by Nora Roberts
* * *
SHE DIDN’T HAVE time to brood about it, even to think about it. They only had a week to finish the last details on the house, to load in furniture, stock the kitchen.
It reminded Avery of the final push on the inn, but this time with Beckett and Clare off on their honeymoon, they were short two pairs of hands.
Still, that sense of déjà vu trailed through as she and Hope loaded dishes, glassware, flatware, pots, pans, platters into cupboards.
“She’s not going to be disappointed she didn’t do all this herself, right?”
Hope shook her head. “I thought about that, second-guessed, third-guessed. Then I thought about her coming back from a week off—the work facing her at the store, the kids, the new routine, and being pregnant. I really think she’ll be relieved not to face hauling boxes, unpacking, and the rest.”
“I think so, too—but sometimes I fourth-guess. It’s great the boys are spending a few days down with Clint’s parents. It’s good for all of them, but I have to admit I miss them. And being able to use those tireless legs to run little errands.”
“We’re nearly there. With Justine and Rose handling the clothes, the linens, Owen and Ryder muscling in the big stuff, we’ll have it perfect for their homecoming.”
Hope paused, fingers reaching for her phone. “I should check, make sure Carolee ordered the flowers.”
“You know she did. Relax, Commander.”
“If he calls me that again, I may kick him in the balls.” Hope paused, rolled her shoulders. “It’s a beautiful house—the wood, the details, the sense of space.”
“The Montgomerys do good work.”
“They do. Speaking of the Montgomerys, what’s going on with you and Owen?”
“Nothing.”
Hope glanced toward the stairs. “Justine and Rose are up on the second floor. Owen and Ryder are getting another load. It’s just you and me.”
“I don’t know exactly. Things have been a little off since the wedding. My fault, I guess—sort of. When I showed him the heart stone, I made some comment about marriage. I do till death or divorce, something like that. He thinks I’m cynical.”
“I wonder why?”
“I’m not.”
“No, you’re not. But you put your mother’s baggage in your own closet. Eventually, you’re just going to have to pitch it out.”
“I don’t. Maybe I do,” she admitted, annoyed with herself. “But I really think I’ve got it down to an overnight bag. Now it feels weird between us, and that’s the last thing I want. We’ve been friends forever. In fact—”
She glanced around, making absolutely sure they were alone. “The other night I dug this out of my keepsake box.”
Avery opened her purse, unzipped a pocket. And pulled out a plastic ring in the shape of a pink heart. “He actually gave me this when I was about six, and crushing on him.”
“Oh, Avery, it’s so cute. So sweet.”
“It was, it is. Gum-ball-machine ring. He was just playing along with me, but it put me on top of the world. He does that kind of thing. The sweet thing.”
“You kept it, all this time.”
“Of course. My first engagement ring.” To amuse them both, she slipped it on, wiggled her fingers. But oddly seeing it there made her feel a little sad. “And now something’s off between us,” she continued as she pulled it off again. “I think he must want to take a step back and—”
She broke off when she heard the door open, and mimed zipping her lips as she tucked the ring back in her purse.
* * *
WHILE D.A. LAY on the kitchen floor, obviously exhausted, she helped arrange tables, lamps, pillows. When duty called Hope back to the inn, Avery unpacked towels, set out soaps, moving from master to kids’ bath, to guest bath, to half bath, to lower-level bath.
It was full dark when she came upstairs again, and stopped to grin at the great room. Homey, she thought, comfortable, and pretty.
She heard the sound of hammering, moved through to the playroom. Owen, tool belt slung at his hips, hung a framed X-Men poster.
“You put the cubbies together.”
He glanced back at her. “Ryder did it before he took off.”
“He’s gone?”
“We’re about done. Mom said to tell you she and Rosie will be back tomorrow, after a grocery store trip for fresh produce.”
“Great. I guess you’re right. I can’t think of much else to do. I wasn’t sure we’d make it, and we’re a full day ahead.”
“We had a lot of hands.”
“And you and Hope with your checklists. This is a great room. Fun. happy. The house feels that way, too.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Do you want a good-job beer?”
“I wouldn’t mind it.”
She went out, opened two. They were so freaking polite, she thought. So matter-of-fact. So damn weird.
Enough, she decided as she set them on the kitchen counter. She waited until he’d unstrapped his tool belt. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” He gave her a steady look out of quiet blue eyes. “Why would I be?”
“I don’t know. But we—you—something hasn’t seemed all the way right since the wedding.”
He considered her as he took a pull on the beer. “Maybe you’re right.”
“If this isn’t working for you, I wish—”
“Why do you go there? Why do you automatically go to it not working, it not lasting, it not sticking?”
“I don’t mean it like that. I—” When he waved that away, walked to the far window, she set her jaw. “You are mad at me.”
“I’m getting there.” He took another pull on the beer, then crossed back to set it on the counter. And looked her dead in the eye. “How would you feel if I said it wasn’t working for me? No bullshit, Avery, straight truth. How would you feel if I said I was done with it?”
