CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GOOD NIGHTS CAME late and lazily. Avery calculated Justine and her father had some sort of signal to make the sleeping arrangements a bit less awkward for their children.
Or at least the male children, she thought, as she didn’t feel awkward at all.
Her father lumbered out while Justine remained. A few minutes later, Justine wished them all sweet dreams.
By tacit agreement no one mentioned the fact Justine and Willy B were spending the night together just down the hall.
Maybe, if she thought about it, the fact she and Owen would be spending the night together at the other end of that same hall, awkwardness—or more likely amusement in her case—would ensue.
So she didn’t think about it.
Instead, inside the Deco flair of Nick and Nora, Avery stretched her arms high. Everything felt good, she decided. Everything felt just exactly right.
To please herself, she turned in a circle to take in the room, and saw the champagne on ice.
“You copped a bottle!”
“Hey, I prefer the term liberated.” On her grin, he walked over to pop the cork.
“This is like dreamscape—or some beautifully produced play, and I get a starring role. A beautiful and downright snazzy room after a lovely, happy party, with champagne provided by a sexy guy. I’d check my list if I had one, but I think I currently have it all.”
He offered her a glass. “Now you do.”
“To having it all then.” She tapped her glass to his, sipped as she wandered.
“It really went well, didn’t it?” she said to Owen. “Lots of happy faces, lots of happy talk.”
“All of that, and you had to see and hear most of it. You seemed to be everywhere at once.”
“I can’t sit still at a party.” She set the shoes she carried beside the dresser. “Gotta keep moving or I might miss something. You disappeared for a while.”
He took off the tie he’d already loosened. “I toured some people through, then had to close the doors in E&D.”
“Elizabeth was all over tonight, too. I caught her scent several times.”
“I ran into your father up there. He wanted to let me know he’d be staying there—he and Mom. In E&D. Together.”
“Hmm.” She leaned back on the dresser, eyeing him as she drank champagne. “I suspected as much. And how did that go?”
“He fumbled around a lot, like he does, and still managed to say all the right things. Meanwhile I fought a desperate battle to keep any and all imagery out of my brain. We both did okay.”
“That’s good. I think—”
“Then he pinned me about you.”
“He . . . What?”
No amused smirk now, Owen noted. “No fumbling there. He’s a lot more on-point when it comes to his little girl.”
“Well, for God’s sake,” she began, then tilted her head. “On second thought, it’s kind of sweet. And funny. How’d that go for you?”
He pulled off his shoes, set them beside hers. “It was a little strange, a little illuminating.”
“Really?” Enjoying the idea of it, she sipped more champagne. “What did he say?”
“That’s between us men.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’re his Avery,” Owen said as he crossed to her. “The most important thing in his life. I’d say the center of his life. You’re important to me, too.”
She smiled. “It’s nice to be important.”
“You are.” He set his glass down, laid his hands on her shoulders, ran them down to her elbows and back. “Maybe I haven’t told you, or shown you.”
He looked so serious, those blue eyes more intense than quiet, she found herself just a little off balance. “We go back. We know we’re important to each other.”
“We go back,” he agreed, and laid his lips softly, very softly on hers. “But this is now, and this is different.”
She tipped her head back a bit more. “There is that.”
Not just that, he thought as he slowly deepened the kiss. He wasn’t sure what, wasn’t sure of the all, but it was more than heat generated and needs met.
He felt her slide into it, little by little, and knew—at that moment—he wanted exactly that. A long, slow slide.
He took the glass from her hand, set it beside his.
It always surprised him how soft she was. Lips, skin. Everything about her was so bright, so vivid, yet the soft played its part.
And her heart—a softness there, too. He’d known it, always known it, but . . . He needed to pay more attention to those soft places.
“I love how you feel,” he murmured. “Your skin, your mouth. And how what you feel inside shows in your eyes.”
She braced the heels of her hands on the dresser at her back. “Right now, I’m feeling dazzled.”
“Good. Then I’m not alone.”
He framed her face and kept the kiss soft as her skin, tender as her heart. And lifted her into his arms.
The breath caught in her throat. She’d expected fun, maybe even foolish. Instead he swept her away, made her feel weak and trembly, and a little unsure.
“Owen.”
“Your hands are so small.” He laid her on the bed, then lifted one of her hands to press the palm to his. “They look delicate, but they’re tireless. That’s the surprise of you. Then there’s your shoulders.” He nudged a strap aside. “The skin’s so smooth and pale, but they’re strong. They’ll hold a lot.”
