The Last Boyfriend

Chapter Thirteen

From the bitterly cold morning of the opening of Inn BoonsBoro to the teeth-chattering afternoon, Avery calculated she had run twenty miles just dashing back and forth across Main Street.

She wouldn’t have missed a single yard.

Throughout the day Hope and Carolee polished and primped the inn until every inch gleamed. Each time Avery ran over, more flowers graced the tables, the mantels, even the deep windowsills in The Dining Room. Tables and chairs stood in The Courtyard and on the porches, while indoors, fires simmered in hearths.

At one point, Avery ran through with trays of food while Hope—in jeans and a sweatshirt—signed for delivery of the rental dishes and glassware.

“I’ll be back,” Avery told her. “One of my crew will bring the rest, then more as we need it.”

“We’re right on schedule. Carolee just went home to change.”

“I’m going to do that, but I’ll be back—an hour tops.”

“Take your time,” Hope assured her in her ready-steady way. “We’re good.”

“Why am I nervous? It’s not my inn.” On a dash, Avery streaked out and back across the street.

In fifty-five minutes, overnight bag in hand, feeling smug at her early readiness, she found Hope setting up a bar. And wearing a killer red dress.

“You’re dressed! You look amazing. It’s not fair. I hate you again.”

“I timed it out. I didn’t want to have to run up and finish putting myself together once the Montgomerys got here. Which is any minute.”

“I was supposed to be ready first. It’s annoying.”

“Live with it.” Eyebrows arched under spiky black bangs, Hope gestured. “I might point out you’re wearing two different shoes.”

“Which ones do I go with?” Testing, Avery heel-toed it, did quick pivots. “I can’t decide. Plus the dress is wrong, isn’t it? It’s gray.”

“It’s not gray. It’s moondust. I love the sparkle on the bodice. Where did you get those sapphire shoes? I want them.”

“I bought them last year in a weak moment. I haven’t worn them yet. I wasn’t sure if—”

“Yes, you are. I’ll tell you what’s annoying. Your feet are a full size smaller than mine. Otherwise, I’d take you down for those shoes. I still might.”

“Blue shoes it is. Can I put this stuff, including the rejected black pumps, in your place?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll be right down, give you a hand.”

She slipped out of both shoes, ran upstairs in her bare feet. She left the bag, the shoes inside Hope’s door, put the blue ones back on.

Since the door to The Penthouse stood open, she wandered into its rarified air. Flowers spread under the windows in the parlor, stood on the floating counter in the bath, with more in the bedroom. Everything shimmered and gleamed.

She couldn’t imagine what the Montgomerys felt, not when she felt such pride and satisfaction, and she’d only watched it evolve. And added a little elbow grease.

She walked down, letting her hand trail on the iron banister.

Wanting more, she walked down to Nick and Nora. She’d stay here tonight, she thought, with Owen. In that beautiful bed, with the scent of flowers, the sparkle of crystal.

They’d make love here, in the crystal dark, the first ones to reach for each other in this room. She thought it a kind of magic.

She turned at the sound of footsteps, smiled at Owen.

“I was just thinking about you, and there you are. And handsome, too.” So handsome in his dark suit, with a tie—that magic again—almost the same color as her dress.

“You keep surprising me, Avery.”

Her smile warmed. “Tonight calls for some style, and we’re definitely stylish. I was thinking how you and your family must feel. It must be amazing because I feel so proud and happy, and I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. You hauled, fed, cleaned. You helped us get Hope.”

“You’re right; I did. And I put that sparkly floor lamp together solo.” She gave one of its drops a light flick. Her eyes sparkled nearly as brightly. “Pretty major.”

“I think so. I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“Something to thank you for everything you did to help us get here tonight.”

“A present?” On a sound of surprise she stepped toward him. “I didn’t do anything for presents—even considering lamp assembly—but I do love presents. So I’ll take it. Hand it over.”

He pulled a little box out of his pocket—then took the wrapping she ripped off, balled it up while she lifted the lid.

“Oh. Oh, God, it’s beautiful.”

The little platinum key hung on a thin chain fired with tiny diamonds.

“I saw it, and thought, that’s it. It’s symbolic. The key to Inn BoonsBoro. Anytime you want to use it.”