The jaw she’d set wanted to tremble. And everything inside her trembled with it. “You’d break my heart. Is that what you need to hear? You need to know you could do that?”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, let out a breath. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I needed to hear, and what I needed to know.”
“Why would you want to hurt me that way? You’re not a hard person. You’re not cold. Why would you hurt me that way? If you want to step back, you could do it without being cruel.”
“Stop it.” A world of patience sounded in his voice. “I’m not stepping back. I don’t want to step back. That’s just it. But you don’t believe in me, in yourself. In us.”
“I do. Why would you think I didn’t?” Even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew. “I say stupid things sometimes. I think stupid things sometimes. You should know me well enough to get that.”
“I do know you, Avery. I know you’re loyal and generous, you’re tough and ambitious.”
Since Beckett’s wedding, Owen had looked for the answer, worked the problem. He thought he had it.
“Avery, you question yourself too much, you worry too much you’re something and someone you’re not. Because you’re nothing like her. Nothing, and you never have been. It pisses me off you don’t see that.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Okay.” He started to pick up his beer again, stopped. “No, it’s not okay. We’ll end up just circling around and getting nowhere. It’s not okay because I’m in love with you.”
“Oh my God.”
“I probably always have been. It’s taken a long time for it to sink in, so I figured you needed time to do the same. But it’s enough now. Do you see this place?”
“Yes. Owen—”
“It’s not just a damn house—a damn good house. It’s a place to build, to come back to, to depend on.” Everything he felt for her filled him. Everything he wanted surrounded him.
The hell with working it out, thinking it through.
“I’ve got a damn good house, too. You should be in it with me. Build in it with me, and co
me back to it with me, depend on it—and on me.”
“You want me to move in with you?”
He’d been working on it, he thought, and this wasn’t the direction he’d planned on. Screw it, he decided. All or nothing.
“I want you to marry me.”
“Oh, Jesus.” After a couple hitching breaths, she looked down. “I can’t feel my feet.”
“Trust you to have the most frustrating reaction.”
“I’m sorry. Just give me a minute.”
“No. Damn it. No. It’s not about spine. It’s about love and faith, and hope, I guess. I watched my brother marry Clare, and I knew I wanted that. I’ve always wanted it, but I thought, sure, eventually. Eventually I’d settle in, settle down, make a family. It’s eventually, Avery, because the other thing I know is eventually never came until you. It’s always been you. My first girlfriend.”
“I need to sit down a minute.”
She did, right on the floor. She clutched the key around her neck. Locks, she thought, had to be opened. And he was wrong; it did take spine. But she was no wimp.
“What would you feel if I said no, I didn’t want any of that?”
He crouched down, looked her dead in the eye again. “You’d break my heart.”
“I’d never do that.”
“You’ll marry me to spare my feelings?”
“I love you enough to do just that. You make my heart flutter, Owen. You always did. I got used to it—and maybe getting used to it I didn’t value it enough. When we started to be with each other, it was more than a flutter. Something more, and I didn’t know what to do with it. No one else ever made me feel the way you did—do. I thought something was missing in me because I couldn’t feel enough. But the only thing missing was none of them were you.”
He sat down across from her. “Now nothing’s missing, for either of us. Say yes.”
“Just wait. What I feel . . .” It lit inside her, all at once. “God, it’s like the stone heart. Was she trying to show me? It’s so strong, so solid, so enduring. I never thought you’d feel it for me, so I just couldn’t open that place and let it come out. And it does take spine.” She dashed a tear away. “I just had to find mine.”
He took her hand. “I’m in love with you, Avery. Say yes.”
“I’ll probably suck at marriage.”
“That’ll be my problem, won’t it?”
She looked at his face, so familiar, so precious to her. No, she thought, nothing was missing for either of them. “I need my purse.”
“Now?”
“I really do.”
“Jesus, break the moment much?” Griping, he pushed up, grabbed it off the counter, dropped it in her lap.
And stared when she pulled out the pink plastic ring.
She offered it to him. “I want to be your problem, Owen, for the rest of my life.”
“You kept it,” he murmured. Grinning, he started to slide the ring on her finger, but she closed her hand. “Don’t mess with me, Avery. Say yes.”
“Just wait. I don’t have Clare’s—what’s the word?—equanimity, or Hope’s efficiency.”
“Am I asking either of them to marry me?”
“No, and you’d better not. I don’t have your patience, and thank God you’ve got it. I’ll try it a lot—but you already know that.”
“I already do. Say yes.”
“I love you. You’re my friend, my lover, my match.” She smiled now, kissed his cheek. “My first boyfriend is going to be my last boyfriend. Yes.” She held out her hand for the ring. “Absolutely, definitely yes.”
He slid it on. “It fits. Mostly.”
“It was way too big the first time. Looks like it works now.” She climbed into his lap.
“Took you long enough.”
“From where I’m sitting, it took exactly long enough.” She held out her hand, wiggled her fingers. Not sad now. Just happy.
“I’ll get you a real one.” He took her hand, kissed her finger above the pink plastic heart. “You know, a diamond or whatever you want.”
“This is a real one—but I’ll take the diamond. I’ll take you, Owen, and thank God you’ll take me.”
