Now all he had to do was put the food together, set up the bar, set up the food, haul the bags of ice he’d stockpiled in the freezer into the tubs for beer and soft drinks and . . . and, and.

What had he been thinking?

Oh yeah, he remembered. Avery. He’d been thinking of Avery.

Now he had to cook—and stir and mix and chop and slice and arrange.

Better get to it.

Gearing up, he gathered supplies, kitchen tools, bowls, trays. Even as he turned to his menu list, he heard his front door open. He heard Avery call out hello, and smiled.

His own personal cavalry, he thought, and headed out to meet her. “Jesus, Avery, let me have that.”

He grabbed the enormous stainless steel pot she carried. “It weighs as much as you do.”

“I make popular meatballs, so I made plenty of them. I’ve just got to run out and get my bag out of the car.”

“I’ll get it. Take off your coat,” he suggested as he set the pot on the stove. “Get a glass of wine.”

“Okay. Bag’s in the backseat.”

“Be right back.”

“The place looks good,” she called out. But then, it always did.

Neat and tidy, of course, but with a comfortable, open style. Quiet colors, she mused as she headed back. She might have zipped them up a few tones, but they suited him.

And she loved his kitchen. He may not do a lot of cooking—as far as she knew—but that hadn’t stopped him from building an attractive and efficient space for it.

Dark cabinets and walls of pale green onion—which she’d have bumped up to green tomato, she decided, for some energy.

Dark wood trim around generous windows and the atrium doors leading to his patio. Slate gray countertops—uncluttered, naturally—and gleaming white appliances.

She read his posted lists as she took off her coat, laughed to herself. The idea of the party might’ve been spontaneous, but his planning for it was anything but.

Knowing better than to toss her coat and scarf onto one of his kitchen stools, she took them into the utility room, hung them on a peg beside his work jacket. Noted his utility room was tidier than her own bedroom.

She stepped back out, opened his broom closet, and took a bib apron off a hook. With the apron over her arm, she switched the heat on under her pot, cut it down to low.

“I put your bag upstairs, so if you need . . .”

As she turned from the stove, the words—and he figured at least half of his IQ—spilled out of his brain.

“What?” Immediately she looked down at herself. “I didn’t spill anything on me, did I?”

“Uh-uh. It’s just . . . You look . . . You look,” he managed, and her face cleared in a delighted smile.

“That’s good?”

“It’s . . .” Maybe more than half of his IQ. “Yeah. Oh, yeah.”

“It’s new—the dress. Hope’s been helping me fill in my wardrobe, and thin out my bank account.”

“It’s worth it. I forgot about your legs.”

“What?”

“Not that you had them, but that they’re . . . like that.”

“I think you just made my year, right at the end of it.” She used the legs to walk to him, and even in the heels had to rise up to her toes a little to mate her mouth to his. “Thanks.”

“Absolutely anytime.”

He smelled great. Tasted great. Looked great.

As an idea formed, she stayed where she was, linked her hands behind his head. “That’s quite a list you’ve got there, Owen.”

“List? Oh, the list. Yeah, a lot of work stuff got in the way the last couple days. I didn’t get as much done as I’d planned.”

“Still a lot. I have this thought. We’ve got a couple of hours, a little more, before people start wandering in. And we’ve put some pressure on ourselves, you and me. Waiting until after the party, whenever that is, to ring in the new, so to speak.”

His arms wrapped loosely around her waist. “I could put out signs. Party canceled.”

“Extreme—and half of them would just bang on the door anyway. But what if we took advantage of the time we have now? We could go upstairs, and . . . ring out the old. No pressure at the party that way.”

“It’s a really good thought. I don’t want to rush it—you. Us.”

“I think we can work out an acceptable pace. You could even put it on your list.”

He grinned at that, then dipped his head to hers. “Avery.”

He eased her into the kiss, a nice, slow slide that gained a little zip as it went.

A very acceptable pace, she thought, adding some zip of her own.

The back door burst open. Dumbass trotted in just ahead of Ryder. “Got your big-ass ham. If you guys are going to roll around on the floor here, I can dump it, grab a beer, and go.”

“Christ, Ry.”

“Sorry.” But his easy grin belied the apology. “I was under orders from Mom. Swing by, get the ham, bring it here—where she assumed you’d be busy making up for lost time, and not making time with Red Hots. Which you are, baby,” he said to Avery.

“Which I am,” she agreed, and grinned back at him.

“Orders included me slicing up the big-ass ham if you needed help. I figure since you’re busy making up for lost groping time,” he added, circling around to get the beer. “You don’t need my help with that particular to-do item.”

He popped the top on the opener on Owen’s wall, took a good look at Avery. “Definitely Red Hots. If you’re going to muss her up, dude, at least take her upstairs.”

“Shit,” was Owen’s comment.

“I think the time has passed.” Avery gave Owen’s arm a pat, then put on her apron.

“Sorry,” Ryder repeated. “Orders.”

“Probably for the best. It’s a long list,” Avery added when Owen just looked at her. “And now you have another pair of hands because under the circumstances, Ryder’s going to pitch in. Big-time.”

“Orders. But fine.” After he lowered the beer, he leaned in to Avery. “You smell good. Like exotic fruit and . . . honeysuckle.”

“Pomegranate. Honeysuckle.” She sniffed at her own arm. “She must’ve transferred some. How can she do that? Elizabeth. I ran over to see Hope before I came, and Elizabeth popped down to say hi, or maybe Happy New Year.”

“You saw her,” Owen demanded.

