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She’d picked out a dresser, but had listed the alternative of a secretary with drawers. More unique, he decided, more interesting.
And she apparently had her mind made up about a bed for Westley and Buttercup—their second suite, rear—as she’d written THIS IS IT!! in all caps on the sheet.
He scanned the other sheets; she’d been busy. Then turned to his computer.
He spent the next two hours with CAD, arranging, adjusting, angling. From time to time, he opened the binder, refreshed himself on the feel and layout of the baths, or took another look at the electrical, the cable for the flatscreens in each bedroom.
When he was satisfied, he sent his mother the file, with copies to his brothers, and gave her the maximum dimensions for any night tables, occasional chairs.
He wanted a break, and more coffee. Iced coffee, he decided. Iced cappuccino, even better. No reason not to walk down to Turn The Page and get one. They had good coffee at the bookstore, and he’d stretch his legs a little on the short walk down Main.
He ignored the fact that the coffee machine he’d indulged himself in could make cappuccino—and that he had ice. And he told himself he took the time to shave because it was too damn hot for the scruff.
He went out, headed down Main, stopped outside of Sherry’s Beauty Salon to talk to Dick while the barber took a break.
“How’s it coming?”
“We’ve got drywall going in,” Beckett told him.
“Yeah, I helped them unload some.”
“We’re going to have to put you on the payroll.”
Dick grinned, jerked a chin at the inn. “I like watching it come back.”
“Me, too. See you later.”
He walked on, and up the short steps to the covered porch of the bookstore, and through the door to a jangle of bells. He lifted a hand in salute to Laurie as the bookseller rang up a sale for a customer. While he waited he wandered to the front-facing stand of bestsellers and new arrivals. He took down the latest John Sandford in paperback—how had he missed that one?—scanned the write-up inside, kept it as he strolled around the stacks.
The shop had an easy, relaxed walk-around feel with its rooms flowing into one another, with the curve of the creaky steps to the second-floor office and storerooms. Trinkets, cards, a few local crafts, some of this, a little of that—and, most of all, books and more books filled shelves, tables, cases in a way that encouraged just browsing around.
Another old building, it had seen war, change, the lean and the fat. Now with its soft colors and old wood floors, it managed to hold on to the sense of the town house it had once been.
It always smelled, to him, of books and women, which made sense since the owner had a fully female staff of full- and part-timers.
He found a just-released Walter Mosley and picked that up as well. Then glancing toward the stairs to the second-floor office, Beckett strolled through the open doorway to the back section of the store. He heard voices, but realized quickly they came from a little girl and a woman she called Mommy.
Clare had boys—three boys now, he thought. Maybe she wasn’t even in today, or not coming in until later. Besides, he’d come for coffee, not to see Clare Murphy. Clare Brewster, he reminded himself. She’d been Clare Brewster for ten years, so he ought to be used to it.
Clare Murphy Brewster, he mused, mother of three, bookstore proprietor. Just an old high school friend who’d come home after an Iraqi sniper shattered her life and left her a widow.
He hadn’t come to see her, except in passing if she happened to be around. He’d have no business making a point to see the widow of a boy he’d gone to school with, had liked, had envied.
“Sorry for the wait. How’s it going, Beck?”
“What?” He tuned back in, turned to Laurie as the door jingled behind the customers. “Oh, no problem. Found some books.”
“Imagine that,” she said, and smiled at him.
“I know, what are the odds? I hope they’re as good for me getting an iced cappuccino.”
“I can hook you up. Iced everything’s the order of the day this summer.” Her honey brown hair scooped up with a clip against the heat, she gestured to the cups. “Large?”
“You bet.”
“How’s the inn coming along?”
“It’s moving.” He walked to the counter as she turned to the espresso machine.
Pretty little thing, Beckett mused. She’d worked for Clare since the beginning, shuffling work and school. Five years, maybe six? Could it be that long already?
“People ask us all the time,” she told him as she worked. “When, when, when, what, how. And especially when you’re going to take down that tarp so we can all see for ourselves.”
“And spoil the big reveal?”
“It’s killing me.”
With the conversation, the noise of the machine, he didn’t hear her, but sensed her. He looked over as she came down the curve of the steps, one hand trailing along the banister.
When his heart jumped, he thought, Oh well. But then, Clare had been making his heart jump since he’d been sixteen.
“Hi, Beck. I thought I heard you down here.”
She smiled, and his heart stopped jumping to fall flat.
CHAPTER TWO
HE HANDLED IT. HE SMILED BACK AT HER, QUICK AND casual, as she walked down the stairs with her long, sunny ponytail swaying. She always reminded him of a sunflower, tall and bright and cheerful. Her gray eyes held hints of green that gave them a sparkle whenever her mouth, with its deep center dip, curved up.
“Haven’t seen you in a couple days,” she commented.
“I was down in Richmond.” She’d gotten some sun, he thought, giving her skin just a hint of gold. “Did I miss anything?”
“Let’s see. Somebody stole the garden gnome out of Carol Tecker’s yard.”
“Jeez. A crime spree.”
“She’s offering a ten-dollar reward.”
“I’ll keep my eye out for it.”
“Anything new at the inn?”
“We started drywall.”
“Old news.” She flicked that away. “I got that from Avery yesterday, who got it from Ry when he stopped in for pizza.”
“My mother’s putting another furniture order together, and she’s moving on to fabrics.”
“Now that’s a bulletin.” Green sparkled in the gray; it just killed him. “I’d love to see what she’s picking out. I know it’s going to be beautiful. And I heard a rumor there’s going to be a copper tub.”
Beckett held up three fingers.
Her eyes widened; the green deepened in the smoky gray. He’d need oxygen any minute.
“Three? Where do you find these things?”
“We have our ways.”
She glanced toward Laurie with a long, female sigh. “Imagine lounging in a copper bathtub. It sounds so romantic.”
Unfortunately he instantly imagined her slipping out of the pretty summer dress with red poppies over a field of blue—and into a copper bathtub.
And that, he reminded himself, wasn’t handling it.
“How are the kids?” he asked, and took out his wallet.
“They’re great. We’re starting to gear up for full back-to-school mode, so they’re excited. Harry’s pretending not to be, playing Mr. Old Hat since he’s going into third grade. But he and Liam are giving Murphy the benefit of their vast experience. I can’t believe my baby’s starting kindergarten.”
Thinking of the kids always leveled him off, helped him slide her into the do-not-imagine-naked column of MOTHER.
“Oh.” She tapped the Mosley book before Laurie bagged it. “I haven’t had a chance to read that yet. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”
“Sure. Ah, you should come over, walk through sometime.”
Her mouth bowed up. “We peek in the side windows.”
“Just go on around the back.”
“Really? I’d like to, but I figured you didn’t want people getting in th
e way.”
“As a rule, but—” He broke off as the bells jangled, and two couples came in. “Anyway, I’d better get going.”
“Enjoy the book,” she told him, then turned to her customers. “Can I help you find anything?”
“We’re touring the area,” one of the men told her. “Got any books on Antietam?”
“We do. Let me show you.” She led him away as the rest of the group started to browse.
Beckett watched her go down the little flight of steps into what they called the annex.
“Well. See you later, Laurie.”
“Beck?”
He stopped, one hand on the doorknob.