He wrapped her tight and hard. “Avery.” Emotion swamped him as he took her lips. His eventually, he thought, right here in his arms. “Here we are.”
“You and me,” she murmured. “I know what Clare meant now.”
“About what?”
“How she felt right before the wedding. She said she didn’t feel nervous. She felt clear-eyed.” She drew back, framed his face. “So do I. Steady and sure. You’re my eventually, too. Let’s go home, and get started on building.”
He helped her up, and together they switched off lights, locked doors, and walked out hand in hand.
She thought of the key around her neck, and the heart stone she still carried in her bag. And the sweet, silly gum-ball ring on her finger.
Symbols, all of them—of unlocked places, and lasting love.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
the third book in the Inn BoonsBoro trilogy
by Nora Roberts
The Perfect Hope
Available November 2012 from Berkley Books
WITH A FEW groans and sighs, the old building settled down for the night. Under the star-washed sky its stone walls glowed, rising up over Boonsboro’s Square as they had for more than two centuries. Even the crossroads held quiet now, stretching out in pools of shadows and light. All the windows and storefronts along Main Street seemed to sleep, content to doze away in the balm of the summer night.
She should do the same, Hope thought. Settle down, stretch out. Sleep.
That would be the sensible thing to do, and she considered herself a sensible woman. But the long day had left her restless and, she reminded herself, Carolee would arrive bright and early to start breakfast.
The innkeeper could sleep in.
In any case, it was barely midnight. When she’d lived and worked in Georgetown, she’d rarely managed to settle in for the night this early. Of course, then she’d been managing The Wickham, and if she hadn’t been dealing with some small crisis or handling a guest request, she’d been enjoying the nightlife.
The town of Boonsboro, tucked into the foothills of Maryland’s Blue Ridge Mountains, might have a rich and storied history, and it certainly had its charms—among which she counted the revitalized inn she now managed—but it wasn’t famed for its nightlife.
That would change a bit when her friend Avery opened her restaurant and tap house. And wouldn’t it be fun to see what the energetic Avery MacTavish did with her new enterprise right next door—and just across The Square from Avery’s pizzeria.
Before summer ended, Avery would juggle the running of two restaurants, Hope thought.
And people called Hope an overachiever.
She looked around the kitchen—clean, shiny, warm and welcoming. She’d already sliced fruit, checked the supplies, restocked the refrigerator. So everything sat ready for Carolee to prepare breakfast for the guests currently tucked in their rooms.
She’d finished her paperwork, checked all the doors, and made her rounds checking for dishes—or anything else—out of place. Duties done, she told herself, and still she wasn’t ready to tuck her own self in her third-floor apartment.
Instead she poured an indulgent glass of wine and did a last circle through The Lobby, switching off the chandelier over the central table with its showy summer flowers.
She moved through the arch, gave the front door one last check before she turned toward the stairs. Her fingers trailed lightly over the iron banister.
She’d already checked The Library, but she checked again. It wasn’t anal, she told herself. A guest might have slipped in for a glass of Irish or a book. But the room was quiet, settled like the rest.
She glanced back. She had guests on this floor. Mr. and Mrs. Vargas—Donna and Max—married twenty-seven years. The night at the inn, in Nick and Nora, had been a birthd
ay gift for Donna from their daughter. And wasn’t that sweet?
Her other guests, a floor up in Westley and Buttercup, chose the inn for their wedding night. She liked to think the newlyweds, April and Troy, would take lovely, lasting memories with them.
She checked the door to the second-level porch, then on impulse unlocked it and stepped out into the night.
With her wine, she crossed the wide wood deck, leaned on the rail. Across The Square, the apartment above Vesta sat dark—and empty now that Avery had moved in with Owen Montgomery. Hope could admit—to herself anyway—that she missed looking over and knowing her friend was right there, just across Main.
But Avery was exactly where she belonged, Hope decided, with Owen, her first and, as it turned out, her last boyfriend.
Talk about sweet.
And she’d help plan a wedding—May bride, May flowers—right there in The Courtyard, just as Clare’s had been this past spring.
Thinking of it, Hope looked down Main toward the bookstore. Clare’s Turn The Page had been a risk for a young widow with two children and another on the way. But she’d made it work. Clare had a knack for making things work. Now she was Clare Montgomery, Beckett’s wife. And when winter came, they’d welcome a new baby to the mix.
Odd, wasn’t it, that her two friends had lived right in Boonsboro for so long, and she’d relocated only the year—not even a full year yet—before. The new kid in town.
Now, of the three of them, she was the only one still right here, right in the heart of town.
Silly to miss them when she saw them nearly every day, but on restless nights she could wish, just a little, they were still close.
So much had changed, for all of them, in this past year.
She’d been perfectly content in Georgetown, with her home, her work, her routine. With Jonathan, the cheating bastard.
She’d had good, solid plans, no rush, no hurry, but solid plans. The Wickham had been her place. She’d known its rhythm, its tones, its needs. And she’d done a hell of a job for the Wickhams and their cheating bastard son, Jonathan.
She’d planned to marry him. No, there’d been no formal engagement, no
