Нора Робертс - The Perfect Hope

She thought of another perk of being female. Taking off heels, peeling out of a killer dress, removing every layer of makeup, and sliding into a bed mounded with pillows beside a hot, sexy man.

And when she stepped into E&D with Ryder she saw the bottle of champagne.

“Like I said, you look like champagne tonight. We could sit out on the porch awhile, have some.”

She’d take off, peel out, remove and slide just a little later, Hope thought.

“That sounds good.”

She went out with him, chose the wooden bench as she expected him to join her. Instead, once he’d shoved a glass in her hand, he walked to the rail, leaned on it.

No way she was joining him, she decided. She was finished standing in these shoes.

“I know it’s been said—many times, many ways—but it was a really fabulous party.”

“Yeah. Avery did good.”

He turned back, left it at that.

He thought about this. Thought long and hard, and he’d figured it out. But now, looking at her—pulsing, sparkling, a fancy glass of fancy wine in her hand, he wondered if he’d lost his mind.

Beauty queen, city girl. Sure, she was here, she was Hope, but those things were part of her. Like the scent, those smoldering eyes, the shoes that cost more than a decent table saw.

“I hate opera. I’m not listening to opera.” He didn’t know why he blurted that out. It just came to mind.

“Fine. I don’t like opera either.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’ve got those opera things.”

Over a sip of champagne, she gave him a puzzled frown. “What opera things?”

“Like the—the fancy binoculars?”

“The opera glasses.” She laughed. “Guilty, but they’re not just for opera. They’re also useful for spying on sexy construction workers on hot summer days when they strip off their shirts.”

His lips quirked. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And for ballet, and—”

His lips flattened. “I’m not going to any ballet either.”

“That’s too bad for you.”

“Or art films, foreign films, anything—anything with subtitles.”

She tilted her head. “And when have I ever suggested an art film?”

“Just putting it out there, in case. Or chick flicks.” With a firm nod, he swiped a hand through the air. “They’re off the table.”

She tilted her head the other way, considered. “I like a good romantic comedy. I’d be willing to bargain a romantic comedy for two action movies.”

“Maybe. If there’s partial nudity.”

God, he made her laugh. He made her tremble. She took a slow, deep breath. “I hate football.”

His face crumbled into the lines of a man in serious, physical pain. “Oh, man.”

“However, I have no objections to a man who enjoys spending a Sunday afternoon watching football on his enormous TV or at a stadium—as long as he doesn’t paint his face like some crazy person.”

“Have you ever seen my face painted?”

“Just putting it out there, in case,” she echoed. “I wouldn’t feel obliged to drag him to the ballet, which he wouldn’t like, and he shouldn’t feel obliged to drag me to a football game. I like basketball.”

Intrigued, he walked back, picked up the glass of champagne he’d poured himself and hadn’t thought he’d actually wanted. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I like the speed and the uniforms and the drama. I don’t have any serious objections to baseball. I’d need to withhold judgment until I’ve seen a game at a stadium.”

“Minor or major league?”

“I think I should sample both before coming to any conclusions, or any definitive policies thereon.”

“Okay, fair. I don’t want any more pillows on the bed than what you sleep on.”

She shook her head, took a slow sip, wondering if it would calm her speeding heart. “No. Absolutely no on that. You just take them off the bed at night, put them back in the morning. It takes a couple of minutes and it adds style and warmth to the bedroom. On this issue, I’m immovable.”

He sat on the bench, stretched out his legs. After some thought, he figured you picked your battles, and pillows weren’t that high on the list. “I don’t go shopping, tagging along to haul bags or getting asked if some dress makes your ass look fat.”

“Take my word as gospel on this point. You’re the last person I’d want as a shopping buddy. And my ass isn’t going to look fat in any dress. Write that down, etch it in your memory.”

“I got it.”

She let out a quiet breath. No, the champagne hadn’t slowed her speeding heart, but that was fine. She liked the rush. “What are we doing, Ryder?”

“You know what we’re doing.”

“I’d like it spelled out if you don’t mind.”

“Should’ve figured.” He had to stand again, take a moment to walk to the rail again. “Right from the first minute. You come walking in, upstairs, and it was like being hit with a lightning bolt. I didn’t like it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I stayed away from you.”

“At least,” she murmured.

“I kept my distance. Then you wanted sex.”

“Oh, Ryder.” She laughed, shook her head. “Well, that’s true.”

“So I gave you a break. It was just supposed to be sex, right?”

“Right.”

“It was okay to like each other. It’s better if you do. And maybe to figure each other out some, all good. But the more I figured you out, the more it wasn’t just sex. I didn’t much like that either.”

“This has been very hard on you.”

“See, that snooty tone? Why does that grab me like it does? You grab me, Hope, by the throat, by the gut, by the balls, by the heart.”

Her breath caught. How foolish. How wonderful. “You said heart.”

“I kept thinking it’s just the way you look, because the way you look, it drops a man to his knees. But that’s just a nice add-on. Really nice, but it’s not the way you look. It’s the way you are. Everything kept sliding around, like it was trying to find its place. Then it clicked in, fit. Done. You. Naked in the grass at sunrise. That was it.”

“It was sooner for me,” she managed, “but not very much.”

“So, I’m going to tell you.” He took another drink. “I’ve said it to my mother, and to Carolee. My grandma, and if I’m drunk enough I’ve said it to my brothers. But I’ve never said it to another woman. It’s not right to say what you’re not sure of, or to use it to smooth the way.”

“Wait.” She set her glass aside, rose to go to him. To stand with him over Main Street and look in his eyes. “Tell me now.”

“I love you. And I’m okay with it.”

