The Last Boyfriend

Chapter Eight

As Hope trusted her—and would likely change things around anyway—Avery organized her friend’s new kitchen. She liked the tidy, efficient space, and everything new, new, new.

“How much fun is this?” Still in her work jeans and Vesta tee, Avery happily arranged flatware in Hope’s drawer organizer. “Clare’s missing out.”

“You’ll have this with kids,” Hope called out from the bath as she put away makeup.

“Yeah, you will. Ever think about having them?”

“Sure. One day. Do you?”

“Sure. Especially when I’m around Clare’s boys for a while. They’re seriously addicting.” She shut the drawer, started on the next. “But having them is most traditionally preceded by marriage—and that’s the sticker.”

“You’ve got too wide a romantic streak to really think of marriage as a sticker.”

“It’s easy to be romantic for other people—it’s no risk, no fail—personally. Anyway, you’re starting a whole new adventure—and this is your first night. You’re not nervous about staying here alone, are you?”

“No.” Hope poked her head out. “But I thought you might like to stay. Pick a room.”

“Hot damn!” Hands fisted around forks and spoons pumped jubilantly in the air. “I thought you’d never ask. Are you sure it’s okay?”

“More than. Justine asked if I’d use each room over the next couple weeks. That way I can check for any glitches with plumbing, electric, even just the flow of the rooms. And I’d actually like to stay in my apartment here tonight—first night. So you can be my first guest.”

“T&O. I’d be the first to sink to my ears in that big copper tub. No, wait. J&R. I’d have the fireplace and a copper tub. Or . . .”

Laughing, Hope came out. “It’s a problem, isn’t it?”

“A really good one. Maybe I should pick one out of a hat. Couldn’t go wrong. Has Owen picked his room for opening night?”

“He’s in Nick and Nora.”

“Okay, I’ll take that out of the hat since I’ll probably be sleeping with him by then, and get my chance at that room opening night.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. We’re taking a few days to make sure it’s not just crazy.” After closing the next drawer, she turned. “It doesn’t feel crazy.”

“Why would it? He’s a great guy, gorgeous, smart, sweet. The two of you have a nice rhythm.”

“That’s part of the ‘is this crazy.’ We do have a nice rhythm. Sex changes the beat.”

“I think both of you will adjust very well.”

“I hope so, and along those lines I have to ask you for a big favor. See, last night he lent me some Scotch tape, and one thing led to another.”

Now Hope fisted hands on her hips. “You’ve already slept with him, and you’re just getting around to telling me?”

“No. Almost, but no. But while we were deciding to wait a few days, I asked him if he had a date for New Year’s Eve. Mostly I wanted to know if he was seeing—okay, sleeping—with anybody else.”

“Reasonable.”

“I should’ve just asked him, but I caged around it, and he asked me if I had one, and I told him you and I were going to hang out.”

“Avery, if you want to go out with Owen on a major date night, I’m fine with it. Absolutely, one hundred percent. You should know that.”

“I do, just like you should know I’d hate myself if I ditched you. You wouldn’t do it to me.”

“I might if Owen asked me out.” Hope fluttered her eyelashes.

“Get your own Montgomery boy. There’s one left.”

“Maybe I could just borrow Owen. Test him out for you.”

“Aw, you’re such a good friend.” Miming wiping a tear aside, she gave Hope a hug. “No. Anyway, Owen popped up with this idea of having a party at his place, which is very un-Owenish as he can’t plan and plot it out for weeks, preferably months. So we’re all going to ring in the new at Owen’s.”

Thoughtful, Hope opened cupboards to check Avery’s kitchen organization. “Avery, I don’t have a date. I don’t want a date, but not having a date on New Year’s at a party is just embarrassing.”

“Not when you look like you do. Besides, not everybody’s going to be coupled. I could practically recite Owen’s most likely guest list, so I can guarantee other singles of both varieties. He throws a really good party when he throws one. You’ll meet more people,” Avery wheedled. “And that’s good community relations for an innkeeper.”

Hope turned the handle of a cup a fraction to the left. “Now you’re digging.”

“Yeah, but it’s still true. Clare and Beck are getting a sitter, I checked with her. And they can bring you home. Unless you get wild and crazy and hook up.”

“I won’t be wild and crazy, that’s a promise.” Hope blew out a breath. “But I probably shouldn’t decline an invitation from one of the bosses, at least this early on.”

“You’ll have fun. I promise.” Delighted, Avery threw her arms around Hope. “Thanks.”