Lowering his head, he glided his lips over her shoulder, down the line of her throat.
The glitter of the room, the fragrance of flowers, and his hands on her, featherlight. Everything in her surrendered, to him, to the moment, to this new gift as unexpected as the sparkling key around her neck.
He gave her the slow, the quiet, the achingly tender. No one had ever touched her, not quite like this, or made her feel . . . precious.
He eased the dress down, gliding his lips over newly exposed flesh, making it quiver. Making her sigh. He watched the way the light played in her eyes before she closed them, the way her body moved under his hands and mouth. And felt the way her heart beat under them, thickly.
Then faster when he guided her up, as he urged her higher. She clutched at him, riding that crest. Until the wave broke, and her hands slid away to lie limp.
Like that, he thought as he undressed. Like that, open, exposed, drenched in pleasure.
He took her mouth again first, drowning her in the kiss as his hand slid down, down to cup her. To tease a moan from her.
Then slipped into her, into hot, wet silk.
Now he trembled, steeped in her, trembled in the quick, desperate wanting of her. But he gave her long, slow strokes. Torturous, glorious.
He gripped her hands, linking them as beat followed beat. The air thickened, seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. He saw her face, only her face as he said her name—or perhaps only thought it.
But her eyes opened, locked on his. Hands and bodies joined, he lowered his lips to hers. Complete as they took that long, slow slide off the edge together.
* * *
IN THE MORNING, in the quiet, he watched her sleep. It was so rare to see her still.
He thought back to the planning stages of the inn, the debates, adjustments, countless meetings—and through the months of the long build.
He’d never imagined he’d spend his first night here with Avery sleeping beside him.
Now it was done. The inn, that first night. Another build underway, another plan. And here she was, sleeping deep, her hair a bold streak against the snowy pillow.
What happened next?
He planned, anticipated, calculated. It’s what he did, in his life, in his work. But he couldn’t quite formulate a plan where Avery was concerned, couldn’t see his way clear to anticipate the next step, calculate the next move.
It seemed strange—they knew each other so well. Shouldn’t the next step, the next move, come easily?
Maybe it would, he considered. So why worry?
He slipped out of bed, a little surprised when she didn’t stir. He eased the door of the bathroom closed, studied the glass shower with pleasure.
“Let’s give you a spin, baby,” he murmured.
He tested out the jets, the rain head—and, sniffing at the green tea and ginger shower gel, decided, with considerable relief, it wasn’t too girly.
By the time he reached for one of the fluffy bath sheets, he was awake, alert—and decided he needed coffee, pretty much now.
Shaving could definitely wait.
He pulled on jeans, tossed a flannel shirt over a thermal. He decided against the work boots—too noisy on the stairs—and settled on socks.
And still, Avery didn’t stir.
He slipped out of the room, headed downstairs, and didn’t hear a sound until he turned toward the kitchen. From there he followed the scents, and the murmur of female voices.
“Good morning, sweetie.” Bright-eyed and busy, his aunt offered him a welcoming smile as she set bacon to drain. “Coffee?”
“Name your price.”
She puckered her lips, took his quick kiss before reaching for the pot.
“What’s this?” he asked gesturing toward the white chef’s coats both she and Hope wore.
“We thought it presented a clean look,” Hope told him. “A little more upscale than aprons.”
“I like.” With the speed of experience, he snatched a slice of bacon before Carolee could slap his hand away.
She pointed at him. “No filching. Breakfast starts in a half hour.”
“But there’s bacon now. How’d you like The Penthouse?”
“I felt like a queen. I was so damn tired, but I just had to wander all over, sit on every chair awhile.” She shook her head, laughing at herself. “I kept thinking it was like a dream. I remember when Justine and I picked out those fabrics. And there I was sitting on them.”
“How’d you like your room?” Hope asked him.
“It was great. Made me wish I’d worn a fedora. I think everybody must’ve settled right in once we called it a night. And everybody must still be settled right in because I didn’t hear anyone moving around when I came down.”
“Guests are allowed to sleep in. But if you’re hungry, we can fix you up pretty quick.”
“I’m okay.” But he grabbed another slice of bacon while his aunt had her back turned. “Maybe I’ll take some coffee up to Avery.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” Then Carolee narrowed her eyes when he bit into the second slice of bacon. “And sneaky.”
Hope poured the coffee, doctored it Avery’s way. “Tell her to take her time. That’s what chafing dishes are for.”
