The Last Boyfriend

Chapter Eighteen

Avery gave herself an extra hour in Owen’s bed. He’d been up, dressed, and gone by six forty-five to make a seven o’clock meeting on the job site.

Her job site this time, she thought as she snuggled in to let herself drift in and out. She’d considered going in with him, just to see the next stage, but she didn’t have to be told she’d be in the way, bog things down. She’d just stop in later in the morning, after she’d made her supply run, finished her list of errands. By then, the demo should be well under way.

More fun, she thought lazily, to be surprised by progress.

Lots of progress in lots of areas, she mused. Her best friend would be married in less than a month, and she’d be a part of it. She’d be a part of watching two good friends make promises to each other, make a family, celebrate a kind of miracle.

Love seemed a kind of miracle to her, one she’d never been absolutely sure existed. But she’d seen it for herself with Clare and Beckett, seen them come together, find that miracle—and have the faith and courage to trust it.

Part of her errands that morning included picking up the last of the party supplies for the shower—from the exacting and detailed list Hope had printed out for her.

She loved knowing Clare and Beckett would take a week for themselves after the wedding with an island honeymoon on St. Kitts.

One day, Avery thought, she’d have to take a vacation in some tropical paradise.

One day she’d have to take a damn vacation, she thought, opening one eye to look at the gloomy sky outside the bedroom window.

She would. She’d get her new place up and running, get the routine smooth—then reward herself with a few days of sun, white beaches, and blue water.

Someplace she’d never been—someplace where no one knew her.

Maybe Owen would go with her. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see how they dealt with nothing to do, with being strangers in a strange land—together.

And she loved that later in the summer, after school let out, the newlyweds planned a week’s vacation with the kids. A familymoon, she’d heard little Murphy call it.

What could be better, she decided, than a familymoon?

Meanwhile Owen—and Hope—dug deeper into the mystery of Eliza Ford when one or the other could squeeze out the time. Were Lizzy and Billy a kind of miracle? she wondered. Had love brought them together before tragedy crept in? Or was the answer less romantic—and probably more realistic—as Owen had suggested?

A young girl dreaming of love, and a young man going his own way.

She’d dreamed of love once. But she’d been a child, and for a child, magic and miracles were always possible, and happy-ever-after simple and real.

Over time, she’d learned it was best to believe in the miracles and happy-ever-afters she could achieve herself, with hard work, determination, and long hours.

Plenty of satisfaction in that, she told herself. And she’d better get started on the day’s miracle and get the hell out of bed.

She sat up, then just hugged her knees in and smiled at the fire he’d left simmering. He was sweet that way, she mused. Sweet to stir up the fire, add a log so she’d wake up to its warmth and light on a gloomy March morning.

She was lucky to have him in her life—had always known that. But now she was lucky to have this new, fascinating connection with him, luckier still he was as content to take things one day at a time. No pressure, no scary talk about futures.

She’d barely rolled out of bed when her phone signaled an incoming text.

She rolled back, hoping it was Owen suggesting she come in and have a look at the initial demo after all.

But she read the quick message from Clare asking her to stop by the bookstore before she headed into Hagerstown for supplies.

A little puzzled, she answered, changed her plans to include a stop by the store—and hell, since she’d be right there, take a quick peek in at the demo.

She grabbed a shower, pulled on jeans, added a sweater over a short-sleeve shirt to accommodate the fickle March weather. Lips pursed, she considered her hair. The latest rinse had faded some, so she added a mental note to check out the range of colors, see what she was in the mood to be.

Downstairs, she discovered he’d made coffee, set a travel mug for her beside the pot. Another reason to smile, she thought. You could always count on Owen. She couldn’t think of another man, other than her father, who was so consistently solid.

On impulse, she went to his kitchen board, drew a heart with their initials in the center.

Fueled with coffee and a quick yogurt, she pulled on boots, wrapped on a scarf and shrugged into her coat before she saw the note by the door.

Take this, it read.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the folding umbrella.

She’d take it, but he’d be lucky if she didn’t lose it somewhere along her morning run.

Halfway to Boonsboro, the first drops of rain splatted her windshield. She could only cast her eyes skyward and think how annoying it was that Owen was always right.

Minutes later, going over her morning plans, she forgot the umbrella and dashed through the rain to the bookstore’s covered porch.

