Нора Робертс - The Last Boyfriend

“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.”

Hope shifted the clear vase of white roses an inch to the left.

“There.”

Though Avery didn’t see the difference, she nodded approval.

They’d transformed the long table borrowed from Turn The Page with a draping of white linen. With Hope’s focused eye, clear, square vases of newly opened white roses and tiny white tea lights in silver holders graced what would serve as the dessert and champagne bar.

Clare may have opted against a white wedding, but her wedding shower was going full-out.

“Gifts there, food there, desserts and champagne here.” Hands on hips, Hope turned a circle in The Dining Room. “You did a great job on her chair.”

“I amazed myself.”

They’d positioned one of the high-backed chairs to face the room. An enormous bow of white tulle crowned the top, its tails flowing to the floor. Garlands of white and pale, pale pink twined around the rungs, the arms, the legs.

“I forget how much I like girly stuff until I have a chance to do some.”

Gorgeous red heels clicking on hardwood, Hope walked over to shift candles minutely. “I’m going to put some wine, some nibbles in The Lounge so people can wander around, settle down wherever they like.”

“You know a lot of people coming haven’t seen the place yet. You’re going to get hit up for tours.”

“Already figured on it. It’s just too bad it’s really not warm enough so we can spread out into The Courtyard. Anyway, the place looks great, and we look . . .” She turned, hooked an arm through Avery’s so they reflected together in the gold-framed mirror. “Fabulous.”

“Agreed.”

“So . . . Pre-party champagne?”

“Twist my arm.”

They went into the kitchen where Hope poured two flutes. She clinked hers against Avery’s. “To maids of honor and godmothers.”

“That would be us.”

“And in about eight months, we’ll be hosting a baby shower.”

“Four kids. Whew.” Avery took a drink, then hoisted her glass again. “More power to them.”

“They’ve got it. Loves runs the engine.”

“You think?”

“I do.” Hope slid onto a stool. “How long do you think they can keep this a secret? The two of them are absolutely radiant.”

“Most people will think that’s about the wedding, and part of it is. If they can keep it quiet until after the honeymoon—that’s Clare’s goal anyway—it gives them a little breathing room.”

“I can’t believe you kept it from me for an entire day.”

“I was dying to tell you.” In her spring green dress, Avery hopped onto her own stool, tugged down the narrow skirt. “And I would’ve come over and filled you in after work, but the whole Owen thing was so weird.”

“What are the chances?” Because it still amused her, Hope leaned back and laughed. “Seriously, he turns the corner in the drugstore just as you’re buying the test kit.”

“Fate’s twisted little joke on him.”

“Poor guy. Imagine what was going through his mind.”

“That’s just it. I can’t, or not clearly—and I usually get Owen’s mind. But he was so serious. I can’t figure out if he was mad, scared, what.”

“A combo of both, I imagine.”

“Even after I explained?” It continued to nag at her, just a little. “We both brushed it aside, but really, I can’t be sure. Mad and scared because maybe I was, or maybe I was and hadn’t said anything.”

“I’d guess he had to process the okay, it’s Clare, but what if it had been? Didn’t you?”

“Maybe. A little. But only because I had to think what if we’d gone down that road after his reaction. You know Owen by now. He’s a planner. Everything in its time, in its place. He’s the guy who actually checks the expiration date on the milk carton before he buys it.”

“So do I.”

“Which is why you get him. An unplanned pregnancy?” Avery rolled her eyes. “That would shake the very foundation of his life plan.”

“What’s his life plan?”

“I don’t know, but you can bet he’s got one.”

“I think you’re wrong.” Hope topped off their flutes. “I say that because I share a lot of sensibilities and traits with him. Yes, he probably has a basic plan, which includes goals, achievements, events, steps. But he’s also capable of adjusting the plan.” She lifted a hand, gesturing around her. “I did.”