With her arm still around Hope’s shoulders, she turned, scanned the living room. “It was really nice of Ryder to bring your tree over.”

“He griped about the decorations.”

“But he bagged it up, brought it over, set it up here.”

“Okay, it was nice of him, even though Justine probably told him to do it.”

“Either way, you’ve got your Christmas tree in your new apartment. It already looks like you in here. It looks like Hope. Are you happy?”

“I really am, and excited. I can’t wait to—”

They both jolted at the rattle of the doorknob, stared as the door opened.

“Oh, Jesus, Clare! Next time,” Avery suggested, “just shoot us both.”

“Sorry. Kids are asleep. Beckett handed me the key, and told me to get my butt up here for a couple hours. He knew how much I wanted to.” Looking around, she pulled off her gloves. “Oh, you’ve already done so much! It looks—”

“Like Hope,” Avery finished.

“Yes, it does. What can I do?”

“Kitchen’s mine.”

“I just finished in the bathroom,” Hope told her. “I guess I should move to the bedrooms.”

“Then . . .” Clare opened the door again, lifted the painting she’d left propped against the wall.

“My housewarming gift! Oh, I love it.”

“Madeline said you could change your mind,” Avery told her, “if it didn’t suit once you moved in. You can exchange it at Gifts for another painting, or whatever.”

“It’s exactly what I want. It’s gorgeous, and every day’s spring when I look at those cherry blossoms. Thank you. Both of you. I know just where I want it, in the bedroom so I can wake up to spring every morning.”

Taking the painting, Hope held it out at arm’s length. “I’m going to hang it right now.”

In the bedroom Clare made the graceful sleigh bed Hope had chosen, fluffed pillows, smoothed the duvet while Hope—meticulous as Owen—measured and marked and leveled.

“It’s perfect here. Exactly right,” Hope murmured.

“So are you. It feels like you’re perfect here. Exactly right here.”

“I want to be.”

“Kitchen’s done.” Avery came in, turned, smiled at the painting. “You were right about it. It says spring, even on a night like this. Welcome home, Hope.”

Later, when Clare left and Avery dashed home for what she needed for the night, Hope took a solo walk through the building.

It did feel right, she thought. Like home.

As she climbed back to her apartment, she caught the drift of honeysuckle, sweet as summer.

“I’m here,” she said, “and I’ll be staying now. I guess neither of us has to be alone anymore.”

The next morning, Avery came downstairs to find the Montgomery family already on the job, and Hope in the kitchen making breakfast.

“We haven’t organized the kitchen yet,” Avery commented.

“I’m making do. I want to try out a few things, and this is a good chance.”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“No.” To emphasize the point, Hope held up a finger. “No hand. You’re a guest. Go on into The Dining Room.”

“Is there coffee there?”

“There is. Avery? How was J&R?”

“Like a dream. Only missing the madwoman in the attic, which I guess would make it a nightmare anyway. Coffee first, then report.”

She walked through, helped herself at the copper coffee urn and considered. It might be the perfect time, she mused. Everyone was happy, excited. And a major project wrapped—beautifully wrapped. A few more days of work, sure, a few more details, but basically done.

Owen wandered in. “I heard you were the first guest.”

“I have that distinction.”

“But we’re all getting breakfast. Hope texted everybody this morning.” He sat across from her. “How was it?”

“Wonderful. Full report when you’re all in here. You’re in The Lounge?”

“Mom wants another little cabinet, for the front corner. Ry’s hanging a mirror, Beck’s putting some shelves in the closet in there. You look good,” he added.

She eyed him over her coffee. “Is that so?”

“That’s so. Rested, but revved. Are you working today?”

“Not until four. I’m closing.”

“Why are you up so early?”

“Habit. And I must’ve sensed somebody else was cooking.”

Carolee carried in a tray of thick waffles, filled the room with their scent as she put them in one of the chafing dishes. She sent her nephew and Avery a wink before she bustled out. Hope brought in a clear glass bowl of berries, a glass pitcher of juice.

“Hope, I could—”

Hope made a dismissive sound. “Guest,” she said and went out again.

“I really want to try out that stove top,” Avery muttered. “It’s so shiny.”

In came a platter of bacon, another of creamy scrambled eggs.

“We’ve been summoned.” Beckett strolled in, sniffed. “Smells like breakfast.” He lifted the lid of a chafing dish. “Looks like breakfast.” And snagged a slice of bacon. “Oh yeah. Tastes like breakfast. Hey, waffles.”