She tapped on the glass, then used the key Clare had given her after the trouble with Sam Freemont the previous fall. As she stepped in, shaking rain from her hair, Clare walked down the stairs.

“Coffee’s fresh,” Clare announced.

“I just had some, but . . . who can say no to a latte?”

“I’ll fix you up. Thanks for coming by.”

“No problem. It’s just the excuse I needed to nose into the new place. They’re starting the demo this morning.”

“I know. Exciting.” She steamed milk while Avery glanced at the bestsellers on the front display.

“I need an afternoon off, a rainy afternoon like this one will probably be, so I can catch up on my reading. I couldn’t get through the book club book this time. Why do I want to read about someone else’s misery? Is it supposed to make me feel better about my life? Smug? Or just depressed? Because it was bringing me down.”

“I hated it, too. I choked it down the way I used to choke down the brussels sprouts my mother insisted were good for me. It was a brussels sprout book, and I’m not convinced they’re good for me.”

“Exactly.” Idly, Avery pulled down a thriller, skimmed the copy. “Plus, if I sit down to read, I want crème brûlée, or a good meaty steak, maybe pepperoni pizza, possibly a hot fudge sundae. And now I’m hungry.”

She turned back, smiling as she reached for the coffee. “Thanks. Hey, you look a little ragged-out.”

“Feeling a little draggy, a little off this morning.”

“You can’t catch anything.” Avery pointed a decisive finger. “You’re getting married in less than a month. You’re not allowed to catch anything. Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

Clare shook her head at the offered latte. “I haven’t caught anything the way you mean, and I’m off coffee for now. I’m not sick.” Clare drew in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

“What? Now? Pregnant as in baby-on-board?”

“Yes, now. Pregnant as in.” On a laugh, Clare pressed her hands to her belly. And Avery wondered how pale could go to glow so fast.

“Oh, Clare. You’re pregnant, and you’re happy.” Setting the coffee down, Avery rushed around the counter, folded Clare into a hug. “I’m so happy for you. When did you find out? How far along are you? What did Beckett say?”

“I don’t think I could be happier. This morning, though I suspected yesterday. Probably about two weeks. And I haven’t said anything to Beckett yet.”

“Why?”

“I need you to do me a favor first. You’re going into Hagerstown, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ll be heading that way.”

“Could you pick me up a home pregnancy test?”

“You haven’t taken one already? You said you found out this morning.”

“Morning sickness, the second day running. I know the signs—this would be the fourth time. I’m wifty and tired, and sick in the mornings, and my body feels . . . It’s hard to explain.” Again she touched her belly, then her breasts. “My body feels pregnant. But I want to confirm before I tell Beckett just in case I’m wrong. I just don’t want to pop in the pharmacy here or in Sharpsburg to buy the kit.”

“Word spreads fast.”

“You got it, and since you’re going into Hagerstown anyway, you could get one for me, in anonymity.”

“Happy to. Wow. Wedding, honeymoon, familymoon, baby! Beckett’ll be good with it, right?”

“Very good.” Reaching down, she chose a ginger ale for herself from the under-counter cooler. “We wanted a baby, though we thought we’d wait a few months. We weren’t trying, but obviously, we weren’t not trying. If I’ve calculated right, we’ll be a family of six next January, right about the time the inn has its first anniversary.”

“Can I tell Hope? I’m going to see her later, but I’ll swear the vow of silence if you want.”

“I’ll let you know once I’ve taken the test. You can tell her right after I tell Beckett.”

“Vow of silence until. This is such good news. Good, happy news,” she added with another huge hug for Clare. “I’m not going to stop by to see the demo before I go. I don’t want to risk it. I talk to no one. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Oh boy!”

“Think, oh girl.” Clare laughed. “I know it’s silly, but God, I’d love to have a girl this time.”

“Thinking pink.” She gave Clare a last hug. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thanks. Wait, it’s pouring. Let me get you an umbrella.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got one in the car.” She ran out, was soaked through before she got behind the wheel.

But she grinned all the way out of town.

Owen left the crew to the demo, did a quick pass through the bakery project. Mostly on schedule, he noted, and with Ry at one helm, Beckett at the other, he was free to drive into Hagerstown for materials, knock off some personal errands—and the ones his brothers had added to his list.

He didn’t much mind the multiple stops—more materials meant more progress. He didn’t much mind driving in the rain. It could’ve been the snow currently hammering the northern part of the county and up into Pennsylvania.

