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 stuff. 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 things 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.”
“Can we see your hotel, Gran?” Murphy used his angel smile and big brown eyes. “Please? We won’t touch anything.”
“You bet.”
“How about we start at the top?” Beckett rounded the stairs, took Clare’s hand. “Ry’s down showing off The Dining Room to the Ridenours. They’ll head up in a minute.”
“Will you come, Gran?” Harry tugged Justine’s hand. “We want you to come with us.”
“Couldn’t keep me away.”
“Beckett says we get to stay here when it’s all finished.” Liam grabbed Justine’s other hand as Murphy held up his arms to Beckett. “And we can sleep in one of the big beds. Are you going to stay, too?”
“That’s the plan. First night, we’re all going to stay.”
As they headed to the third floor, Avery leaned into Owen. “Isn’t that the nicest picture? Isn’t that really, really beautiful? Clare and the boys, Clare and Beckett, Clare and Beckett and the boys. Your mom with all of them.” She sniffled a little, laid a hand on her heart. “It gets me.”
“Takes the pressure off me and Ry. I’m joking,” he said when she narrowed her damp eyes. “Mom’s crazy about those kids.”
“Lucky kids. They have three grandmothers now.”
“My dad would’ve loved them.”
“I know.” With a tug on her heart, she rubbed his back. “He was always great with kids. I remember those cookouts at your place, how he’d run around with us. I was nuts about him. Anytime he came over to hang out with my dad, he was always, ‘Hey there, Red, what’s the word?’”
She let out a sigh. “Looks like I’m sentimental tonight. Come on, take a look at what we’ve done in The Library.”
“Dad thought of you like one of his.”
“Oh, Owen.”
“He did. Your dad was like his brother, so you were one of us. He always told me to keep an eye out for you.”
“He did not.”
“Yeah, he did.” He gave her stubby, coppery ponytail a gentle yank before he stepped into The Library. “Wow. Nice job—and quick work.”
“It was all organized,” she said, and laughed. “As you well know. It needs some filling in, and I had this idea about taking a photo of the crew on the front porch. We could frame it, put it here. It’s part of the history of the place now.”
“You’re right. We’ll set it up.”
“I can take it—especially if I can talk Ryder into letting me use his camera. Let me know when everybody can do it, and I’ll be here. Where’s Hope?” she wondered.
“She went into Nick and Nora with Carolee, probably finishing up in there.”
“She’ll never finish unless somebody makes her. Go make her.” She gave Owen a nudge. “Tell her she should come over for dinner, and Carolee, too. You and Ry are probably ready for a beer and some food.”
“I’ve been ready.”
“Go get her going then. She’ll listen to you. I’d better run over and warn my crew we’re having a party of many coming in. I’ll see if I can take over the back room for you.”
“Us. You’ve got to eat.”
Amused, she angled her head. “Keeping your eye out for me?”
“I’m an obedient son.”
“When it suits you. See you over there.”
They separated, but as she passed Elizabeth and Darcy, Avery heard voices. Assuming part of the tour had stopped at that point, she eased open the door.
There was Murphy in the empty room, standing by the open door of the porch, chattering away. To no one.
“Murph?”
“Hi!”
“Hi. Baby, it’s cold out. You can’t open the doors.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t touch anything. She likes to go out so she can see.”
Cautious, Avery crossed to the door, hunched against the cold as she looked up and down the porch. “Who likes to go out?”
“The lady. She says I can call her Lizzy like Beckett does.”
“Oh.” Avery felt a chill now that had nothing to do with the open door. “Oh boy. Um . . . is she here now?”
“Right out there, by the rail.” He pointed. “She said not to come out, ’cause my mom would worry.”
“She’s got that right.”
“She’s waiting.”
“She is? For what?”
“For Billy. Are we gonna get pizza now?”
“Ah . . . yeah, in a minute.” Avery jumped like a rabbit when the door opened from the hall. Then she laughed, weakly, when Owen stared at her. “We’re just . . . I don’t know. Murphy, I hear your mom and Beck upstairs. You go on up, okay? And promise me you’ll stay right with them.”
“Okay. I just wanted to see Lizzy. She likes to have somebody to talk to. Bye!”