“Waffles?” Ryder came in, headed straight for the chafing dish. “Those fat, round ones, too.”

“Help yourselves.” Hope nudged Justine into the room. “If you want anything, please ask. And honest feedback, please. It’s better to know if something’s not working now than to find out after we open.”

She stood back, waited as plates were filled, seats taken.

Ryder took the first syrup-loaded bite of waffle. “You’re not fired,” he told her.

“High praise.”

“It’s wonderful, Hope.” Justine scooped up a little egg. “And the tables look cheerful, just as we wanted. Sit down.”

“I still have a few things to see to, but I’d really like to hear what Avery thought about her night in J&R.”

“Like I’d won a grand prize. The grand prize,” she corrected. “I’m really clean because I tried out the tub last night, and the shower this morning. Both are incredible. And the amenities are just delicious.” She held out an arm to Owen. “Smell me.”

He did. “Nice.”

“Yeah, it is. The towels are soft and thick—and God, let me say the heated tile floors, the heated towel rack? Inspired. Everything about the bathroom makes you feel pampered, relaxed, indulged.”

“That was the goal.” Justine beamed at her. “On the nose.”

“Also, I want one of the robes for my own. The fireplace is such a great feature, especially when you’re in that amazing bed. And let me add it’s the most comfortable bed I’ve had the pleasure of sleeping on. It’s great having all those pillows, the different densities. I tried out the TV, the clock radio thingie, read a couple chapters of Jane Eyre, picked it up on the DVD.

“If I had ten thumbs, they’d all go up. It was absolutely fabulous. I really appreciate having the chance to test the room.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. I’ll check back in a few minutes,” Hope said as she went back to the kitchen.

“No questions, complaints, suggestions?” Justine asked Avery.

“I have a suggestion. Don’t change a thing in that room. There’s nothing about it I didn’t love.”

“All right.” With a satisfied nod, Justine sat back. “One down.”

“While you’re all here, there is something I’d like to talk to you about. Something that has to do with the inn, indirectly,” Avery added.

“Talk,” Ryder invited as he rose. “Want more waffles. Wait, where’s Dumbass?”

“He’s in Reception, by the fire. We can’t have a dog in here with the food, Ryder,” his mother told him.

“But—”

“You’re not to feed him from the table. Hope gave him a couple of dog biscuits, and he’s perfectly happy out there. Now, Avery, what’s this about?”

Her heart thudded, but she told herself it was time.

“I expect when you have guests at the inn, some will come over to Vesta for lunch, for dinner, maybe a beer. Others may want something other than a family restaurant and drive over to South Mountain, or into Shepherdstown. It’s too bad the restaurant on the other corner didn’t work out.”

“Don’t get me started,” Owen muttered.

“We all agree about that,” Avery continued, “but the point is, we could use another restaurant in town, one a few clicks up from family Italian and pizza.”

Nerves tickled along her skin. She hated being nervous, focused on keeping her voice brisk. “And people often come into my place, ask where they could get a glass of wine. Sure I serve it, but it’s not the kind of place you go for a quiet drink or a romantic meal.”

“We want to get the bakery project going first,” Owen told her. “We’re going to look for another tenant for the restaurant. We’re just going to have to be more careful in the selection process this time around, find somebody with a sensible business plan, and an understanding of the location.”

“I agree.” Avery cleared her throat. “You bought the connecting building.” To keep her hands busy, she toyed with her eggs. “I know you’ve considered going retail there, but it used to be one building, and if you opened it back up, there could be a lounge on one side, a restaurant on the other—connected. People could go have a drink, or come in for dinner. Or both. And there’s room in the second part for a little stage. Live music’s a draw. There’s nothing like that in town. A good restaurant with an attached lounge or pub. Good food, nice wine and beer and cocktails, some music.”

“It’s a good idea,” Justine began.

“Don’t get her started,” Ryder warned.

“It would add to the inn,” Avery went on. “Guests would have more choices, and could walk right across St. Paul, have a bottle of wine, and not worry about driving. You could arrange for room service from there, just like we’re going to do for you from Vesta. Don’t want to go out? Have some pizza in The Lounge, or a nice, quiet dinner in The Dining Room. And you’re doing packages. Adding a package with a dinner for two at a nice restaurant, right next door—or again, brought to them here—would be a draw.”

“No question.” Beckett nodded at her. “And we’ve tossed it around, some. The sticking point is finding someone who not only wants to run a place like that but can do it, and do it right.”

“I want to.” She said it fast, her hands clasped in her lap under the table. “I can do it right.”