“That’s beautiful, too, the thought of that. Thank you. Thank you,” she repeated, leaning in for a kiss. “I love it. My first diamonds.”

“Really? They’re pretty puny.”

“No diamond is puny. I want to wear it now.”

“I’ll help you out.” He moved behind her, working on the clasp. She reached a hand up to the little key, studying them both in the silver-framed cheval glass.

Then lifted a hand to the one he laid on her shoulder.

She couldn’t find words, not when she saw the way they looked together, reflected in the mirror.

The flutter came again when his gaze met hers. Then something new, a slow steady beat that spread out, spread through her until she felt it even in the soles of her feet.

“Owen.” Whatever she might have said, could have said, slipped away when she saw the shadow in the glass. “Owen,” she repeated.

“Yeah, I see.”

She swallowed. “What do you see?”

“Her. Elizabeth.”

“I see a shadow. A silhouette.”

“I see her. She’s smiling, but she has tears in her eyes. She . . . Is she waving? That’s—no, showing me her hand. Her left hand. A ring. It’s red—the little stone in it.”

“A ruby?”

“I don’t think—it’s darker, I guess.”

“A garnet?”

“Maybe. Yeah, maybe. An engagement ring?”

In his head he heard it, soft as a wish. Billy.

“Did you hear that?”

“No. I smell the honeysuckle, I see the shape of her, I guess. Or did,” Avery said when the shadow faded. “What did you hear?”

“She said his name again. Billy.”

Avery turned. “A ring, an engagement ring, you said.”

“That’s just a guess.”

“She showed you the ring, then you heard her say his name. I’m betting engagement ring. She and Billy were going to get married. We have to find him for her, Owen.”

The urgency in her voice as she turned, gripped his arms, surprised him. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Such a long time,” Avery murmured. “Such a long time to hold on.”

It gave her hope, she realized. Hope that love really could matter most. Matter enough to last.

“I haven’t had a lot of time to try to pin it all down, which is probably why I haven’t gotten anywhere yet. I’ll have more after tonight. And we’ve got to get downstairs. We’ve got the ribbon-cutting thing in about twenty minutes.”

“I told Hope I’d be right down to help, and I got distracted.” She laid a hand on the key again. “Thank you, again.”

“Looks good with the dress.” He brushed her shoulder absently. “Go ahead. I’ll be right down.”

He wanted a moment, just another moment, and alone walked down to Elizabeth and Darcy. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy getting ready for tonight, and dealing with . . .” Life seemed the wrong term. “Things. But I promise I’ll keep trying to find him. You should know we’re going to have a lot of people here tonight, wandering around, coming into the room. It’s a party, okay? And after, my mother’s sleeping in here. It’s my mother, so . . . I just wanted to let you know.”

He caught himself, shook his head. “Beckett probably already has. So, it’s a big night for my family, for the town. I’ve got to get to it.”

He thought he felt something brush at his lapels—as a woman might brush a man’s before going out. “Ah . . . thanks. I think.”

He glanced back on his way out, but saw nothing. So walked down to the lights, the voices.

After centuries of change, of war and weather, of neglect and of sweaty effort, the old hotel on The Square again welcomed guests. They toured rooms that offered warmth and welcome, gathered in groups near simmering hearths and connected with neighbors in the open kitchen.

Light filled spaces dark for so long; voices brought life to the years of silence. People walked over pretty tiles and polished wood, lounged on a sofa yellow as butter or sipped drinks under an archway. Those brave enough to face the chill wandered out to admire The Courtyard or enjoy the view from a graceful porch.

Some caught the light summery drift of honeysuckle, but thought nothing of it. More than once someone felt a brush on their shoulder, only to turn and find no one there. Twice Owen took friends through and found the doors to the porch in Elizabeth and Darcy open. He simply closed them while guests commented on the bed or the tile work, or the pretty stained-glass shade of the lamp.

“Cut it out,” he said under his breath, and moved on.

Later in the evening he checked again, pleased to find them closed. Probably too busy partying, he thought, to play games with him.

As he turned to go, Franny came in. She wore black pants and a frilly blouse rather than her usual jeans and tee, and had added a fitted black jacket.

