The Next Always

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN




TWO DOGS.” AVERY ARRANGED CHEESE ON A PLATTER FOR the gift shop opening. “I can’t get over it. Zero to sixty, Clare, that’s you.”

“It feels like it. Yesterday morning all I had to do was get three kids ready for school, fed, lunches or lunch money distributed. This morning, after I found them all piled—three kids, two dogs—in Murphy’s bed, I had three kids to get ready for school, who all thought they really should stay home to take care of the dogs. That’s after getting up twice last night to let the dogs out.”

“Their bladders will get bigger.”

“Let’s hope. Then there’s the make sure they’re fed and watered, let them out, let them in, let them out. Then I feel guilty because we’re leaving them alone in the backyard, so I have to go check on them before I come to work, then again at lunch. Now Mazie’s dealing with all of them until I get home from the opening. I should probably run home to check again.”

“They’ll be fine. Kids and dogs, they’re a natural unit. I’m looking forward to meeting them. What are their names again?”

“I think, after much discussion, debate, false starts, we’ve settled on Ben—as in Kenobi—and Yoda.”

“Nice.”

“Sorry I’m later than I planned.” Hope hurried back to the kitchen. “We had more deliveries come in. You’re busy out there,” she said to Avery.

“Big Friday night crowd, punched up, I do believe, by the opening. People want to check it out, and figure they might as well grab dinner first.”

“Symbiotic, as desired. What can I do?”

“I guess we can start taking the trays down, that way Madeline can have everything in place.”

Trays in hand, they went out the back.

“I can’t believe it’s almost November.” Hope shook back her hair as the evening breeze caught at it. “I feel like I just moved to town.”

“We finish October with a bang with trick-or-treat night,” Avery reminded her.

“Then, bang again, it’s Thanksgiving, then Christmas.”

“Oh, don’t say Christmas.” Clare shut her eyes briefly. “I have so much left to do.”

“Then New Year’s,” Hope continued, “and we’ll be fussing with the opening for the inn. They’re really making progress with The Courtyard. Tile work, too. You need to see. Maybe we can run over before this starts.”

“I love this space.” Clare paused on the pretty patio behind the gift shop. It makes me wish I could do something like it at home.”

“Why don’t you?” Avery said.

“Money comes to mind first.” Clare waited while Avery balanced her trays to open the back door. “But I might just start a patio savings fund.”

As they went in, Madeline, chestnut hair tumbled, earrings swinging, strode down the short steps to the office. “Hi! Avery, this looks great. I’m so excited. My girls are up there—they’ll give you a hand putting everything where I’ve set up.”

“Madeline.” Clare took a deep breath. “It smells wonderful in here.”

“Between the candles and the diffusers—Inn BoonsBoro label there. We’re featuring the Marguerite and Percy pomegranate scent tonight; we can’t miss.”

“Oh, talk about looking great.” Clare paused in the kitchen nook. “It’s so clever. It makes me want to completely re-outfit my kitchen. I love that pitcher, oh, and these bowls! I’m going to be doing a lot of my holiday shopping here.”

She wandered through, passing off the tray, studying the pretty displays of jewelry, the vibrant art, the gleaming pottery. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

“I want this.” Hope stood in front of a painting where cherry blossoms in full bloom spread over a blue sky and reflected dreamily in a rippled pond. “I want this for my apartment. I want to look at spring every day.”

“I love it.” Avery glanced at Clare, got the nod. “It’s perfect, and sold. Clare and I want to give you a housewarming present when you take up residence at the inn.”

“Really? Oh boy. I’ll take it.” She wrapped her arms around their waists. “You’re the best.”

“I can put a red dot on the title card, noting it’s sold—if you’re sure.”

“Absolutely,” Clare told Madeline.

“First sale! That isn’t from me, my girls, Justine or Carolee. Ladies, we’re in business.”

“What else can we do—besides spend money?” Avery asked.

“Honestly, we’re pretty set. Nervous, excited, but set.”

Avery checked her watch. “We’ll come back in twenty, just in case. I’ve got my cell if you need anything sooner. Let’s run across the street so Hope can show off.”

“I’m already seeing a half a dozen things I know we’re going to want at the inn when we start accessorizing.” She was still trying to scan when Avery pulled her out the door. “I’m going to go back tomorrow with a notebook. Did you see that bamboo bowl? That’s perfect for the kitchen island.”

