aside, and left without buying a thing.
* * *
