Нора Робертс - The Last Boyfriend

“Yeah, yeah. Why all the work and fuss? Why can’t we just go to a titty bar? It’s a classic for a reason.”

“Poker, cigars, and whiskey—groom’s choice.”

“No strippers,” Beckett confirmed. “It’s just too weird.”

“Man, you’re breaking my heart.”

“When it’s your turn, we’ll have strippers.”

“I’ll be too old to appreciate them. No plans to walk into the great unknown until I’m eligible for Social Security. On second thought, a man’s never too old to appreciate naked women. Make a note.”

Justine, arms full, used her elbow to tap on the glass atrium door.

Owen opened it, took the big insulated bag, the enormous thermos.

“Oh, look at this! Beckett, it’s wonderful.”

“He didn’t do it alone,” Ryder reminded her.

“All for one,” she murmured. “You’re going to have a beautiful home. You’ve all done so much since I was here a few weeks ago.”

“I’ll give you the full tour.”

“I’ll take it. First, I brought lunch. Minestrone, grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, apple crisp.”

“Best mom ever.” Ryder opened the insulated bag.

“I’ll stick with the soup.” Owen laid a hand on his stomach. “I’ve been eating more since Avery’s using me as a tester, and working out less with Beck’s place on the schedule.”

“Interesting you should mention working out.” Justine took paper plates, bowls, spoons out of her enormous purse. “That’s something I want to talk to you all about.”

She set everything out on the plywood currently covering the base cabinets. “I’ve got cold drinks out in the car.”

“We got you covered.” Beckett opened a cooler.

“Any diet in there?”

“Why would there be?” Ryder wondered.

“Oh well, give me the straight shot,” Justine decided. “I’ll work it off soon enough. Especially in, oh, say nine months to a year, when I can put in an hour or so in Fit In BoonsBoro.”

Ryder paused on his way to taking a huge bite of grilled ham and cheese. “Mom.”

Placidly, Justine poured soup into a bowl, offered it to Owen. “It’s come to my attention the building behind the inn, one we currently share a parking lot with, is for sale.”

Beckett sighed. “Mom.”

“And it occurred to me there’s no fitness center in town, even close to town. People have to get in the car, drive, go to the gym, get back in the car. And Hope’s already reported a number of guests at the inn have asked about workout facilities.”

Owen stared down at his soup. “Mom.”

Cheerfully, Justine plowed on. “Currently it’s not a particularly attractive building, not one that affords our guests a nice view from The Courtyard or the back porches. But it could be. We’d also gain parking.”

“We haven’t finished the bakery,” Owen pointed out. “We’ve barely started on the new restaurant.”

“And of all my sons, you’re the one who understands best the value of advance planning. I’m in negotiations. I haven’t bought it yet, and wouldn’t without discussing it with you first. Negotiations take time, settlement takes time. If it goes well, Beckett could start working on drawings when he’s back from his honeymoon.”

“Mom,” Beckett began, “have you been in that place lately?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. It needs work.” She offered him soup. “A lot of work. Aren’t we lucky we know how? And it’s not nearly as complicated as the inn was.”

“Ought to buy it just to level it,” Ryder muttered.

“And you know better. Gut it, yes, level it, no.”

“You already know what you want in there.”

She smiled at Owen. “I have ideas. We’d be on the small side, of course, compared to big, chain fitness centers. But we’d offer everything we could in that setting. A twenty-first-century fitness center with a small-town appeal—a large and varied menu of classes.”

“Even if we could turn that place into what you’re talking about, you’d have to staff it, find trainers, instructors.”

“Leave that end to me,” she told Ryder. “A large classroom on the second floor, and a small child-care area, maybe a treatment room for massages. Fitness area with cardio equipment, circuit training, weights on the main level, a small classroom, and locker rooms—each with a steam room and a sauna. Very spa-like in there, I’d think. We’ll figure it out.” She gave Beckett a pat on the cheek. “Won’t we?”

“I guess we will. If you get it.”

Her smile widened. “Leave that to me, too. Now, how about that tour?”

“Sure. We’ll start upstairs, work our way down.”

Frowning, Ryder watched them go. “Damn it. Damn it, it’s a good idea.”

“She mostly has them. Even if she got it quick, it would be mid-spring earliest, more like early summer before we had the plans and permits. That’s mostly on Beck.”

“Thank Christ. Wouldn’t mind gutting that place,” he considered. “I like me some serious demo. But we ought to get the bakery settled first. We have to get somebody in there, unless Mom thinks we’re going to start baking cupcakes.”

“I might have a line on that. Somebody Avery knows a little. She’s moved up here from D.C., where she worked as a pastry chef. She’s looking for a space for her own bakery.”

“Another city girl?” Ryder shrugged. “What does she look like?”

“Married.”

“Just as well. You figure that part out, Beck’ll figure out what we’re doing on the gym. And I’ll keep the crew going.”

“It’s what we do,” Owen said.

“And she has to run out of old buildings eventually.”

With a laugh, Owen took a sandwich after all. “Don’t count on it, son.”

*   *   *

“A gym?” Hope said.

“That’s the plan. If they get the property.” Avery sat with Hope in The Dining Room, finalizing the plans for Clare’s shower. “Owen says his mom’s all over it.”

“And they’d paint it, right? They wouldn’t leave it that fugly green it is now.”

“I think you can count on that. Owen said Beck’s made noises about raising the roof, getting rid of the flat job, doing a pitched one.”

“It’d be nice for guests. And for me. Just walk across the parking lot to a shiny new gym? Happy days. I’ve been limited to DVDs since I moved here. I’d love an honest-to-God yoga class.”

“I’ve always wanted to take one. Enough stretching, maybe I’d get taller. So, if this is the last of it, I can pick all this up at the end of the week when I do my next supply run.”

“Perfect. It’s going to be lovely. Flowers, pretty food, champagne, a fussy cake—a few silly games with classy prizes. It’ll be Clare.”

“And before we turn around again, we’ll be watching her marry Beckett.”

“Which leads me to ask if you and Owen are thinking about the same.”

“No. No,” Avery said with a half laugh. “We’re in a good place right now. Smooth, which is nice. And you know I’ve never been sold on marriage—for me. Maybe we’ll move toward living in sin one of these days.”

“I hear the words, but I don’t feel convinced. You love him.”

“I love him, and I’ve maybe slipped right along to in love with him.” It was easier to say it, to feel it, than she’d ever imagined. “I’m trying to get used to that, see if it sticks. Like I said, we’re in a good place right now. And we’re both crazy busy. It sounds like that’s not going to end anytime soon. The crazy busy.”

“Avery, I’ve never known you—or him, since I’ve gotten to know him—wanted anything but busy. It’s who you are. Both of you.”

“It’s a plus.”

“I’m not pushing, but I want to say every time I see the two of you, I think, perfect. Avery’s found her perfect match.”

Shifting, Avery rubbed her hands on her thighs. “I think you’re scaring me a little.”

“Toughen up. Take your time, sure, but if he’s not every bit as in love with you as you are with him, I don’t know how to organize an office.”

“Keep it up, I’ll start pairing you up with Ryder.”

“Talk about scary. My lips, from now on, are sealed. Tight.”

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.