The Last Boyfriend tibt-2 Page 4

  “Fifteen. I thought my dad was going to faint when I dyed my hair black and got those tattoos.”

  “It’s a good thing they were fake ones.”

  She smiled, sipped more wine. “Not all of them.”

  “Oh yeah? Where— Hold that thought,” he said when his phone rang. “What’s up, Ry?”

  He slid off the stool, listening, answering, looking out the glass door at the lights beaming on the inn.

  When he clipped the phone to his belt again, turned, he saw Avery sound asleep, her head pillowed on the arms she’d laid on the counter.

  She’d managed about half the slice of pizza, about half the wine, he noted. He cleaned off the counter, shut down the lights in the closed kitchen, walked back to shut off all but the security lights throughout.

  Then he considered her.

  He could carry her upstairs—she didn’t weigh much—but he wasn’t sure how he could carry her and lock up at the same time. Take her up, he thought, come back and lock up.

  But when he started to lift her, she jerked up and nearly bashed his face with her shoulder. “What? What is it?”

  “Bedtime. Come on, I’ll get you upstairs.”

  “Did I lock up?”

  “Front’s locked. I’ll get the back.”

  “I’m okay. I’ve got it.”

  When she pulled the keys out, he took them. But carrying her now just seemed weird. Instead, he put an arm around her waist, let her sleepwalk beside him.

  “I just closed my eyes for a minute.”

  “You should keep doing that, for the next eight or nine hours.” He supported her at his side, locked the door behind them. “Heading up,” he said and pulled her up the stairs to her apartment.

  “I’m a little foggy. Thanks for all and whatever.”

  “You’re welcome for all and whatever.”

  He unlocked her apartment door, tried not to wince when he saw she’d yet to completely unpack from the move—fully a month before. He set her keys on the table by the door. “You need to lock up behind me.”

  “’Kay.” She gave him a smile as she stood swaying with fatigue. “You’re so sweet, Owen. I’d pick you.”

  “For what?”

  “My share. ’Night.”

  “Okay. Lock the door, Avery.”

  He stood outside, waiting until he heard the lock click in place.

  Her share of what? he wondered, then shook his head and went down the stairs to the back lot and his truck.

  He glanced up at her windows as he got in. He could still smell the lemon she used on her hair, her hands.

  He smelled it all the way home.

  Chapter Three

  The minute she could break away from the restaurant, Avery bundled into her coat, yanked a ski cap over her hair, and dashed across the street.

  She spotted the furniture truck in the parking lot and quickened her steps as much in excitement as to get out of the cold. She walked into a buzz of activity—guys on ladders touching up paint, the thwack of nail guns from The Lounge and The Dining Room, the whirl of a drill.

  She headed through the front arch, then went ooooh when she got to the railing leading up the stairs. Ryder poked his head out of the front door of The Dining Room.

  “Do me a favor. Don’t go up that way. Luther’s working on the rails.”

  “They’re so beautiful,” she murmured, trailing a hand over the dark bronze curve.

  “Yeah, they are. He’s spread out on the stairs up there, and he’s too polite to tell you to go around the other way. I’m not.”

  “No problem.” She eased toward The Dining Room door, looked up. “God, it’s gorgeous. Look at those lights.”

  “Bitching heavy.” But he looked up as well at the big acorn globes with their oak leaf branches. “They look good.”

  “They look amazing. And the sconces, too. I can’t poke my nose in for a few days, and look what happens. I don’t have much time, but I want to see everything. Is Hope around?”

  “Probably up on three, fussing with furniture.”

  “Furniture!” With a whoop, Avery ran back toward The Lobby and out.

  Breath puffing in clouds, she ran up two flights of stairs. She opened the door of Westley and Buttercup, stood for a moment just grinning at the simmering fireplace in the wall, the dark slats of window blinds. She wanted to explore, to look at every detail, but she wanted people more.

  She rushed down to the porch door, hurried through, following voices to The Penthouse.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Justine and Hope angled two occasional chairs covered in silky fabric. The blues and golds in the pattern picked up the rich dark gold of the elaborate sofa where Carolee fussed with throw pillows.