“You’ve got a restaurant. You’ve got Vesta.” Ryder narrowed his eyes at her. “And Little Red, if you tell me you’re thinking of packing it in over there, I’m going to be pissed off. I need my Warrior’s pizza fix.”

“She’s not thinking of that.” Concerned, Owen nudged his plate aside. “Two places, Avery? Don’t you have enough to do already?”

“I’d give Franny more responsibility, use Dave in both sites on a rolling schedule. I’d need a good manager for the new place, and I’ve already got someone in mind. Justine, it didn’t work before because it wasn’t the right fit. I know exactly what to do there to make it work, to make it pop.”

“I’m listening.”

“Oh brother.” Ryder lowered his head and focused on waffles.

“You want warm, contemporary without being showy. Maybe a couple of love seats as well as low and high tops in the pub area. One big-ass bar, and you get bartenders who know what they’re doing. Relaxed, but just a touch of edge. Good wine, good drafts—maybe a mix of local stuff. Classy.”

Because nobody stopped her, Avery took a breath, and plowed through.

“For lunch, you offer a wide variety of salads, sandwiches, soups, and you’re open for lunch, every day—which was a problem before. You keep the prices reasonable, the service friendly and welcoming.”

“Which was also a problem before,” Beckett commented.

“Yeah, it was.” She gave him a nod, plowed on. “For dinner, you add entrees. A good steak, fish, chicken, some interesting appetizers. As much as you can, you stay local for the produce, for the meat. You make it fun, and you don’t forget you’re on The Square in Boonsboro. I know the town, I know what people want.”

“I bet you do,” Justine murmured.

“I’ve written up a business plan. I’ve drafted out a menu, price points. I know it involves some work for you, reconnecting the two spaces, fixing up the pub area, but it’d be worth it.” She took a breath. “I’d make it worth it.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Owen asked her.

“About two years—when I could see the other place just wasn’t going to work, and why. It’s not impulse,” she insisted, knowing that look. “I know I can be impulsive, but not when it’s business. You trusted me when I came to you about opening Vesta in your building.”

“We were right to.” Beckett considered her. “I want to take another look at the space before we make any decisions—one way or the other.”

“Sure. I’ll send you the business plan, the sample menu, and so on.”

“Good.” Justine nodded. “I want to see what you’ve laid out. Still, we’re going to need to talk this over, Avery, my boys and I.”

“I know that. And if it’s no, well . . . I’ll try to convince you to change your mind. So. I’d better get going.” She rose, automatically bussed her dishes. “Thanks again for letting me test the room. It was a night to remember.”

“We’ll talk soon,” Justine promised her, then considered the coffee she’d let go cold as Avery went out. “Thoughts?”

“Running a restaurant is a lot of work,” Owen began. “Running two? She’d have to manage two crews, two menus, and add this pub she’s talking about, it’s basically three businesses to manage.”

“She’s the Little Red Machine.” Ryder shrugged as he got up to get more coffee for his mother. “My money’s on her.”

“I need to look at the space, make sure it can be done.”

Justine just smiled at Beckett. “Anything can be done. The first advantage, for us, would be having someone in there we know, can trust, and who has a good, solid, innovative idea. Her concept’s pretty damn perfect.”

“I like the idea.” Still Owen hesitated. “My concern would be having one person, having Avery, trying to do it all.”

“That’s concern for her. You’re worried she’d run herself ragged, take on too much. A friend’s concern,” Justine added. “With some ‘when would we have time together now that we’re thinking about spending time together’ mixed in.”

When Owen shifted his gaze, coolly, toward Ryder, Ryder threw up his hands. “Not a word. Not from me.”

“Please.” Justine let out a snort, flicked a hand in the air. “Do you think I have to be told? Foolish, foolish boy. You still don’t comprehend my powers?” She smiled again, smugly, when Owen only shifted in his chair. “I understand that concern. I have some of my own. But like Ry, I’d put my money on Avery to make this work—to put something on that corner that would be a boost to the town. To the inn,” she added. “And the other businesses.”

She sat another moment, nodded to herself. “Let’s take a look at the space, then you boys can think about how it could be done, if it should be done, and what’s involved. We’ll look over her business plan, see what kind of menus she’d project. After that, we’ll talk to Avery again. Okay?”

“Works for me,” Ryder said and got a nod from Beckett.

“We’ll check it out,” Owen decided. “Go from there.”

Later, Owen hunted up Avery in The Lounge. She sat on the floor, surrounded by DVDs, busily slitting open the packaging with a little tool.