“Hi! I brought over some more trays, and I’m taking my turn at the grand tour.”

“You look nice, Franny.”

“Thanks. I wanted to spruce it up a bit since I’m going back and forth. Gosh, Owen.” Looking everywhere at once, Franny trailed her fingers over the upholstered footboard. “It’s all so beautiful. Honestly, I know how much time and work went into it, but I swear, it’s like a miracle.”

“Thanks. We’re really proud of it.”

“You should be. I’ve only seen the rooms on this floor, and I’m already arguing with myself over my favorite.”

He’d heard variations of that sentiment all evening, and it still made him smile. “I do the same thing. Want me to show you around?”

“No, I’m fine on my own. It’s like exploring,” she said with a laugh, “and I’m loving it—and I’m running into people everywhere I go. I just saw Dick in Eve and Roarke.”

“Dick the barber or Dick the banker?”

“Ha. You’re funny. Dick the barber. And I saw Justine and Clare’s parents in The Library.” Moving past him, she stepped into the bath. “Oh, look at the tub. It’s like something out of an English novel.”

“That’s the idea.”

“It’s a great idea. I’d live in this bathroom, which I’ve said about every one of them so far. Don’t worry about me. Get back to the party.”

“It’s nice to take a quick break.”

“I guess it is. Since I’ve got you alone for a minute, I wanted to say how good it is to see you and Avery together.”

“Oh. Ah—”

“I got used to seeing you as friends—I guess everyone did—so it was a surprise. A really nice surprise.”

“It was . . . a surprise for us, too. I think.”

“It’s good. She deserves some happy, and you might just deserve her.”

“Doing my best.”

“I like your best. She matters a lot to me.”

“I know.”

“And just so you know.” She walked back, tapped him on the chest. “If you hurt her, I’ll slip a hefty dose of laxatives in your calzone. You’ll never know when.”

She arched her brows, nodded. “And, because you matter, too, and because I’m fair, I’ll do the same to her if vice versa.”

Maybe, just in case, he’d stick with gyros for a while. “You’re a little scary, Franny.”

“Be afraid. I’m onto the next.”

As she walked out, Owen caught the whisper of laughter and honeysuckle behind him. “Oh yeah, you women are a riot.”

Once again he started out, and once again stopped short. This time Willy B filled the doorway. Owen supposed if highland chieftains wore suits and polka-dot ties, they’d look pretty much like Willy B MacTavish.

“Hey. I was sort of looking for Justine.”

“I heard she was in The Library. Might still be. It’s down the hall, to the left.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Willy B shuffled his feet, a sure sign he was about to address something that embarrassed him. “Ah, since I’ve got you alone for a minute . . .”

“A common theme.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. Is something up?”

“A couple things.” He shuffled into the room, glanced behind him. “I thought I should tell you—you and your brothers—that Justine . . . She asked if I’d . . .” He trailed off again, looking around the room. “Here. Tonight. Stay here. You know.”

“Oh.” Well shit, Owen thought. He should’ve seen it coming. “Well,” he said and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“I understand you might feel a little . . . I feel a little . . . but. Well.”

“Yeah. Should I ask if you—if this is—if you’ve got plans? Or something?”

“She means a lot to me, your ma. I loved your daddy.”

“I know. I know you did.”

“I know he’d want me to look out for her some, and I did. And . . . She’s a hell of a woman, your ma. I got pure respect for her. I’d never do anything to hurt her. Cut off my hand first.”

“Okay, Willy B.”

“Okay.” Some of the flush receded from his face. “I’ll talk to Ryder and Beckett.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Or it’ll take another hour and a half of fumbling.

“If you think.” Willy B nodded, cleared his throat. “Um, you and Avery are . . . My Avery.”

Same boat, Owen thought, different oars. “Everything you just said about my mother? Insert Avery. She’s important to me. She’s always been important to me.”

“I know that’s the truth. She’s always had a sweet-on for you.”