“Holy shit,” Avery said when he scrambled out. “I heard people—and I mean people talking, so I opened the door. All I saw was Murphy, and the open door. But he said the lady—Lizzy—is standing out there by the rail. He sees her, and he talks to her. I heard voices, Owen, not just a voice. And—”
“Slow down, take a breath.”
He came in, shut the porch door.
“But she’s out there. Shouldn’t you wait until she comes back in?”
“I think she can handle it.”
“And maybe she is back in.” Wide-eyed, Avery leaned back on the door. “That was so . . . so cool! Murphy Brewster, Ghost Whisperer. He said she’s waiting for somebody named Billy. I have got to stay in this room. Maybe I’d have a close encounter—except that’s aliens, isn’t it? Wow.”
This time Owen set his hands on her shoulders. She revved like an engine. “Now take another breath.”
“I’m okay. It’s exciting, and a little unnerving—but in a really cool way. Why are you so calm?”
“You sucked in all the excitement. Waiting for Billy?”
“That’s what Murphy said, and he seems to have a direct line. Maybe Billy’s her husband, or lover.”
“Husbands are generally lovers.”
“You know what I mean. And she’s been waiting for him here all these years. Just waiting for her Billy. It’s so romantic.”
“Sounds tragic to me.”
“No, well, yes, but romantic, too. A love that’s eternal, that lasts—because they rarely do in reality, right?”
“I don’t know about that,” he began, but she was still bubbling over.
“It holds her here because this love is powerful. It’s magic. It’s what matters most. It’s—”
The door at her back pushed open, knocking her forward and straight into Owen. His arms came tight around to balance her as she tipped back her head, looked up into his eyes. “Everything,” she finished.
He didn’t speak. They stood there, bodies pressed with the open door at her back, and the sound of running and laughter streaming down the hall outside the room.
He thought, what the hell? What the hell?
Then his mouth was on hers, and her fingers dived into his hair.
Hot and bright—it’s how he thought of her, how the kiss struck him now. Hot and bright, full of light and energy. Of Avery.
Everything went frantic, breathless, with a sharp, grinding need in his center, a heated rush under his skin. He lost track of everything else, everything beyond the taste and movement of her, the demands of her mouth, the scent of lemons and of honeysuckle.
She balanced on her toes, clamped against him like a vise while the thrill and wonder ran a river through her. She let it rage, a fast, tumultuous ride that swept her toward the unknown even as it trapped her in the moment.
He broke away first, stared down at her like a man coming out of a trance. “What was that? What was that?”
“I don’t know.” And wasn’t sure she cared, not when his arms tightened around her again. She held that shimmering instant, leaned in.
Someone banged on the door.
“Owen? Avery?” Beckett called out. “What’s going on? Unlock the damn door.”
“Hold on.” Carefully, Owen released Avery. “Hold on,” he repeated, to her this time. Catching his breath, he crossed to the door. It opened smoothly.
“What the hell?” Beckett demanded, then tracked his gaze to the open porch door. “Oh.”
“It’s nothing. It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”
“Murphy said you and Avery were in here.” Beckett glanced over his shoulder to make sure the kids weren’t close by. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. All good. We’re, ah, going for pizza.”
“Right. Make sure that door’s shut.”
“I’ve got it.” Quietly, Avery shut the porch door, turned the latch.
“Good enough. I’ll see you at Vesta.”
Beckett gave them both one last look before he walked away.
Staring at Avery, Owen stood where he was, one hand on the knob of the open door.
“I guess that was weird,” she began. “Was that weird?”
“I don’t know.”
“I guess . . . all that talk about romance and love . . . It just triggered whatever.”
“Yeah. Probably. Okay.”
She took a long breath, crossed to him. “I don’t want it to be weird.”
“Okay.”
“We should probably get out of here. This room, I mean.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going over to give Dave a hand.”
“Okay.”
She punched him in the chest. “Is that all you can say? Okay, okay, okay?”
“Right now it seems safest.”
“Safest, my ass.” She let out a long breath again. “It’s not going to be weird, and don’t say okay.”
She sailed away, and down the stairs.
“Okay,” he said under his breath.
He closed the door. When he stepped away he thought he heard the whisper of female laughter behind it.
“Yeah, some joke,” he muttered. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he scowled his way downstairs.