The Next Always (9 page)

“In the back. Is something wrong?”

God, how did she look? “No, nothing. Just . . . just want a minute with the boss.”

Striving for casual, Clare strolled around to the closed kitchen area where Avery cut fresh dough into tins for rising. Steve, the dishwasher, rattled around at the big double sink, and one of the waitstaff grabbed glassware from the wire shelves.

“I need to talk to you when you have a minute.”

“Talk. I’m not using my ears for anything right now.” Then Avery glanced over, saw Clare’s face. “Oh.
Talk
. Give me five. Go grab something cold out of the cooler for both of us. I need to get some supplies from downstairs anyway.”

“I’ll just go down and wait.”

She grabbed a couple of ginger ales and went out the door to the back stairwell. Outside again, and under the building—she could hear people talking and laughing on the porch above—and into the sprawling, low-ceilinged basement with its stacked cases of soft drinks, bottled beer, wine.

Cooler, she thought. Cooler here. And opened the ginger ale to drink long and deep.

Moonlight and honeysuckle, she thought in disgust. Just another fairy tale with her. She was a grown woman, a mother of three. She
knew
better.

But really, had she ever noticed,
really
noticed, how strong and wonderfully shaped Beckett’s mouth was? Gorgeous—she knew that, too. All the Montgomerys were, but had she ever noticed how deeply blue his eyes were in the moonlight?

“There wasn’t any moonlight, you idiot. It was an unfinished room crowded with paint cans and lumber and tarps. For God’s sake.”

She’d gotten caught up in the romance of it, that’s all. Buttery leather, blue ceilings, peacock feathers, and cashmere throws.

It was all so fanciful, so outside her own reality of practical, affordable, childproof. And it wasn’t as if she’d actually done anything. Wanting to for a minute wasn’t doing.

She paced, then whipped around when the door opened.

“What’s up?” Avery demanded. “You look like the town cops are hot on your trail.”

“I almost kissed Beckett.”

“They can’t arrest you for that.” Avery took the unopened can of ginger ale. “How, where, and why almost?”

“I went over to see a few more rooms, and we were in Marguerite and Percy—”

“Ooh-la-la.”

“Cut it out, Avery. I’m serious.”

“I can see that, sweetie, but almost kissing a very attractive, available man who’s got the hots for you doesn’t rate disaster status.”

“He doesn’t have the hots for me.”

Avery drank, shook her head. “I beg to differ, most strongly. But do go on.”

“It was just . . . There was all this stuff in there, and I bumped into something, tripped a little, and he reached out to steady me.”

“By which part?”

Clare tipped her head back, stared at the ceiling. “Why am I talking to you?”

“Who else? But really, which part? Did he take your hand, your arm, your ass?”

“My waist. He put an arm around my waist, and I . . . I don’t know, exactly, but then we were there, and his mouth was there, and that funny light, and honeysuckle.”

“Honeysuckle?” Avery’s face lit up. “You saw the ghost.”

“I did not, first because there are no ghosts.”

“You’re the one who smelled honeysuckle.”

“I only thought I did. I just got caught up. Romantic room—or it will be, the way he described it, the light, and I felt . . . I felt what I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I didn’t think, I just leaned in.”

“You said almost.”

“Because just before contact, he looked at me like I’d kicked him in the balls. Just stunned.” Even now, with Avery, mortification and that sneaky wave of lust flooded her. “And I stopped, and we both made excuses. After, he kept his distance, like I was radioactive. I embarrassed him, and myself.”

“I’ll tell you what I think. I think if you’d followed through, neither of you would’ve been embarrassed, and instead of running over here looking as if you’d mugged an old lady, you’d have danced over singing.”

Really,
really
, why was she talking to Avery about this?

“First, Beckett’s a friend, just a—No, first, I don’t have room for dancing and singing. My priorities are my boys and my business.”

“Which is as it should be, and which—as I’ve said before—in no way precludes what we’ll now call dancing and singing.” The teasing smile gone, Avery rubbed a hand on Clare’s arm. “Jesus, Clare, that part of your life’s not over. You’ve got a right to sing and dance, especially with someone you like and trust. You felt something, and that’s significant.”

“Maybe. But now that I’m thinking again, I really think it was just that false romance. The room in my head, the light, the imaginary scent, and being touched. It’ll be all right,” she decided. “Beckett’s not the sort to take it too seriously. It was all so quick, he’s probably already forgotten it.”

Avery started to speak, then decided to keep her opinion to herself. For now.

“Anyway, the rooms are going to be fabulous, and he’s lending me the binder with cut sheets and pictures. I’ll be able to pump it up to Hope when she comes up. Honestly, Avery, she’d have to be crazy not to jump at the chance to work there.”

“I bet,” Avery said, and thought she had a couple of crazy friends.

BECKETT DECIDED TO
give Clare a little time, a little space, so she wouldn’t think
he
thought anything about what he supposed he’d call The Moment. He sent his copy of the project binder over to the bookstore with one of the crew and the message he’d pick it up there in a couple of days—no hurry.

He skipped his traditional stop-in for coffee for a few mornings, and split his workdays between the inn and another project in nearby Sharpsburg. By the time he made it back to Boonsboro, the crew had knocked off for the day, and his brothers were locking up.

“Just in time.” Ryder strolled over with D.A. at his heels. “We’re heading across the street for a meeting over beer and pizza.”

“My favorite kind of meeting. You talked to Avery’s friend?” he asked Owen.

“Yeah. If you want the details, you can buy the beer.”

“I bought the beer the last time.”

“
I
bought the beer the last time,” Ryder corrected.

“He bought the beer the last time.” Owen jerked a thumb at Ryder.

“Maybe.” Beckett tried to think back as they made their way down the sidewalk under the scaffolding. “When’s the last time you bought the beer?”