“Oh, well.” Jesus, he’d be blushing and shuffling himself in a minute. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you don’t, but I do. Just like I know she’s still got hurt inside over her mother, how she walked away. I want you to be careful with her, Owen. She’s had other boyfriends, but you’re different. You’ve got history and connections, and she’s had that sweet-on going. She’s tough, my girl, but she’s got places that bruise easy. It’s easy to forget that, so . . . don’t. I guess that’s it.”

On a long, long relieved breath, Willy B looked around. “This place sure is the cat’s ass. You did yourselves proud here. Tommy’s up there busting his buttons over Justine and his boys. Busting buttons. I’d better get on.”

Alone, Owen sat on the side of the bed. It was a lot, he decided. A big pile of a lot. His mother and Willy B. And here, right here— The right here had him shooting up to his feet again with an uncomfortable glance at the bed.

Probably better, all around, not to think about that.

The door to the porch eased open.

“Now that you mention it, I could use some air.”

He walked out, hissed a little at the cold. Wished he had a beer.

It looked fine, he thought. Main Street. He’d known it all his life. It changed, of course—a new business, new paint, new neighbors, kids growing up as he had himself. But it remained a constant for him.

So was Avery. A constant. A kind of touchstone.

She’d changed. They’d changed together, he supposed. Growing up, becoming, expanding their reach.

He studied Vesta, the lights, people moving behind the glass.

She’d built that. They’d provided the shell—the stone, the wood—but she’d built it into what it was. And now she’d do so again.

Yeah, she was tough and smart and willing to work hard. She’d dug in when her mother had walked out. Kept her head up, though he knew damn well some kids ragged on her about it.

He’d had a few short words with a couple of assholes over it, he recalled. He didn’t think she knew, just as he didn’t think she knew that once, not long after Traci MacTavish ran off, he’d walked into the kitchen back home to see Avery crying in his mother’s arms.

He’d backed out again, and the next time he’d seen Avery, she’d been dry-eyed and steady.

She was rarely otherwise.

But Willy B was right. There had to be places that bruised easily, and he should be careful.

Other boyfriends. Other, which made him—by Willy B’s gauge—her new boyfriend. Or current. Or . . .

He hadn’t really thought about it. To joke, sure—about being her first. Now the one-two punch of Franny, then Willy B made him consider the big picture.

He’d never taken her out on a date. To the movies, a concert, to dinner.

He’d never bought her flowers.

Okay, he bought her a present, so he got some points there. If he was keeping score, which, of course, he wasn’t. Exactly.

She usually ended up cooking for him. Sure, she liked to cook, but that wasn’t right, was it?

If he wanted this to be a real relationship, and he did, he had to start putting more effort into it.

“I haven’t put any effort into it,” he admitted. “Major fail.”

Fresh start, he decided, and turned to go in.

He spotted the bottle of Heineken on the table between the doors.

“How the hell did you do that?” Though a chill ran up his spine, he picked up the bottle, took a drink. “I don’t know whether it’s spooky or handy. But thanks.”

He took another drink. “Now I’m standing here, freezing to death, drinking a beer served by a ghost and talking to myself.”

Shaking his head, he went back in, secured the door. He took his beer, headed downstairs to find Avery.

He should’ve known she’d be doing something useful. He found her in The Lounge, passing champagne to guests.

“Where’s yours?” he demanded.

“There you are. My what?”

“Champagne.”

“Oh, I had some. I think I set it down in the kitchen when I was switching trays.”

“You’re not here to work.” He took the bottle, then her hand, and drew her toward the empty flutes. “You’re here to enjoy yourself.” And he poured her a glass of champagne.

“I’m enjoying. Your hands are freezing.”

“I was outside for a while. Let’s find a place to sit. You should get off your feet.”

“You need to mingle.”

“I’ve been mingling. Now I want to sit down with you, spend some time with you.” Leaning down, he laid his lips on hers.

She blinked up at him. It wasn’t as if they were having a clandestine affair, but it was the first time he’d kissed her—like that—in a public setting.

New Year’s, she recalled, but people traditionally kissed at midnight, so it didn’t really count.

She could actually feel speculative eyes on them.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m great.” He draped an arm over her shoulders to steer her out, then toward the stairs. “How are you?”

“I’m absolutely fine. I just wanted to check on the—”

“Avery, you don’t have to check on anything. There’s plenty of everything, and people are enjoying themselves. You get to relax.”