  “I think we should . . . Avery.” Justine straightened. “Walk through to the window. I want to check the traffic flow.”

  “I’m rooted to the spot. My God, Justine. It’s gorgeous.”

  “But does it work? I don’t want guests bumping into chairs or having to wind and scoot. Pretend you just checked in, and now you want to walk through, look out the window on St. Paul.”

  “Okay.” She held up her hands, closed her eyes a moment. “Well, Alphonse, I suppose this will do for the night.”

  “Alphonse?” Hope commented.

  “My lover. We’re just in from Paris.” She strolled across the room, put a snooty look on her face as she glanced out the window. The look broke into a grin as she turned back, danced in place. “It’s spectacular. And no bumping or winding. Are you actually going to let people sit on this furniture?”

  “That’s what it’s for.”

  Avery ran her fingers over the rolled arm of the sofa. “You know, they’re going to do more than sit. Just saying.”

  “Some things I don’t need to think about. I want a little lamp for this chest. Something slim with a sparkly shade.”

  “I saw one at Bast,” Hope told her. “I think it would work.”

  “Make a note, okay? One of us will run down, grab some accent pieces, and try them out.”

  “It’s stunning,” Avery said. “Just as it is.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Hope winked at her. “Bring Alphonse into the bedroom.”

  “His favorite place. The man’s a machine.”

  She followed Hope back, would have detoured into the bath, but Hope grabbed her arm. “This first.” And Hope beamed like a new mother at Avery’s gasp.

  “The bed! I saw the cut sheet, but that’s nothing compared to the real thing.”

  “I love the carving.” Hope trailed her fingers over one of the tall posts. “And with the bedding, it really looks plush. I swear Carolee fussed with the duvet and shams, the bedroll for an hour.”

  “I love it—the oatmeal of the shams against the white bedding, and the throw.”

  “Cashmere. Just a nice touch.”

  “I’ll say. The tables, the lamps. And this dresser!”

  “The subtle gold sheen really works in here. I want to finish the whole space up by tonight. The journal, the books, the DVD, all the little details. We need photos for the website.”

  “I love the plush little stools and pillows at the foot of the bed. Everything in here says luxury. Even Alphonse would be impressed.”

  “And God knows he’s not easy to impress. The Bast crew just left. They’re bringing in Westley and Buttercup next. It’s a job and a half getting these pieces up the stairs.”

  “I’m glad it’s not mine. I can’t stay long now, but Dave’s back this afternoon so I’m not working tonight. I can help.”

  “You’re hired. I thought I’d bring a few of my things over, things I don’t absolutely need for now. We have to start on the art, too, and I’ve got my eye on a few pieces from Gifts.”

  “It’s really happening.”

  “I need your menu for the room folders.”

  “I’ll get them for you.” She wandered out, into the bath. “You put stuff out! Soap dishes, the shampoo and s
tuff. The little dishes.”

  “Photographs, or that’s my excuse. We really wanted to see it dressed. I’m going to put out the towels, hang the robes. Ryder’s going to take the photos. Apparently he’s good at it.”

  “He is,” Avery confirmed. “I’ve still got a shot he took of me and Owen when we were teenagers. It’s nice, fun. Do you know he came over and waited and bussed tables last night?”

  “Ryder?”

  “No. Owen. Then he had to all but carry me upstairs. Two doubles, a bus tour, a spur-of-the-moment high school chorus party, a temporary glitch with the computer, and so on. I was like a zombie by closing.”

  “He’s a sweetheart.”

  “Yeah, most of the time.”

  “So’s Beckett. What happened to Ryder?”

  Avery laughed, circling a finger around the rim of one of the oval vessel sinks. “Oh, he’s got some sweet in there. You just have to dig it out.”

  “I think it’d require explosives. But he does good work. We can dress the place, but it wouldn’t hold up without the frame. And he’s hell on details. So I respect that. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to it.”

