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friend?”
“BFF.” Clare tapped a finger on her heart.
“And what do I get, a measly little text message. Spent night with B. Fabulous.”
“Didn’t I leave that bit of Shania Twain on your answering machine, the ‘I Feel Like a Woman’ cut?”
“Okay, that made me laugh, but these are not the details given to the BFF.”
“Birthday party Saturday, and you worked here until what, midnight?”
“About.”
“I’m not used to having lots of sex. I went to bed Saturday right after the kids. Then Sunday, it’s enough to say I didn’t have any privacy, and you were working again.”
“See. I am the rut.”
“You’re not.” Clare laid her hands on Avery’s shoulders, gave them a good rub and shake. “But I came in early especially to talk to you. God, I really want to talk to my BFF.”
“You’re sucking up. I like it. Please continue while I deal with the rest of this dough.”
“That’s an awful lot of dough for a Monday, isn’t it?”
“Private party tonight, and I’ve got a lunchtime delivery on the books for six large. Now talk.”
“It was great. Everything. Dinner—”
“I’ve had dinner recently. I haven’t had sex. Move along.”
“Well . . .”
Clare told her about her concerns when she and Beckett left the restaurant and on to her change of plans at the door.
“You pulled the ‘oh, I need a big, brave man to walk through my scary, empty house’?”
“I did.”
“I’m proud to know you.”
“He had the idea I needed everything to go slow. I realized if I didn’t do something we could still be on phase one at Christmas. So I gave it a jump start, and took him for a drive.”
The blue of Avery’s eyes brightened with laughter, and a little pride. “Listen to you.”
“I know.” Delighted with herself and the world in general, Clare wiggled her shoulders. “I feel like part of my life that’s been on hold is back. I feel things with him I haven’t felt in so long. Not just the physical, though that was pretty damn perfect.”
“Slow and easy or wild and crazy?”
“I think by the time he left Saturday morning, we’d managed both, all, and some combinations.”
“Okay, now I’m jealous.” After covering the pans, Avery moved to the sink to wash dough off her hands. “Happy for you, but jealous. Happy for him, too. Beck’s always had a thing for you.”
“That’s the only problem. I’m not the Clare Murphy he had a thing for. He has to want to be with the person I am now.”
“Do you think he’s living out an old fantasy?”
“I’m not sure, not sure if he’s sure either. I’m not going to worry about it yet. I like getting to know each other as we are now. Things are changing. I want to see what they become.”
BECKETT SPENT THE next two weeks bouncing from project to project, from shop work to inspecting deliveries and carving out time when he could manage it to be with Clare. While the installers laid the tile on the main floor, the crew focused primarily on exterior work.
Then came the day when he and his brothers stood at the front doorway, studying the completed entrance porch and steps.
“What did I tell you?” Beckett said. “She gleams.”
“She ought to with all those coats of poly.” Ryder crouched down, ran a hand over the wood. “Smooth as glass. Hard dry, too.”
“You know skateboarders are going to see this run and go for it.”
Ryder glanced up at Owen. “Then we’ll kick some asses, and we’ll make sure word goes out on that. I say we pull this bastard down.” He jerked a thumb at the big blue tarp. “Give everybody a look at what Inn BoonsBoro’s crew pulled off.”
“Let’s do it—and,” Beckett added, “let’s run some tape between the posts to keep people from coming up this way.”
It may have been one of the most satisfying moments of his life, Beckett decided, when they dropped that tarp on a cool September morning with fall spiced in the air.
School buses lumbered out to pick up their load as he and his brothers crossed the street for a full-on view. Cars slowed as the drivers’ heads swiveled to look toward the unveiled building.
And she was beautiful—still not fully dressed for the party, Beckett thought, but beautiful. The deep, rich color of the wood gleamed against the old stone walls, drawing out the hints of gold and umber.
Generous in size, its steps spanning the length, it stood out against the softer colors of the rails and pickets. Rising over it, the upper porch added grace and charm to dignity.