He went back up, slipped back inside. She’d stirred, he noted—enough to stretch diagonally across the bed. There may not be a lot of her, he mused, but given the chance she could fill the best part of a bed all on her own.
He sat on the corner, leaned down and kissed her cheek. When that didn’t work, he brushed a hand up and down her arm. Giving up on the gentle awakening, he pinched her.
“What! Ow! Huh?”
“I wanted to be sure you were still alive.”
“I was . . .” Shifting a little, she rubbed her fingers over glassy eyes. “In a Harry dream.”
“A what?”
“Clare’s Harry. He has these weird, vivid dreams. I had a Harry dream about green giraffes with red splotches. It sounds Christmassy and cheerful, but no. I was on one in this stampede, and dressed like Lady Gaga. I think. Is that coffee?”
“Yeah, I think you need it.”
“Thanks. And the Animal Crackers monkey was on one, chasing me. He had teeth.”
“Does that happen often?”
“No, thank God. But we drank all that champagne last night. After,” she added with a sleepy smile. “It may have played into it. You’re all dressed. What time—” Her eyes popped wide now as she scanned the clock. “Shit! It’s almost eight.”
“Shocking.”
“I was going to be up by seven to help Hope and Carolee with breakfast.”
“They’ve got it handled. Relax.” He squeezed in beside her, bumped her over a bit more, then picked up the remote. “Watch this.”
He switched on the TV. “We can kick back right here, drink coffee, and check out what’s happening in the world.”
“I’ve heard of this concept.” She settled back on the pillows beside him, sipped her coffee. “I like it. It’s nice.”
“Yeah.” He draped an arm around her so they sat hip-to-hip. “It is.”
“Is everyone up?”
“No one’s up.”
She relaxed a little more. “Then I don’t have to feel guilty. It’s like a mini-vacation.”
“A morning vacation?”
“It works for me.”
The idea of it inspired another. “Why don’t we extend it? Want to go to a movie tonight?”
“Oh.” She angled her face up to his. “I’m closing tonight.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“Is there something you want to see?”
“We’ll find something.”
“No slasher flicks—or anything with monkeys.”
“I can work with that. Why don’t I pick you up about six? We’ll get something to eat first.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Yeah, he thought, it did. And as a next step, next move, not bad.
* * *
THINKING SPRING IN the bitter entrance of February, Avery sat in the back of Hope’s car, using her phone to search for wedding dresses.
“I’m worried I left this too late.” Clare fretted in the front seat. “We should’ve done this before the holidays.”
“Plenty of time,” Hope assured her. “This is a wonderful boutique. And if you don’t find just what you want there, I have two more.”
“Not white. My dress shouldn’t be white.”
“Every bride’s entitled to white,” Hope corrected. “But more, every bride’s entitled to whatever color, whatever style, whatever wedding dress suits her. Don’t go into this with limitations.”
“We should’ve stuck with the idea of a small, family-only afternoon wedding. But—”
“Beckett hasn’t done this before.” While she searched and scrolled, Avery listed the reasons Clare had already laid out. “The boys are excited. You want something special and memorable for you and Beckett. You have the perfect venue with the inn. Need more?”
“No.” Clare glanced over her shoulder. “Have you found anything?”
“Sorry. I keep getting distracted by the big white dresses. I mean look at this. It’s art.”
She offered the screen to Clare. “Gorgeous for a first wedding, and one with an unlimited budget. God, look at that train, and the beadwork on the skirt. Miles of skirt.”
“I love it, but I could never pull that off.” Avery shook her head. “I’d drown in a dress that big.”
Hope flicked a glance in the rearview. “Is there something we should know?”
“I’m short?”
“About you and Owen—and wedding dresses.”
“About— No!” Avery took the phone back, gave the dress one last look, then scrolled on. “It’s knee-jerk for a woman to imagine herself in a wedding dress when in the wedding dress mode.”
“But things are good.” Clare shifted, angling back.
“Really good. We’re both crazy busy, but we’ve actually managed to go out a couple times. You know, to those places where other people bring you food that yet other people have cooked? Plus, I’m trying out potential MacT’s dishes on him. He’s a good test subject.”
“Still fluttering?” Hope asked her.
“Yeah, still fluttering. And now there’s this tugging. It’s good, but it’s a little unnerving.”
“I know,” Clare said with a smile.
“It’s not like you and Beckett.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s me and Owen, and we’re . . . I don’t know exactly. Anyway, today’s about you.”