He’d had enough of snow, enough of winter, so he’d take the rain.

He hoped Avery hadn’t ignored the umbrella, as he knew she’d be doing just what he was doing. Multiple stops, multiple parking lots and dashes into stores, crossing off chores.

Too bad they couldn’t have gone together, but the stops didn’t match up well enough to make it practical. If the weather guys were right, they were in for a full day of rain, a full night of it. He remembered Avery had scheduled herself to work, and to close. He could grab dinner at Vesta after work, use her apartment to finish up paperwork while she was downstairs.

Stay at her place.

He had to remind himself not to assume, but damn it, he’d reached the point he wanted to assume. He wanted her to do the same.

Why shouldn’t they? Why wouldn’t they? But he couldn’t shake the certainty that she’d braked on that particular step and wasn’t quite willing to take the next.

Then again, he had to admit the step they’d stopped on was pretty comfortable.

He swung off for hardware, put an order in for lumber, picked up paint, then carpet samples for the over-the-bakery apartments.

He streamed through his list, making a circuit, making his last stop the drugstore. He clicked through his own items, added Ryder’s shaving cream, Beckett’s Motrin, tossed in a couple of fresh sets of playing cards—to supplement the naked women cards he’d already bought for Beck’s poker night bachelor party.

He started to turn down the next aisle, and spotted Avery.

It gave his heart a quick lift, to see her like this, unexpectedly—and made him shake his head when he noticed her damp hair.

She hadn’t used the umbrella after all.

He thought he’d ease down to her, come up behind—grab her. Imagined her reaction—the jolt, the squeak, the surprise, then the laugh.

She was concentrating so hard, he thought, amused, trying to figure out which . . . pregnancy test to buy.

Jesus Christ.

It was his last clear thought as he watched her take one off the shelf, give it another long study, front and back, then add it to her basket.

He stood exactly where he was, rooted to the floor as she strolled away down the aisle, turned the next corner.

A home pregnancy test? But she took . . . He used . . . How could . . . ?

Avery pregnant? How could she be pregnant? Well, he knew how, but she’d never said anything. Never gave the slightest hint she thought maybe.

She just picked up the am-I-or-aren’t-I kit and added it in with her shower gel and shampoo and mouthwash.

Just another item on the list?

He wanted to go after her, ask her what the hell.

Not the time or place, he told himself. Not the right frame of mind since he couldn’t decide what his frame of mind was, exactly.

He stared down at the things in his own basket, couldn’t think what to do, couldn’t think at all. Numb, a little shaky in the knees, he set the basket aside, and left without buying a thing.

He went back to the new job site, put his back into the demolition. It was hard to beat tearing out walls as a tension reliever. He hauled out hunks of drywall, lengths of splintered framing, personally busted up an old counter.

And still felt shaky, frustrated, and tense as a wire about to snap.

Avery. Pregnant.

How long did one of those tests take? How accurate were they?

He wished he’d taken the time to look up the answers, give himself at least that much solid ground.

First, if she’d bought a pregnancy test, she had reason to think she might be pregnant. Women didn’t buy that kind of thing on a whim.

Did they? Why would they?

People bought Band-Aids before they cut themselves, but didn’t buy pregnancy test kits before they thought they were pregnant.

So since she had reason to think she was, why hadn’t she mentioned it? Just say: Owen, there’s a possibility I could be pregnant, so I’m going to buy a pregnancy test and find out.

She had to be freaked out. Except she hadn’t looked freaked-out.

She’d looked calm, he remembered. She’d even smiled a little as she’d added it to her basket.

Did she want to be pregnant?

Thought she might be, liked the idea. She’d decided not to say anything until she knew one way or the other. If she wasn’t, he supposed she’d planned not to mention it at all. And that didn’t seem right, no, that didn’t sit well with him.

If she was pregnant, he imagined she’d let him know whenever she wanted to let him know. Not telling him the maybe left him in the dark—or would have without that mutual trip to the CVS—so she got to choose if and when. That didn’t sit well, not one bit.

When you factored in what her mother had done, shouldn’t she, of all people, know the father (Jesus, maybe he was going to be a father) had a right to know? There were two people involved in this, not just Avery. They weren’t casual sex pals or an impulsive one- two- or three-night stand.

They were . . .

He wasn’t absolutely sure now that he considered it, but they were in more than a casual, get laid now and again relationship.