She laughed. Her heart sang, but she laughed and took his face in her hands. “I love you. And I’m okay with it, too.”

“I don’t do poetry.”

“No, Ryder, you don’t do poetry. But you stand up for me. You tell me the truth. You make me laugh, and you make me want. You let me be and feel who I am. And you fell in love with me even when you didn’t want to.”

He closed his hands over her wrists. “I’m not going to stop.”

“No, don’t stop.”

She leaned to him, leaned on him, let that wonderful surge come, and let her speeding heart ride on it. “I’m so happy to love you. So happy to have you, just exactly the way you are. I’m so happy you told me tonight, when it was about friends and family, when it was about home.”

“It used to bother me that you were perfect.”

“Oh, Ryder.”

“I had that wrong.” He drew her back a little, to see her. “What you are is perfect for me. So.” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a box, flipped it open.

She stared at the diamond, then at him. “You—” She didn’t know how to get the words out through the stunned surprise and joy. “You bought me a ring?”

“Of course I bought you a ring.” Annoyance shimmered. “What do you take me for?”

“What do I take you for?” She tried to catch her breath, couldn’t. And stared down at the ring that flashed like a star in the porch lights. “Exactly what you are. Just exactly.”

“I love you, so we’re getting married.”

She held out her hand, tapped her ring finger.

“Right.” He took the ring, slid it on her finger.

“It fits,” she said softly. “How did you know?”

“Measured one of your other ones.”

“I’m so lucky to be marrying a handy man.”

“When you do, you’re moving. My wife’s not living at the inn.”

“Oh.” Details, she thought. She was good with details and adjustments. So she wrapped her arms around him. “I bet Carolee will be happy to take over the innkeeper’s apartment, shuffle the schedule. We’ll work it out.”

“Later,” he decided.

“Later,” she agreed, and lost herself in him. “It’s beautiful. It’s all beautiful.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, started to sigh. And her breath caught. “Ryder. Oh God, Ryder, look. There.” She pointed to the other end of the porch.

They stood together in the shadows, locked in an embrace. He wore the rough clothes of a laborer, not a torn and bloody uniform. Hope saw his hand fist at the back of Lizzy’s dress, as Ryder’s often did with hers.

“He found her. Her Billy, he found her. They found each other. They’re together now.”

“Don’t cry. Come on.”

“I cry when I need to. Get used to it. After all this time, after all the waiting, there they are. You look like him a little. Like her Billy.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I do. I think you showed him the way. I don’t know how. It doesn’t matter how.” For a moment her eyes met Lizzy’s. Joy into joy. “Everyone’s exactly where they belong.”

ON A BLOOMING EVENING IN SPRING, AVERY TWISTED HER gumball-machine ring while Clare and Hope fastened her wedding gown.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Of course not,” Hope said.

“Okay, a little, but just because I want to look really good.”

“Believe me, you do. Turn around and look,” Clare ordered.

In the bedroom of The Penthouse, Avery turned toward the big mirror. “Oh, I do. I really do look good.”

“Gorgeous is what you look,” Hope corrected. “Avery, you’re gorgeous. The dress is stunning. I shouldn’t have doubted your online acumen.”

“It just right.” Delighted with herself, Avery turned a circle so the sparkling skirt flowed with her. “It’s me.”

“You’re glowing like a candle.” Clare touched Avery’s bright hair. “A flame.”

“Champagne! Quick! Before I tear up and ruin the makeup Hope worked so hard on.”

“For the bride, and the attendants.” Hope poured. “And even for the nursing mother.”

“The twins can handle it. Luke and Logan are tough.”

“Look at us. The wife, the bride, and the bride-to-be.” Avery lifted a glass, toasted them all. “Your turn in September,” she said to Hope.

“It can’t come soon enough. Which is crazy to say since I have so much left to do. But today’s yours, and I can promise you everything is exactly and wonderfully perfect.”

“It couldn’t be otherwise. I’m marrying my boyfriend, with my two best friends beside me, my dad, the woman who’s been my mom since I was a kid, my brothers. And I’m doing it in the most beautiful place I know.”

“I’m going to text the photographer, have him come up. We’re on a schedule,” Hope reminded her.

She checked everything. The flowers, the food, the table displays. Candles, linens. Stopped long enough to help Beckett pass the chubby-cheeked twins and their three brothers to Clare’s mother and Carolee. To adjust Ryder’s tie, as an excuse to nuzzle his neck.

“Why don’t we just do it now?” he asked her. “We’re all dressed up, got a preacher coming.”

“September.” She lingered over a kiss. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

Exactly on time, she rounded up Willy B.

“Thank God.” Justine patted his cheek. “He’s nervous as a bride himself.”

“It’s my girl.”

“I know it, honey. You go on and get her now.”

Hope waited, fetched tissues when Willy B’s eyes welled up, and gave Avery’s makeup a final touch-up.

“What’re you mumbling about?” she asked Clare.

“I’m praying. That I don’t hear the babies cry, because if I do my milk might start up.”

“Oh my God. I should’ve thought of earplugs.” But laughing, she grabbed Clare’s hand to hurry to the door.

Avery wanted an entrance, so they’d descend the stairs to The Courtyard where the guests sat, and Owen waited with his brothers.

All so handsome, she thought. All so right. In a few months she’d walk down these same steps to Ryder.

She glanced across the lot, over the white tent where Fit In Boons-Boro stood prettily in its soft blue coat, its silver trim.

She was happy to have it there, and a little sorry not to have Ryder right in back of the inn every day.

She wondered what Justine would think of next, and was grateful she’d be able to watch it evolve.

Then she squeezed Clare’s hand. “Look.”

On the porch facing the flower-decked arbor, Lizzy stood with her Billy.