“I don’t relax at parties unless I’m doing something. My hands start itching.”

“Scratch them,” he suggested.

“Hey, Owen.”

Charlie Reeder, old friend and town cop, crossed their path. “Could use a hand a minute.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Your cousin, Spence? He’s getting ready to go. He was pounding them back pretty good tonight. He won’t give up the car keys. I tried talking to him, but he got belligerent. I don’t want to have to arrest him. Maybe you can talk him down before it comes to that.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be back.”

It took him twenty minutes, much of which he spent with his cousin draped around him in drunken sentiment, or hee-hawing as he tried to walk a straight line to prove his competency.

When he fell on his ass a third time, Spence finally gave up his keys.

“I’ll drive him home, Owen,” Charlie told him. “We’ve got to get going anyway. Kids are with a sitter. Charlene’ll follow me, and we’ll pour him through his front door.”

“Appreciate it, Charlie.”

“All in a day’s work.” He paused a moment, hands on his skinny hips as he looked over The Courtyard, up to the porches. “She’s a beauty. I booked a night for our anniversary next May. A surprise for Charlene.”

“Which room?”

“She seems to favor the one with the drapes on the bed and the ginormous tub.”

“Titania and Oberon. Good choice.”

“Hope talked me into the package that comes with a bottle of champagne, and dinner for two and whatnot. It’ll be ten years, so we ought to do something special.”

“Hope will make sure it is.”

“Well, I’ll help you get Spence into the car.”

“I’ve got it. Go ahead and get Charlene. Thanks for the assist.”

“Not a problem.”

By the time he got back inside, the crowd had thinned out. His fresh hunt for Avery was hampered by other guests preparing to leave, stopping him with thanks for the evening, compliments on the inn, and good-luck wishes.

He appreciated it, he really did, but it occurred to him they’d just had their second party as a couple where he’d spent more time without Avery than with her.

And she’d spent more time serving than being served.

He found her in The Dining Room, bussing tables.

“Don’t you know how to be a guest?”

“Not really. And I promised Hope and Carolee I’d help them clean up after. It’s pretty much after. It was great, Owen. Everyone had a good time, and really loved seeing the inn. Racked up some bookings, too.”

“So I hear.” He took the plates from her. “Where’s your champagne?”

“I set it down somewhere, but I drank most of it this time. I just scooted your mom up to The Library. We’re going to bring up a fruit and cheese tray, some crackers. Most of you didn’t get much food.” Insistent, she took the plates back from him. “Go on up. I’ll be up there soon. I’ll finish up with Hope, then I have to get my bag out of her apartment.”

“I’ll get it. Where is it?”

“Just inside the door, but her apartment’s locked.”

“I’ll get the key.”

He got her bag, put a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, added two flutes, and pocketed the key to Nick and Nora. After setting the ice bucket in his room for the night, he found his family, including Clare’s parents, sprawled in The Library and already diving into food trays.

“I didn’t think I was hungry till right now.” Justine grabbed some crackers. “There’s my missing son.”

“Spence,” he said. “Car keys. It took some persuading.”

“You should’ve found me,” Justine told him. “Spence listens to me.”

“It’s all good.” He realized he hadn’t had much to eat, just as Avery had suggested, and took a handful of olives before sitting on the floor. “They came, they saw, we conquered.”

“And then some,” Beckett agreed, snuggled with Clare on the sofa they shared with his mother and Willy B.

“It’s really done.” Justine sighed. “When I think of the past two years . . .”

“Would you do it again?” Clare’s mom, Rosie, asked her.

“Don’t give her any ideas.” Ryder cast his eyes to the ceiling.

“I wouldn’t, not this. This was a once-in-a-lifetime.”

“Thank you, God.”

But she laughed as she booted Ryder’s foot. “I have other ideas. For later. For tonight?” She lifted her glass. “Here’s to my boys. Ryder, Owen, and Beckett. You made my dream come true.”

Ryder reached over, laid a hand on hers.

“You dream good,” he said after a moment. “Just do me a favor and sleep quiet for a while.”

From the gleam in her eye as she sipped her champagne, Owen suspected she already had another dream going.