Whatever they were, trust and honesty had to be key elements.

She hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him about her mother’s visit until he’d put her back to the wall, he remembered. Instead, she’d holed up, walled off, shut him out.

If she thought she could pull that on something like this, she was in for a major attitude adjustment.

“Son of a bitch!” He heaved broken plywood into the Dumpster.

“Okay.” Beckett came up behind him. “You haven’t worked off whatever it is, so spill it.”

“You want me to spill it?” In a rare show of temper, Owen kicked the Dumpster. “I’ll spill it. Avery’s pregnant.”

“Holy shit.” Glancing around as one of the crew came out, Beckett waved the man off before taking Owen by the arm and pulling him under the overhang and out of the rain. “When did you find out?”

“Today. This morning. And you know how I found out? You know how because she doesn’t fucking tell me? I found out because I walked into the goddamn CVS, and there she is, picking up one of those pregnancy tests.”

“Christ, Owen. It was positive?”

“I don’t know.” Temper rising, rising, he marched up and down the concrete walk. “She’s not telling me any damn thing. She’s sneaking off buying one of those pee sticks instead of talking to me. I’ve had it.”

“Okay, take it down a notch.” To halt his brother’s angry pacing, Beckett moved into the path, held up both hands. “You don’t know if she’s pregnant.”

“I’d say, the way she handles things, I’ll be the last to know.” Along with the sudden hot rage ran a cold stream of hurt. “I’ve had it.”

“What did she say when you asked her about it?”

“Nothing. I didn’t.”

After a moment staring at Owen’s angry face, Beckett rubbed his hands over his own. “You didn’t ask her why she was buying the kit?”

“No. I froze, okay? Jesus. She’s tossing it in her basket like it’s a bag of candy—with a little smile—and I froze. What the hell would you do?”

“It’s not the same for Clare and me.” Beckett stared out at the rain, steady and slow, from under the pitch of the roof. “We’ve talked about having a baby. We want to have another kid. I take it the two of you haven’t discussed what you’d do on the if.”

“No. I never thought of the if. She should’ve told me, Beck, that’s bottom line. She should’ve told me she needed a test. Why does she think she has to deal with everything by herself? I can’t work that way, and I don’t want to live that way.”

“No, you can’t.” Not Owen, Beckett thought. His brother was a born team player, an innate believer in partnership and shared loads. For Owen, secrets were for Christmas and birthdays, not for day-to-day living. “You need to talk to her, but Christ, not now. She’s in the middle of her lunch rush. And you need to cool off some anyway.”

“I don’t think cooling off’s going to happen. The more I think about it, the more pissed off I am.”

“Then think about this. If she is pregnant, what do you want to do?”

“If she’s pregnant, we should get married.”

“I didn’t ask should, I asked want.”

“I . . .” He waited for his mind to make that subtle and vital switch. “If we’re making a baby, I’d want to get married.”

“Okay, so take an hour to figure it out. You always figure it out, Owen. By that time, her place will have cleared out some. Go over and tell her you need to talk to her in private. And find out, for Christ’s sake, if you’re going to be a daddy before you freak out any more than you are. Then handle it.”

“You’re right. Jesus, I feel a little . . .”

“Sick?”

“Not exactly. Off. I never figured on anything like this. It’s out of . . .”

“Owen’s Order of Events. Adjust,” he suggested, giving Owen a light punch on the shoulder.

“Adjust. Yeah, I can adjust.” His face darkened, his eyes glinted. “But I’m not the only one who’s going to.”

He waited an hour, decided he’d calmed down, steadied up. He walked over to Vesta in the unrelenting rain, and into the warm, into the scents of sauce and spice.

Behind the cash register, Avery rang up a customer, sent Owen a sassy wink.

A wink, he thought, heating up again. This wasn’t the time for cute little winks.

“Good timing,” she told him. “Things’ve just slowed down. I was going to run over and see what you guys have demolished so far.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sure, have a seat. I’m going to get Franny to take over. Do you want a slice?”

“No. And I need to talk to you upstairs. In private.”

“Oh. Crap. Is something wrong in the new place?”

“It’s got nothing to do with that.”

“Then what—”

“Avery.” His tone flattened, had her eyebrows drawing together. “Upstairs, now. In private.”

“Fine. Fine, but you’re screwing with my really good mood.” She stalked to the doorway between the kitchens. “Franny? I need to run out.” She pulled off her apron as she spoke, tagged it on a peg. “I really want to see the new place,” she began.