She dug out her keys. “We can go in the front. The doors should be in next week, and I got a look at the reclaimed teak benches Justine bought for the porch.”

She locked up behind them. “Let’s go up. They finished the tile in Nick and Nora. You’ve got to see it. I do a walk-through every night after the tile crew leaves. I know Beckett does one, but I feel like I should—plus I get to see everything that was done that day.”

“Have you . . .” Clare glanced toward Elizabeth and Darcy.

“I’ll catch her scent now and then, or hear a little something. But I think she’s a bit shy around me yet. Just look at this. Isn’t it spectacular?”

The back wall shimmered with sea blue glass tiles, floor to ceiling, a stunning contrast for the chocolate brown floor. Large tiles of brown-on-brown tuxedo stripes added a touch of sophistication to the other walls.

“I never would have thought to put these colors together,” Clare realized. “They’re wonderful—elegant, modern, a little glitzy, I guess.”

“Exactly so, and it’ll play off the chocolate brown ceiling and soft blue walls in the bedroom. And the lights? Terrific. Crystal chandelier over the tub, crystal sconces flanking the mirror.”

Hope laid a hand on her heart. “I swear, I fall a little more in love with this place every day.”

“I’m in love with Beckett.” As her friends turned, Clare let out a half laugh. “Wow, that sort of blurted, didn’t it?”

“In love, love?” Avery asked. “Like the big L?”

“That’s the one.” As Hope had, she laid a hand on her heart. “I didn’t think—or believe—I’ d be in love again. Not all the way through. I guess I didn’t believe I could go all the way through twice. It’s not the same as it was with Clint. I don’t think it can be or should be. But it’s just as much, as deep, as real. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

“You and Beckett.” Avery blinked damp blue eyes. “In big L love.”

“Oh, I don’t know about him. I think it’s safe to say little l on his part. We’re a lot to take on.”

“Clare, he’s been sweet on you forever.”

“That’s a different thing. Little l—that’s pretty terrific. I’m not looking for more from him, for promises and absolutes. Like I said, it’s different this time. I understand more than I possibly could have at sixteen. I’ve got more to risk.”

“And to offer,” Hope added.

“Yeah, I do. But . . .” She thought of Beckett’s words the night before. “Love takes work. A woman, three kids—and now two dogs? A lot of work. I’m happy the way things are. I’m so happy, so grateful to feel this again. To know I can.”

“I love that feeling.” Remembering, Hope sighed. “I miss it.”

“I guess I have, too, and didn’t realize it. And it’s a little scary this time. It may sound crazy, but I kind of like that it is. It adds an energy.”

“If you’re happy,” Hope decided, “we’re happy.”

“I’m very happy. I’m in love with a really good, interesting man who enjoys my kids. That’s pretty damn amazing.”

“I’ve always admired your taste in men,” Avery told her.

The bathroom window shot open, and the air that blew in carried the scent of honeysuckle.

“I’d say she does, too,” Hope murmured.




JUST ONE OF the things Clare loved about Boonsboro, and that made her glad she’d brought her kids home to raise them, was the community feel. As she stood in the new gift shop, sipping wine from a little plastic cup, she saw or spoke to more than a dozen people she knew. She watched them wander, form and re-form into groups, share news, opinions.

Avery’s father—a big man with his wild red hair and trim beard threaded with glints of pewter—eased his way over to her. Clare tipped her head toward his broad shoulder.

“Look at you, all dressed up.”

He flushed, sweetly shy. “Justine said no work clothes.”

“I should say not, when you’re one of the featured artists.”

His flush deepened; his big feet shuffled. “Oh, I’m no artist. Just a welder with time on his hands.”

“Willy B, it takes more than some welding skill and spare time to create those metal sculptures. And the clocks are just wonderful. You know Hope’s already earmarked that one”—she gestured—“and the cattails for the inn.”

“She’s going to put that stuff in the inn? Really?”

“She wants the clock for the dining room, in front of the stone arch. People who stay will see your work.”

“Isn’t that something?” He let out a short, baffled laugh.

Avery squeezed her way through the crowd. “Lay off the crab balls for now. We’re nearly out. They’re bringing down more.”

“It’s a nice crowd,” Clare commented. “Madeline looks thrilled, and a little dazed.”

“I should step outside. I feel like I’m taking up half the room all by myself.”

“You stay right where you are,” Avery ordered her father. “Madeline wants you to talk up the potential customers, tell them about your artistic process.”