“You know, you work on it,” Owen began, “and you see it change. But you’re inside it or on it, so you don’t really see. Fucking A, we did good.”
“Damn right. It’s a moment.” Ryder pulled out his phone, framed the building in, took a picture. “And the moment’s immortalized. Back to work.”
“Better send that to Mom.”
Owen shook his head at Beckett. “I’ve already talked to her this morning. She’s coming in anyway. Let’s give her the full impact.”
“Better idea,” Beckett agreed. “Talk of the town.” He studied the lines and colors as they crossed back over.
Inside, they split off, Owen to check on the progress of the tile install, Ryder to begin work on the coffered ceiling in the dining room. Beckett headed up to the third floor, but paused on two when he smelled honeysuckle.
“Like that, do you?” he murmured, and walked down to Elizabeth and Darcy. “She doesn’t look sad anymore.”
On impulse, he walked into the room, then out onto the porch. He looked out on the town, the line of Main Street with its shops and houses, its covered porches and bricked sidewalks. And beyond it to the glint of fields, the rise of hills, the ring of mountains rolling to the blue autumn sky.
“This is good.” He didn’t know if he spoke to himself, the building, or the ghost. It didn’t matter. “This feels right.”
Others had stood on this spot when the street had been a wide dirt road carrying horses, carriages. When soldiers came to fight in those fields, those hills and mountains. It stood while the dead were buried, and the grass grew green over them.
“Did you?” he wondered, thinking of the honeysuckle. “Did you stand here? When? Did you come in a carriage or in a car? How did you die? Why do you stay?”
Not ready to share, he thought. Women knew how to keep their secrets.
He glanced down toward Turn The Page. Too early for Clare to be in, he thought. She’d be getting the boys ready for school, dealing with breakfast and backpacks.
Did she think of him during her morning routine? Would she look out her office window and wonder what he was doing, how soon they’d see each other?
Did she sometimes ache at night wishing for him the way he wished for her?
He liked to think so.
He saw one of the operators unlock the front door of Sherry’s Salon, then glance over—then simply stand and stare. It made him grin as pride rushed into him.
We’re not done yet, he thought. She needs lights and benches, planters—and so much more. But when she’s dressed for the party, she’ll be the belle of the ball.
As he walked back in, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Just a blur that seemed to shimmer in the air—there, then gone—as he turned toward it.
The door he’d secured swung back open.
He took a quick step back as his heart jolted. He’d have sworn he heard the faintest whisper of a laugh.
“Yeah, funny.” He moved over, shut the door again. The minute he started out, it opened again.
He closed it; it opened.
Maybe she liked the fresh air, or the view, but he couldn’t play this game all morning.
“Okay, look, I can’t leave it open. Remember the pigeons—and the pigeon shit? Let’s not give them an invitation to move back in.”
/> As he watched, the door opened a couple inches—like a tease—then shut.
“Thanks.” He waited a moment to be sure before backing out of the room.
He’d just won an argument with a ghost, he decided on his way upstairs. That had to be one for the books.
Just after nine, his day got another boost when his cell phone rang and he saw the bookstore on the display. He set his measuring tape aside.
“Hi.”
“Oh, Beckett, it’s beautiful. I just got in, came up to my office and glanced out the window. I swear I did a double take.”
“We took the tarp down a couple hours ago.”
“I know you told me what it would look like, and I saw a little, but it’s just so much more. I’m watching people walking or driving by stopping to stare.”
“So am I. I just walked out on the second-floor porch.” He lifted his hand, grinned.
“Hold on a minute.”
He heard some rustling, a muttered curse. He heard—and saw—her office window open. She leaned out—pretty as a sunflower—and made his grin widen.
“Hi, Beckett,” she said in his ear.
“Hi, Clare.”
“You must be on top of the world.”
“On top of Main Street, anyway. Come on over, see it from here, because it’s pretty damn terrific. And you’ve got to see downstairs, the tile work.”