“No, which is annoying, or a relief. I’m not sure which.” She got a wooden spoon, lifted the lid on her meatballs, mixed them around a little. “Caught the scent, then when Hope and I were talking about how you and Hope should start researching for this Billy she’s waiting for, she flipped the lights a few times, then boosted up the wattage. We both took that to mean she’d really like you to find Billy.”

“No problem. I’ll just Google Billy, Dead Elizabeth’s friend, and nail that down.”

“Between you and Hope, you’ll figure it out.” Avery lifted her eyebrows at Ryder’s frown. “What?”

“How’s the innkeeper handling the situation?”

“Hope doesn’t rattle easily. Or almost at all. I wouldn’t mind that glass of wine,” she said to Owen.

“I’ve seen her rattled,” Ryder muttered.

“The day Owen saw Elizabeth in the mirror? I’d say Hope was momentarily nonplussed. Nonplussed,” she repeated, liking the term.

Ryder thought of the first time he’d seen Hope Beaumont, when his mother had brought the then-potential innkeeper upstairs where he’d been working. How she’d gone sheet pale and glassy-eyed, staring at him as if he were the ghost.

But he shrugged. “Whatever.”

“She spent the night in E&D, had a brief encounter, and went, practically as she’s a practical sort, to sleep. That’s Hope. Okay, I’ve got the spinach and artichoke dip, the stuffed mushrooms, the . . . pigs in a blanket? Really?”

Owen hunched his shoulders. “People like them.”

“They do. Owen you should set up the bar, and Ry, slice up that ham.”

On the word ham, D.A.’s tail thumped.

“Why didn’t he do that on spinach or mushrooms?” Avery wondered.

“The only vegetable he’ll eat is french fries,” Ryder told her. “He’s a picky eater.”

Avery only snorted, then got to work.

Probably for the best. Owen echoed Avery’s words as he set up glasses, bottles, hauled ice into tubs. He’d never have gotten everything done if they’d . . . rung out the old. Much better to stick with the plan, especially since he didn’t have any choice with Ryder slicing ham while D.A. sat, adoring and hopeful, at his feet.

By the time he’d finished the bar, the tubs, she had set out scrubbed vegetables, a cutting board, peeler, and knife for him.

“Peel, slice, chop,” she ordered. “You’ve got everything, so I’m adding a pasta salad to your menu. Carbs are good since people will be drinking. Including me.”

She lifted her glass to demonstrate.

The heat from the stove flushed pink in her cheeks, and amusement sparkled the blue of her eyes.

It occurred to him he’d seen her like this before, right here in his kitchen, lending a hand with a party, laughing with one or both of his brothers.

But he hadn’t seen her exactly like this, as a woman he wanted. As a woman who wanted him.

Had that one kiss, unplanned, impulsive, really changed the tone and direction of who and what they were to each other? Or had there always been something there, just waiting for that switch to flip?

He saw her eyes change, amused sparkle to awareness as he moved to her, watched her lips curve as he drew her in and up for a kiss. Long and soft and sweet.

“You don’t have to get a room,” Ryder said as he washed his hands off in the sink. “You’ve got one upstairs.”

“This happens to be my room, too. Don’t you have to go pick up your date?”

“I’m stag. I told you I couldn’t take the giggling.”

“You canceled a New Year’s Eve date?” Avery demanded.

“I’m sparing lives. If I hadn’t strangled her before the night was over, someone else would have. I figured if I went for another woman, the whole date on New Year’s Eve thing would add the big deal. I’m not in the mood for big deals, so I’m stag.”

Avery got another knife. “Chop and slice,” she told Ryder. “And don’t pretend you don’t know how.”

She went back to the stove, but sent Owen that sparkling look over her shoulder.

He’d never before wanted a party over before it began.

*   *   *

Still, it was a good one. Plenty of people, plenty of food, groups spread throughout the house and out on the patio.

At some point, someone turned the music up for dancing.

He mingled, checked tubs, trays, platters, replenished, took a quick spin with some friends in the game room. And kissed his mother when he found her rinsing off an empty platter in the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“If I don’t, you will, and it’s your party. And it’s a good one.”

He took the platter from her, set it down. “If it’s so good, why aren’t you dancing with me?”

“Well.” She batted her eyes, fluffed at her hair. “I was waiting to be asked.”

He pulled her out of the kitchen.

Seeing them made Avery smile. She loved the way they looked together, moved together. Halfway through the dance, Ryder moved in, cut in.

“He stole your girl,” Avery said to Owen when he joined her.

“That’s okay. I’ve got a spare.”

He plucked the glass out of her hand, set it down before he pulled her into the mix of dancers.

“Nice moves.”

“We’ve danced before,” he reminded her.

“You’ve always had nice moves on the dance floor.”

“I’ve got a few I haven’t tried out on you yet.”

“Is that so?”

He brought her close. “Later.”

The single word shot a rocketing thrill through her. “Later. It’s almost midnight.”

“Thank God.”

She laughed, shook back her hair. “Are you going to open more champagne?”

“Yeah, in a minute. I want to kiss you at midnight, so stay close.”

“You can count on it.”

She refilled platters and bowls while he popped more corks, and the year ran down to minutes. People swarmed back in from downstairs, from outside so the noise level spiked.

He took her hands at the countdown—ten, nine, eight. She turned to him, rose up—seven, six, five. His arms came around her—four, three, two.

“Happy New Year, Avery.”

His lips met hers as cheers rang out, and the New Year began to tick.

As Avery rose up, Hope slipped into the kitchen. She’d open another bottle or two, she thought, avoid the whole couples-kissing-the-New-Year-in ordeal.

She twisted off a cork as partygoers shouted out the countdown.