“Oh now, Avery.”

“Oh now, Willy B.” She poked him in his wide chest. “I’ve got to check the other trays. Don’t you let him run away, Clare.”

“I have my orders.” She gave Willy B a shrug, but took pity on him. “We could step right outside though. Plenty of potentials out there getting fresh air.”

“It’s nice to see people come out like this.” He took a breath when they stepped out to the sidewalk.

“It is, isn’t it? I was just thinking how nice it is to see so many familiar faces, have a little time just to chat and catch up.”

She scanned the little groups, so intent on the people around her she didn’t notice the car parked half a block down—or Sam Freemont behind the wheel, watching her.

“How are those boys of yours? I heard you got a couple new family members. Justine mentioned it,” Willy B added.

“They’re in boy heaven, and for now, at least, being very responsible about taking care of the puppies. I have to admit they’re more fun and less work than I imagined—again, for now.”

“You won’t regret it. I heard Beckett picked them up.”

“Brought them into the bookstore,” she confirmed. “Trapped me.”

“You know, Justine’s pretty pleased that you and Beckett are going around together. She’s fond of you and those boys.”

“I know. And speaking of them, I have to get home, relieve Mazie.”

“So, the minute I turn my back, you move in on my territory.” Beckett stepped out, gave Willy B a light punch on the arm.

“I’ve got no defense against a pretty woman. Sure looks good over there.” He lifted his bearded chin toward the inn. “Tommy’d be real proud.”

Willy B had been his father’s best friend, since both of them had been boys. Had wept unashamed at his funeral, Beckett remembered. And very likely missed Thomas Montgomery as much as his wife and sons.

“Yeah, I think he would be. I think he’d have enjoyed a night like this.”

“He’d’ve loved it. Wouldn’t mind a chance to see what’s what inside that place.”

“Anytime you want,” Beckett told him. “You know that.”

“I’ll be stopping by then, ready to gawk.”

“Willy B.” Justine came to the doorway, hands on hips. “You get back in here and mingle.”

“Oh now, Justine.” He blew out a breath. “No point arguing. Hope to hell I don’t knock something over.”

“He’s the cutest man,” Clare stated when he trudged back in.

“He’s six-five and probably goes two-sixty or better. How can he be cute?”

“He just is. I’ve got to get home, as much as I’d like to stay. Don’t forget, I’ll be by at seven tomorrow.”

“Wait, wait.” He took her arm, shook his head. “You’re not driving home by yourself.”

“Beckett, it’s not even a mile, straight down on Main.”

“I’ll follow you, make sure you get in all right, give Mazie a lift home. You heard what Willy B said. No point in arguing.”

She considered it foolishly overprotective, especially when he insisted she come with him to his truck in Vesta’s lot so he could drive her the short distance to her van in back of TTP.

She knew he waited while she locked up so gave the porch light a quick flick off and on. He tapped the horn before easing out of the driveway and making the turn to drop Mazie at home.

From across the street, a few doors down, Sam watched the house, noting how the front washed with light as Clare went to the door—as the babysitter came out a few minutes later.

He considered and stewed, saw the backyard flood with light. Letting the mongrels out, he mused.

Dogs and security lights. Were those for his benefit? Did she think he was a f*cking burglar?

It was no way to act, no way to treat him. Montgomery’s doing, he decided. She was just too soft, too accommodating to tell that interfering bastard to mind his own business.

He’d take care of that. Take care of her.

He knew what she needed. A man of means, of style, of stature. One who could put those kids in a good boarding school so she didn’t have to work so hard. A man who could take her places, show her off.

She’d see. He’d make her see.

He settled in, watching the routine of lights going off, going on.

He sat for nearly an hour, watching her lighted bedroom windows, and longer still after the windows went dark.

When he drove away, he had a plan.




SINCE MOST OF the men were busy, Beckett helped muscle the first tub to the second floor. In any case, he wanted to see how Lizzy liked it. Once they’d set the white slipper tub in place, he lingered. Light, warm colors, he thought, studying the tile work, a more traditional feel than some of the rooms. A nice contrast, he decided, with the deep tone of the old rubbed-bronze fixtures, and the charm of the telephone-style floor faucet for the tub.

He waited, but apparently Lizzy was withholding judgment until the plumber finished it off.

He went down—and up again countless times, hauling tubs, toilets, faucets, shower systems. All meticulously labeled, he noted, by either his brother or Hope.