  “Me, too. I should be able to knock off about four, five latest. I’ll pitch in.”

  “Rumor is we should be able to start loading in The Library sometime today. At least the shelves. And possibly Elizabeth and Darcy.”

  “I’ll be here. Hope!” After a quick bounce, Avery tossed her arms around Hope, bounced again. “I’m so happy for you. I’ll see you later.”

  Avery hurried out, trotted down the steps just as Owen came through the gate between the proposed bakery and the inn courtyard.

  “Hey,” she called out.

  “Hey, yourself.” Clipboard in hand, he crossed to her. “You look better.”

  “Than what?”

  “The walking dead.”

  She punched him lightly in the stomach. “I’d put something behind that but I owe you. I forgot to ask how you made out in tips.”

  “Not bad. Pulled in about twenty-five.” Instinctively he reached out to button her coat. “Just tell me Franny and Dave are back.”

  “Dave, yes, or he will be right about now. Franny, no. She’s better, but I want her to take another day. I just had my eyes dazzled by The Penthouse. Jesus, Owen, it rocks.”

  “I haven’t gotten up there.” He glanced up. “What’s in?”

  “All of it. Parlor, bedroom. They’re bringing in W&B now, or soon. I’m coming over later, getting in on the action. Are you going to be around?”

  “It’s looking like one or all of us will be around pretty much round the clock until it’s done.”

  “Then I’ll see you.” But she backed up with him when the furniture truck turned in. “Oh, I want to stay. Damn needing to make a living wage.”

  “You can’t stand here in the cold anyway.” He took her hands, rubbed them. “Where are your gloves?”

  “In my pocket.”

  “I think they work better if you wear them.”

  “Maybe, but then I wouldn’t get a hand rub.” Boosting onto her toes, she gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. “Gotta go, be back later,” she said and zipped away at a lope.

  She moved fast, he thought. Then again, she always had. He’d always wondered why she hadn’t run track instead of cheering. When he’d asked, as he recalled, she’d rolled her eyes at him. Cuter uniforms.

  He had to admit she’d looked damn cute in her cheerleading gear.

  He wondered if she still had it.

  He wondered if he should be thinking about Avery in her cheerleader uniform.

  Then he wondered why the hell he was standing out in the cold wondering about anything.

  He went inside, and work took over.

  * * *

  The hours flew and by the time the crew knocked off, Owen was ready for a beer.

  But his mother wasn’t.

  Instead of hoisting a cold one, he hoisted boxes full of books up the steps of the inn.

  Justine stood at the top of the steps, a rag in one of the hands fisted on her hips. “Take those right into The Library. The girls are in there, polishing up the bookshelves. Carolee and I are back in Nick and Nora.”

  “Yes’m.” Puffing some, he trudged up, Ryder behind him with another load, Beckett bringing up the rear.

  “Lot of damn books,” Ryder muttered when his mother was out of earshot.

  “Lot of damn shelves to fill,” Owen commented.

  The Library smelled of polish and perfume. Avery stood on a step stool at the far end, shining up the top shelves of one of the bookcases that flanked the hearth and mantel.

  He and his brothers had built all of it in the family shop.

  He remembered the work that had gone into it, the cutting, the sanding, the gluing, the staining. A lot of effort, he thought now, and a lot of satisfaction.

  More satisfaction now seeing that wood gleam under the polishing rags.

  “Looking fine, ladies,” Beckett said as he set down his load. He wrapped his arms around Clare, pulled her back against him to nuzzle her neck. “Hi, there.”

  “Which one are you?” She turned her head, laughed. “Oh yeah. Mine.”

  “No making out till we’re finished.” Ryder jerked a thumb back toward the doorway. “We’ve got another load.”

  “There are two boxes in J&R.” Crouched, Hope polished the doors below the shelves. “They’re marked ‘Library Shelves.’”

  “I’m done with my section.” Avery hopped off the stool. “I’ll get one of them. Give me a hand?” she asked Owen.

  “Sure.”

  When they reached the room, Avery noted that the stacks of boxes had diminished, and it looked as though they’d been reorganized.