“You can go after if that’s what you want.”

“What are you pissed about?” she asked as they went through the side door. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Maybe not doing is the problem.”

“Really screwing with my mood,” she repeated and shoved open her apartment door. “Now, what the hell is the problem?”

His carefully planned, thoroughly reasonable approach fizzled away. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

“What? What?”

“Don’t give me that shock-and-awe crap, Avery. I saw you at the drugstore. I saw you buy the pregnancy test.”

“You . . .” Her hands fisted on her hips. “You were spying on me.”

“Don’t be stupid. I was out running errands, and went into the CVS. And there you were pulling one of those tests off the shelf and tossing it in your basket. Goddamn it, what’s wrong with you that you don’t tell me? That you don’t trust me, or respect what we are to each other enough to tell me you’re pregnant.”

“Maybe because I’m not.”

“Not?”

“I’m not pregnant, you moron.”

Something odd worked inside him, but he couldn’t identify the sensation. “The test was negative.”

“No, the test was positive.” She yanked out her phone.

Now his heart jumped several beats and landed hard in his throat. “If it was positive, then you’re pregnant. Who’s the moron?”

“You.” She turned the phone around to show him the picture of the test stick, and the PREGNANT. “Because this is Clare’s pregnancy test. The pregnancy test I picked up for her this morning when she asked me to.”

“I saw Beckett ten minutes ago. Clare’s not pregnant or he’d have told me.”

“She hasn’t told him. She wants to tell him when they’re alone, wants to make it a special moment—which you’d also get if you weren’t the moron. And she asked me not to tell anyone, and now I’ve broken my promise. And that pisses me off.”

“I won’t say anything to him, for Christ’s sake. I won’t spoil it for them.” Unsteady, unsure, a little light-headed, he shoved both hands through hair just damp enough to stand out in tufts. “But, Jesus, what was I supposed to think when I saw you buying the thing?”

“I don’t know, Owen. Maybe the solution might’ve been to walk the hell up to me, say, hey, Avery, fancy meeting you here, and why are you buying that pregnancy test?”

“I have to sit down.” He did. “I’m going to remind you, you owe me a break.” He breathed for a minute. “I couldn’t think. And then you were just walking off. You were so damn casual about it, and I just couldn’t think.”

She said nothing as she studied him. He looked so perplexed, so confused, as Owen rarely did. “You wigged.”

“In a manner of speaking. Maybe.”

“And you jumped to conclusions.”

“I . . . Okay.”

“You never jump.”

“I’ve never seen you buy a pregnancy test before—especially when I’m the only one having sex with you.”

She considered. “That’s actually sort of understandable. Sort of.” When a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, she let it come. “You totally freaked.”

“I semi-freaked,” he corrected. “I was more pissed, and . . .” Might as well admit it, he decided. “And hurt when I thought you weren’t telling me. We’ve never talked about if.”

She blew out a breath. “That’s a conversation. I don’t know, and it’s not something we can talk out in ten minutes, I guess. We’re fine now, right, because I’m not, and Clare is. And she’s so happy. Beckett’s going to be happy.”

“Yeah, he is. He really is.”

“So let’s just be happy for them, and let me have the pleasure of knowing you were a moron. We’ll talk about ifs sometime, but I really want to see the demo. Then I told Clare I’d get the kids from school and bring them to the shop so she can tell Beckett. She doesn’t want to tell the kids until she’s further along. Probably not until after the wedding anyway. It’s for her and Beckett now, and I guess you and me and Hope and Ryder and your parents and hers. Which is already a lot.”

“All right.” Steadier, he rose. “But we’d both better think about it, and talk it out, in case.”

“You worry about ‘in case’ more than I do, but we’ll do that. It’s a really good day, Owen.”

“You’re right.” He settled a bit more when she reached up, smoothed at his hair. “It’s a really good day.”

“For right now, let’s just be happy for Clare and Beckett. They’re getting married, making a family, expanding one. It’s all exactly what they both want.”

“All right,” he said again, and reached for her, drew her in. “We’ll be happy for them. Sorry I was pissed at you.”

“I’m not, because I get to say moron.” On a laugh, she tipped back her head, kissed him. “Let’s go over to the new place. Can I knock something down?”

“I’ll find something for you to demo. It’s the least I can do.”