On what he prayed was nearly the last trip, he saw Hope outside the on-site storage unit with a clipboard.

“Didn’t know you were here.”

“I’ve been down at the other storage. We finally have room in there. I’m checking off here, then I’m going to go through, make sure all the fixtures are in the right rooms.”

“They’re marked,” he reminded her. “We’re putting them in the right rooms.”

“So you say.” She grinned at him. “I have to see for myself. There are a lot of pieces to each pie. Shower system, sink faucets, bath faucets, towel warmers, P-traps, vanity mirrors, robe hooks.” She lifted one elegant eyebrow. “Should I continue?”

“No, because I’ve muled that and more in and up.”

“It’ll be worth it.” She lowered her clipboard, adjusted her intricately tied scarf. “Besides, you’ll be able to relax on your hot date tonight.”

“Where am I going?”

She laughed. “For me to know and you to find out. Oh, I had this idea.” She opened a purse the size of a small planet, pulled out what looked like a little diary or journal, with stylized fairies on the cover. “I’m going to run this past your mother, but I thought we could put a journal in each room—themed to it. I got this on loan from TTP. Guests could write comments in them.”

“Fine with me.”

“Good. And I thought we could get a nice registration book. I know we’re not doing that sort of thing, but if we could find a classy one, put it on the desk in The Library, it’s another way for guests to write something. And I got this sample today.”

She reached inside the planet again, pulled out a cream-colored folder. “For the rooms—we put a nice welcome note in here on the stationery—from the staff, the list of art when we get that worked out, a menu from Avery’s, other information.”

“You’re having entirely too much fun with this.”

“I really am, and just wait until I start buying office supplies. Oh, and while I’ve got one of you, I thought of a few things last night.”

She reached in again, pulled out an enormous notebook.

“Beckett!” Ryder yelled down from the second-floor porch. “Are you going to stand around making time with the innkeeper all day, or get any actual work done?”

“Kiss my ass,” Beckett called back pleasantly.

“I’ll let you go.” Hope stuck the notebook back in her bag. “Tell me something first. Is he ever going to call me by name, or am I always going to be ‘the innkeeper’?”

“The only time you have to worry is when he calls you that damn innkeeper.”

“I suppose so.”

She glanced up again, cool stare in place, but wasted it as Ryder had already gone back in.




FOR THE FIRST time in months, Beckett considered demoing his apartment bathroom and installing a hot tub. He might not have been a gym rat, but he considered himself in pretty damn good shape. Or had, until the day of hauling tubs and toilets, sinks, vanities, and Christ knew what up a couple flights of stairs—multiple times—had done him in.

Everything ached.

A hot tub, he thought as he stripped and dropped sweaty, filthy clothes on the bathroom floor. Maybe a new shower system with body jets like they were putting in the inn.

An in-house masseuse would be a nice touch.

One thing, he told himself as he got into his all-too-pedestrian shower, he’d be modifying his house plans and adding some well-deserved perks to the master bath.

Of course, the way he was going, he’d be an AARP member before he built the damn place. Really had to get on that.

But right at the moment, building anything, including the doghouse he’d promised the kids they’d start next week, seemed like the seventh level of hell.

One of these fine days he’d stick with his drawing board, his CAD, his slide rule, and blueprints, and just tell other people where to hammer, saw, and haul.

“Yeah, that’s going to happen,” he mumbled and tried to imagine hot jets swirling and pulsing around tired muscles. His imagination didn’t quite make the grade.

He remembered to pick up the clothes, ditch the towel in the hamper when he considered Clare might use the bathroom when she came to pick him up.

His back snarled at him—he snarled back.

Since he didn’t know where they were going, he considered wardrobe choices. Probably not jeans, though jeans and a sweatshirt seemed like the perfect choice for his overworked body.

He settled on black pants and a casual shirt with tiny blue and green checks. If absolutely necessary, he could dress it up with a tie and—please God, don’t make me—a jacket.

If she hadn’t already made plans, whatever they were, he’d have nudged her toward a quiet evening in, with delivery and DVDs.

But a woman who worked all week, at home and at business, deserved a fun evening out on a Saturday night.

If she wanted to go dancing, he might break down in tears.

He glanced around the apartment, deemed it reasonably clean, mostly because he hadn’t spent enough time in it recently to mess it up. Between Clare, work, family meetings, dogs, kids, time for sprawling out with beer, chips, and ESPN had dwindled down to next to never.