  “You’re cutting it down. Did you restack what’s left?”

  “It’s easier to find things that way.”

  “You should come organize my apartment. Maybe then I’d find the purple scarf I bought at Gifts last month.”

  “It might help if you unpacked first.”

  “I mostly have.”

  He reserved comment. “Library’s over here.”

  He moved around stacks to a corner by the bath.

  “What are you going to do with your time when this place is finished?” she asked him.

  “You mean other than working on the bakery building, Beck’s house, maintaining the rentals, starting the kitchen rehab for Lynn Barney?”

  “Lynn Barney’s redoing her kitchen? I didn’t know that.”

  “You don’t know everything.”

  “I know most things. People talk over pizza and pasta.” She reached down for a box marked “Library Shelves” in Hope’s clear, bold print.

  “That’s too heavy. Take this one.”

  “What about the space under Hope’s apartment? Her temporary apartment.”

  “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

  “Sometimes I like taking lots of steps at a time.”

  “That’s how you trip.” He shifted his box, propped open the door with his hip.

  “But you get where you’re going faster.”

  “Not if you trip.” He shut the door behind them.

  “I’ve got good balance. It’s a great space,” she added as he went through the same procedure with the porch door.

  “Bakery and Beck first. The building’s not going anywhere.”

  She wanted to argue. Why have an empty space on Main if you could fill it? But she tracked her eyes toward Nick and Nora and Justine’s voice. Probably better to go straight to the top on this one, she decided.

  In The Library she sorted through boxes with Hope and Clare, arranging books and trinkets on the shelves. Romances, mysteries, local history, classics. A collection of old bottles, an old model car that had been Owen’s father’s—iron candle stands made by her father.

  “I thought we had tons,” Hope commented. “I wondered if we had too much. But we need more.”

  “I’ve got some thi
ngs at the bookstore, and there’s always something at Gifts.”

  “We’re going to put the tray with a whiskey decanter and glasses there, on that bottom shelf.” Standing back, Hope surveyed. “But yes, a few more little things. We’re good on books. You did a great job on them, Clare.”

  “It was a fun assignment for me.”

  “You know what it needs?” Avery leaned against the far wall. “We should have the crew out on the front porch, take a picture. Frame it, set it in here. The Inn BoonsBoro crew.”

  “Perfect. Fabulous idea. And when we get the furniture, the art.” Hope glanced around. “The desk there in front of the window with a laptop for guests. The big leather guest book. The amazing leather sofa, the chairs, the lamps.”

  “I’ll get Justine and Carolee,” Clare began, “see what they think.”

  But as she started out, war whoops echoed up the stairs. “Sounds like my boys have invaded. I told Alva Ridenour I’d come get them, bring them in for pizza. Looks like she decided to bring them to me.”

  What sounded like a herd of stampeding buffalo thundered up the stairs. The women walked out in time to see Clare’s three sons charge down the hall.

  “Mom! Mrs. Ridenour said she and her husband wanted pizza, too. We got to come see the hotel.” Harry, her eldest, flung himself at her for a hug, then started to race by.

  “Hold it, hold it.” Clare grabbed his hand, managed to wrap an arm around her middle child as Liam hugged her legs. After giving Harry’s hand a squeeze, she hefted Murphy, her youngest, onto her hip.

  “Hi!” Murphy gave his mother a wet kiss. “We did homework and had a snack and played Bendominoes and fed Ben and Yoda and Mr. Ridenour said we can each have two dollars to play Megatouch ’cause we behaved.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “We wanna see the hotel.” Liam tipped his head up. “So does Mrs. Ridenour and Mr. Ridenour. Can we go, Mom? Can we go see?”

  “No running, no touching.” She tousled Liam’s already tousled golden brown waves.

  “I thought I heard the troops.”

  “Gran!” As one, the boys surged forward to surround Justine. She hunkered down, gathered them in, and beamed up at Clare.

  “I’m Gran.” She gave each boy a mmm-sounding kiss on the cheeks. “That’s the best ever.”