Owen gave him a satisfied smile, tipped down his sunglasses. “I’m excused for six turns since I scored the man lift. I’ve got two more left.”

He remembered the agreement struck when Owen had negotiated an excellent deal on a used lift. The machine saved them the time and sweat to warrant it. He started to question, then let it go. If Owen said he had two more rounds clear, Owen had two more rounds.

Beckett glanced down toward Turn The Page as they crossed the street, half listening to his brothers discuss water heaters. He should probably give it one more day, he considered. Stay clear, give her time to go through the binder, keep it all easy, friendly.

As if The Moment hadn’t happened.

But it had. It damn well had.

“Have you got a problem with that setup?” Ryder demanded.

“What? No.”

“Then stop looking pissed off.” Ryder secured the dog beside the front porch of the restaurant. “I’ll bring you dinner,” he said, then pulled open the door.

They stepped into Vesta at the early-dinner hour. Families and small packs of teenagers crowded in the booths, a few couples scattered at two-tops twirling pasta or studying the menu while two regulars sat on stools at the counter for an after-work beer.

Along with his brothers, Beckett exchanged hails and waves.

“Order me a Heineken,” Owen said, then peeled off toward the closed kitchen.

“Let’s sit in the back,” Ryder suggested. “If we sit out here, we’ll end up talking to everybody.”

“Fine.” Beckett hooked a waitress, ordered the beer, then walked down the hallway to the back dining room. A couple of high school boys competed on the video games with the requisite insults.

“The tile’s shipped,” Ryder said when Beckett joined him at a table. “Or most of it. A couple of the patterns are still on back order. We’re scheduling the delivery in two weeks. Owen contacted them about the install. They can start the end of the next week if the job they’re on stays on schedule. Early the following if not.”

“That’s good for us.”

“I want to schedule the install of the rest of the flooring right behind it. This heat’s bound to break. We can put the crew back on the pickets, get the exterior painting started.”

Owen slipped in beside them right as the beer arrived.

“You all ready to order?” the waitress asked.

“Warrior’s pizza,” Ryder declared.

“I’m not eating that much meat.” Owen shook his head, sipped his beer.

“Wimp.”

“You go for the super-artery-clogger,” Beckett suggested, then looked at Owen. “Split a large pepperoni and jalapeno?”

“Deal. And some crab balls.”

“Gotcha. How are things going at the inn?”

“We’re moving along,” Owen told her.

She pointed her pencil at him. “Are you going to take that tarp down soon?”

“Sooner or later.”

“It’s a big tease.” She rolled her eyes and went off to put their order in.

“You know that tarp’s building a lot of expectation we may not meet.”

Ryder shrugged at Beckett. “It’s also keeping debris off the street, and the crew out of the worst of the heat. Tell him about the Urban Princess.”

“Hope Beaumont,” Owen began. “She’s smart, savvy. She asked all the right questions, including a lot I hadn’t thought of, or we haven’t gotten around to dealing with. She’s got a sexy voice, one of those dark velvet jobs. Nice.”

“Sexy voice. She’s hired.” Ryder sat back with his beer.

“You’re just jacked because we may have to go outside for the job.”

“It’d be nice to keep it all local,” Beckett mused. “But we need somebody who fits the bill. Besides, if she takes the job and moves here, she’ll be local in ten or twenty years.”

“We’ll know more after Saturday. We’re meeting with her Saturday morning,” Owen continued. “Taking her through the place. I looked her up online.” He took files out of his briefcase, passed one to each brother. “Some D.C. society stuff—her out and about with the guy who dumped her. A solid article in the
Washingtonian
about the hotel, with some stuff about her, some quotes. Ry’s dubbed her Urban Princess because she’s from Philadelphia originally and won a couple of beauty pageant deals back there.”

Beckett started to open the file, take a look, when the sound of running feet boomed down the hall. Clare’s three boys burst in like convicts on the lam. Breathless, wild-eyed, they chattered about the Mega-Touch before Harry spotted the brothers.

“Hi! Hi! We all got a dollar.”

“How about a loan?”

Liam cracked up at Beckett’s question. “We get to have pizza and play games.”

Murphy walked up to the table, studied the three men. “You can play if you’ve got a dollar. Or I can ask my mom to give you one.”

Because the kid slayed him, Beckett hoisted Murphy onto his lap. “I bet Owen’s got a dollar. Why don’t we . . .” He stumbled to a halt when Clare came in.

She looked a little flushed, a little frazzled.

“Sorry. They’re slippery as soap. You’re talking business,” she said, noting the files. “Why don’t I just move them out until—”

“Mom!”
Harry’s response was absolute and horrified betrayal.

“When you sit back here, you expect some noise,” Ryder pointed out. “They’re fine. Have a seat.”

“I was just telling Beck that your friend is meeting with us on Saturday,” Owen began.

“Avery just told me, which is why in that two-second window, the trio escaped.”

“How’s the copy coming?”

“I’ve got some ideas.”

“She’s got great ideas,” Avery confirmed as she came in. “She’s run some by me.”

“Just bits and pieces. I’d like to see a little more, get the feel.”

“You should go over now. Beckett, you should take her over now.”

“Avery,” Clare muttered, trying to disguise the shock.

“No, really. It’s empty. It’s got to be easier and more productive to look at it without the banging.” She smiled, winsomely. “Don’t you think?”

“Sure.” Murphy deserted Beckett to join his brothers in a three-player game. And now he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m interrupting, and I have the boys.”

“We’ll watch them. I’ll get their pizza ordered.” Avery made a shooing motion. “This way we can run your ideas by Hope when she drives up tomorrow. Let me have your seat, Beck, and no charge for the beer. I’ll finish it.” She picked it up, took a sip, smiled. “I’m not working tonight.”