“We have the whole day,” Clare reminded her.
“Which starts now.” Hope zipped into a parking spot. “That was lucky, and I’m taking it as a good omen. The boutique’s right there.”
“Oh, look at that dress!” Clare stared at the display window and the indulgence of the sparkling pick-up skirt, the shimmer of off-the- shoulder white silk. “It’s stunning, but way too formal and first-wedding. I don’t think this is the place. I don’t want—”
“Trust me.” Hope pulled out the ignition key.
Avery shoved open her door. “And even if you don’t, I’m not missing a chance to play in there.”
Before Clare could protest again, Avery jumped out of the car. She yanked open Clare’s door, pulled her friend out. “It’ll be fun.”
It was.
The shimmer and glow of whites, ivories, creams, yards of tulle, acres of beading. In her jeans and knee boots, Avery plopped a veil on her head, struck a pose.
She looked, she decided, like she had a tulle volcano on her head.
Then she whirled on Clare.
“Get away from those.”
The snap of the order had Clare snatching her fingers back. “But they’re nice, elegant suits.”
“You’re not wearing a suit, elegant or not. Those are entirely mother-of-the-bride and/or groom.”
“But—”
“Too sedate.” Along with Avery, Hope folded her arms. “Not a chance.”
“I’m not going formal or fussy. I want simple.”
“Then simple you shall have.” Avery nodded sagely. “The bride rules.”
“Then—”
“Except with those.”
“I really like the green one.”
“It’s lovely,” Hope agreed. “If you were going to someone else’s wedding, a ladies tea, a political fund-raiser.” With Avery, she flanked Clare, and marched her away.
“We should pick out your dresses first,” Clare suggested. “That’ll give me a springboard.”
“Get serious. Our dresses flow from yours, not the other way.” Still wearing the veil, Avery wandered into another section.
Initial suggestions were deemed too fussy, too white, too club-night.
“Oh, not pink.”
“It’s not pink-pink,” Avery insisted. “It’s soft. It’s more like a blush, and look at the hem.”
“I love it.” Lips pursed, Hope studied it. “The flow of that diagonal hem, should hit above the knee, go to just about midcalf.”
“I don’t know. I—”
“Okay, you’ve got to try some on. I’m making a rule. And this is one of the try-ons,” Avery decreed. “We’ll pick a few more, and snag a dressing room.”
“You’re right. You’re right, and I’m being a pain in the ass. That one, that one.” Clare included the one Hope held. “That one, and the green suit. I get to try on the green suit.”
“Fair. Take these.” Hope handed the dresses to Avery. “I’ll get the suit.”
Obviously noting some initial decisions had been made, a clerk set up a dressing room, hung the dresses, offered sparkling water.
Clare took the green suit first.
“Fine, get it over with.” Avery shrugged, drank some fizzy water with lemon.
“It’s got classic lines,” Clare insisted as she changed. “It’s a good color for me. And the weather’s iffy in April, so a jacket’s smart.”
She turned to study herself in the triple mirrors. “A really pretty green—that brings out the green in my eyes. And with the right shoes . . . It’s not romantic.”
“No, it’s not. It’s a smart suit,” Hope admitted. “And it looks good on you. But it’s not your dress, Clare.”
“I admit defeat. Let me try that blue. It’s a pretty, quiet color, and it has nice lines.”
Avery set down her water, rose from the plush little love seat to circle after Clare made the change. “Miles better. The color’s great with your hair.”
“I love the flirty hem, the little bustle in the back. I could work with this,” Clare considered. “Shoes with a little sparkle maybe.”
“It didn’t make you glow.” Hope shook her head. “I think when you put on the one, it’ll make you glow. But it is wonderful on you. It makes your waist look so tiny, and shows off your legs. How about we put it in Maybe.”
“That works. We’ll have a No and a Maybe.”
She tried on another in a pale, dusty gold that immediately earned three thumbs down.
“Now the pink.” Avery narrowed her eyes at Clare’s expression. “We had a deal.”
“All right, okay, but pink’s going to be too much. Plus, it’s strapless, and I don’t want strapless.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” was Avery’s opinion as she zipped Clare up.
“I’m not trying to be difficult, it’s just not . . . Oh.” She stared at her reflection.
And she glowed.
“Clare.” Studying the bride-to-be, Hope let out a sigh. “You look amazing. The color’s fabulous against your skin. And that hemline—it’s flattering and it’s romantic—and it’s fun.”