“What’re you doing?”

“Just basking on the beaches of Saint-Tropez.”

“Are you wearing sunscreen?”

“With this skin? I use a force field.”

He sat on the brown leather bench. “Isn’t this your day off?”

“Yeah, which is why I’m at the beach. While I’m basking, I get to play with the movies. Hope gave me this opener thing. I didn’t know they made this opener thing for DVDs. All those cumulative hours of fighting with the stupid sticky deal and the wrapping, when all I had to do was zip. I’m making up for it, opening all the inn’s complimentary DVDs while Hope and Carolee have a powwow. Did you ever see this?”

She held up a DVD of Love Actually.

“No.”

Head tilted, she gave him a wise-owl stare. “Because you think it’s a chick flick.”

“It is a chick flick.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Does anything blow up?”

“No, but there’s nudity and adult language. It’s not a chick flick, it’s just a really excellent movie. I have my own DVD of this one. And this one.” She held up a copy of The Terminator.

“That’s a movie. Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous. I’m basking and using my handy tool while discussing cinema.”

“Avery.”

Having someone who knew your moods just that well, she thought, could be an upside or a downside, depending on the situation. Anyway, it saved time.

“I’m afraid your family sent you in here to tell me no way, no how on the new restaurant idea.”

“We haven’t decided either way. We looked over the space, kicked some things around. It looks doable—on our end—but Beckett needs to work on it some.”

“Doable—on your end.” She knew him, too. “But not so much on mine.”

“I didn’t say that. But I’m wondering how you’re going to manage your time, focus, energies. I’ve got a pretty good idea how much time and work you put in at Vesta.”

She zipped the next DVD. “What makes you think so?”

Because I’ve watched you, he thought, more than I realized.

“I eat there, have meetings there. I’ve been working across the street from your place virtually every damn day for more than a year. I’ve got a picture, Avery.”

“If you’ve got an accurate picture you’d see I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not saying otherwise. But what you’re talking about means doing it in two places. It feels like you’d be taking on more than one person could handle.”

Taking her time, she balled the trash, tossed it in the box beside her. “I get the feeling that your vote on this proposal’s coming in on the no side.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“You don’t have to. I’ve known you, Owen, as long as you’ve known me.”

“None of us wants you to wear yourself out, or get yourself in a bind.”

Just in case she’d be tempted to throw it, Avery set the DVD zipper down. Carefully.

“Do you think I don’t know my capabilities and limits, and my potential? How many irons are in your fire, Owen? How many rental properties do you oversee? How many jobs have you got in various stages, how many clients on your list, people on your payroll, subcontractors to juggle?”

“There are a lot of us to handle it. There’s just one Avery.”

She shoved at her hair—currently the shade of glossy mahogany. “Don’t give me that. I know you take the lead on the rentals. You deal with the tenants. I know, because I am a tenant. You’re the detail man, Owen, and Montgomery Family Contractors has a hell of a lot of details. Ryder’s job boss, Beckett designs the space. Your mom handles the books, helps clients with interior design, and looks at the big picture. You tie all the little pieces together. And every one of you—including your mom from time to time—builds.”

“That’s true, but—”

“But nothing.” Temper rising, she snapped the words off. “You’ve worked across the street from my place for over a year. Well, right back at you. I’ve seen just what you’ve done, had to do, dealt with, figured out. You, Owen, individually as well as with the rest. If you told me you were planning to remodel the freaking White House I’d figure you could do just that. You ought to have the same faith in me.”

“It’s not a matter of faith,” he began, but she was shoving up to her feet.

“Listen, if the answer’s no, it’s no. It’s your property, and you’ve got a right to rent it to whoever you rent it to. I wouldn’t hold it against you, any of you. But the answer better not be no just because you don’t think I’m up for it.”

“Avery—”

“No. Just no. You should’ve asked to see my business plan, my scheduling outline, my menu, my P&L from Vesta, and my projected budget on the new restaurant. You should’ve treated me with the same respect as you would any other businessperson, any other prospective tenant. I’m not a dreamer, Owen, and I never have been. I know what I can do, then I do it. If you don’t get that, then you don’t know me as well as both of us thought.”

He knew her well enough not to follow her out when she walked away. She wasn’t just mad—that he could get around. But he’d managed to hurt her as well as piss her off.

“Good job,” he muttered. To give himself some time to think, he gathered up the DVDs she’d done, stacked them in the cabinet under the wall-mounted flat screen, automatically alphabetizing them as he went.