He paused a moment, asking himself if he missed it, and decided not very much. Being busy had its perks, especially being busy with Clare and her engaging brood, work he genuinely loved, the regular contact with his own family. Time to stop bitching, he decided, and maybe stock up on the BenGay.

The brisk knock sounded just as he considered stretching out on the couch for five minutes. Telling himself to stop thinking like an old man, he opened the door.

Avery and Hope, arms loaded, breezed in and straight by him.

“Pretend we’re not here,” Avery advised as she marched back to his kitchen.

“What—”

“Hi.” Clare paused long enough to offer him a kiss. “We’re just going to set up. It won’t take long.”

“Okay. Set up what?”

“This and that. Enough of this and too much of that for me to carry up by myself.”

“We’re invisible.” Avery cleared off the drop-leaf table he sometimes used for eating. “You can’t see us.”

Hope opened a white cloth, draped the table with a quick billow and snap while Avery pulled a corkscrew out of her pocket. She drew the cork on a bottle of cab, set it on a silver wine holder.

“I thought we’d have dinner in. I hope that’s okay.”

Baffled, Beckett followed Clare into the kitchen to watch her put a roasting pan in his oven. “You want to stay in?”

“Unless you hate the idea.”

“No, but—”

She wore a dress, short and slim in a dark, deep blue, and shiny red shoes with tall, skinny heels.

“You look great.” He caught the scent of something miraculous. “What’s in the oven?”

“Pot roast.”

“Seriously?”

Obviously pleased, she laughed. “I talked to your mother, and she said it was your favorite. Hopefully mine will measure up to hers.”

“You made pot roast?”

“And a few other things. If that wine’s breathed long enough, why don’t you pour us a glass. I have a little fussing to do yet in here.”

“Sure, I’m . . .” He trailed off when he saw a familiar shape on the counter. He stepped over, lifted the lid. “Apple pie? Are you kidding me? You baked a pie?”

“Also rumored to be a favorite. I like baking pies when I have time.”

“Clare, this must’ve taken you all day to put together. I didn’t expect—”

“Why?” She tipped her head at him. “Why shouldn’t you expect now and then. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“I guess I did. It’s just . . . wow.”

“You take me out. You take my kids out. You brought them dogs, and put in motion lights at my house. You give us all time and attention, Beckett. I wanted to give some back to you.”

It staggered him. It moved him. “I think this is the best thing anyone’s done for me in maybe ever.”

“I don’t know about ever, but I enjoyed doing it. How about that wine?”

“Sure.”

He stepped out, saw that Hope and Avery had transformed his lowly drop leaf into a sparkling table for two, complete with candles and flowers. Music played quietly from his stereo.

He poured the wine, carried the glasses into the kitchen, where Clare put together a fancy tray of olives. “It looks pretty impressive out there. Are they really invisible, or did they leave?”

“It’s just you and me.” She took the glass, tapped it to his. “So, to just you and me for an evening.”

“I can’t think of better. Clare. Thanks.”

“Beckett.” She moved into his arms. “You’re welcome.”

She wouldn’t let him help, and he had to admit it felt damn good just to sit with her, talk over wine and fancy appetizers. He felt the burden and effort of the day slip away—and pure gratitude when they sat at the table and he took his first bite of her pot roast.

“It definitely measures up.”

“Your mother and I compared recipes. They were pretty close. I had to make it good,” she added, “so you wouldn’t be disappointed we weren’t going out.”

“Clare, I hauled half a ton of bathroom fixtures up those stairs today. By the time I got home I felt like an eighty-year-old man who got run over by a truck. Pot roast and apple pie at home? It’s like Christmas.”

“I heard you worked today. I thought you’d all take Saturday off.”

“Normally, but we wanted to get the fixtures up so the plumber can start Monday morning.”

“It’s getting more real, isn’t it? It’s not just a building, however beautiful. It’s form and function now, or coming to it. I remember when we put in the bookshelves, the counter, opening those first boxes of books. I remember that so well, that feeling of this is real now. This is actually a bookstore. Mine.”

“Most days there’s so much going on, so it’s get it done and think about what’s next. But yeah, there are days like this when it hits. It’s real.” He topped off her wine, then his own. “Right now, here with you, I can look back to beginnings, to plans, to how can we do this, and real’s good. Tell me you’ll stay tonight?”

She smiled at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”