“Do the turn,” Avery ordered. “Oh boy, look how it just floats, and the back, the little crisscrossing—quietly sexy. It’s got just a hint of a sheen. Just enough.”
“It’s romantic, and it’s beautiful. And it’s mine. No Maybe on this one. I’m marrying Beckett Montgomery in this dress.”
“You need to see it with shoes—even if they aren’t the perfect shoes.” Hope dashed for the door. “Wait.”
“Do the turn again,” Avery requested.
Clare laughed, and this time did a spin. “It feels wonderful on me. You were right.”
“I love when that happens.”
“I’ll want my hair up, don’t you think?” Experimenting, Clare scooped it up and back with her hands. “No headpiece. Just a clip with some sparkle.”
“You look so happy.”
“I am, so, so happy. I want to do this for you one day, you and Hope. I want to shop for your wedding dresses with you, and know you’re as happy as I am in this moment.”
“I’d like that.”
At moments like this, Avery believed it could happen. She’d know that joy, have that faith, take that leap.
She turned to get her phone. “Let me take a picture of you in it. We can send it to your mom and to Justine.”
“You’re right. They should see.”
“Front and back.” Avery framed in. As she sent the pictures, Hope and the clerk came back with stacks of shoe boxes. And the happy madness began.
* * *
ON THE WAY home after a long day of dresses, shoes, accessories—with some honeymoon wardrobe added in—Avery stretched out in the backseat of the car and texted Owen.
Stopped for a late dinner and a reprise of the day’s haul. Your soon to be SIL is going to be a beautiful bride—and knock Beck’s socks off. Her attendants aren’t going to suck either. Heading home. Sorry it’s later than I figured.
Clare turned at the signal from Avery’s phone. “What’s Owen have to say?”
“That Beck hasn’t been able to keep his socks on since he first saw you—that’s a knock-his-socks-off reference. And he wants to know if I want to head to his place.”
“Do you?” Hope asked. “I can drop you there.”
“I have to head up to Hagerstown first thing in the morning for supplies, then I have a meeting with Beckett at the new space.” She texted Owen back as she spoke. “Plus I know Owen’s been putting in some time trying to find Billy.”
“Elizabeth’s Billy?”
Avery nodded at Clare. “So far, not much luck. But then it’s a tall order. I should just go home, get some sleep. It’s nearly eleven already. He misses me, he said.”
“Aw.”
“I know, right? Flutter, flutter. I work till four tomorrow, but I can pick up some specific ingredients when I’m out in the morning, then fix another sample menu if he’s up for it. And he is,” she announced. “I have a date tomorrow night, with my boyfriend.”
“I swear you look like you’ve been hit with the cute stick.”
Avery just grinned at Hope. “That’s how I feel. What a great day. Maybe I’ll call Owen when I get settled down in bed.”
“For phone sex?”
Her grin at Hope didn’t diminish. “That may be a portion of the agenda. Any tips?”
“Talk low, talk slow.”
“She’s so wise.” Avery straightened up as Hope pulled in behind Vesta. “God, what a good, good day.” She leaned forward, kissed both her friends. “I loved it. I love you guys. Pop the trunk. I know which bag is mine.”
“Tell Owen . . . hi,” Hope said, making the syllable breathy. “From us.”
“I’ll be too busy telling him hi from me. This was great, absolutely and completely great. See you tomorrow.” She grabbed her bag, slammed the truck. After waving them off, she hurried into the back door.
She’d been sure she’d be back before closing—but she was not, absolutely not going in to look things over. She forced herself to continue past Vesta’s rear, locked door, turned on the stairway.
And saw the woman sitting on the steps.
Avery stopped where she was, instinctively moved the keys in her hand until one jabbed between her fingers. She considered options as the woman pushed to her feet.
Avery was young, strong—and fast, if necessary.
“The restaurant’s closed,” she said calmly.
“I know. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“If you’re looking for work, you can come in tomorrow, during business hours. But right now—”
“Don’t you know me?” She stepped down; Avery braced. “I’m your mother.”
In the wash of security lights, Avery studied the face. She saw it now, of course, she saw it now. But there were so many years between her last look and this one. So much time, so much distance.
She waited for a surge of something—something, but felt numb.
“What do you want?”
“To see you. To talk to you. Can we go inside and talk?”
Saying nothing, Avery walked up the stairs, unlocked her apartment door.
She realized she did feel something after all.
She felt dread.