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“Avery and I have been trying to talk her into moving up here, or closer anyway. She likes the area.” The more she thought of it, the more Clare wanted it. “She comes up to see Avery now and then, and we got to be friends. We had a girls’ weekend at the Wickham last year, and I can personally attest, Hope doesn’t miss a trick.”
“Do you really think she’d go from managing urban ritz to innkeeper at a small-town B&B?”
Avery smiled at Owen. “I think she might, especially if the rest of this place is going to be as good as Titania and Oberon.”
“Give me some more data,” Owen began.
“Show me the kitchen space, then you can come over to the shop. I’ll give you more, and I’ll call her if you want.”
“Deal.”
“What does she look like?” Ryder called out.
“One of the many reasons Jonathan Wickham is a jerk? Throwing over somebody who looks like Hope, has her brain and energy, for some pinched-nose, big-racked social piranha.”
“Confirmed. I’ve got to get back,” Clare told her. “Let me know what Hope says. This would be great.” She beamed at Beckett. “Will you be here later? I can probably get back around two or two thirty.”
“Sure.”
“See you later then. Oh, and you’ll be lucky to have Hope if this works out. She really is perfect.”
Ryder scowled as she hurried out. “I don’t like perfect. Because it never is, but you don’t see the trouble until it’s too late.”
“I’ve always admired and envied your sunny optimism.”
“Optimists never see the boot coming until it kicks their balls into their throat. Optimism is how a forty-three-year-old woman ends up with one kid in college and another in the oven.”
“Owen’ll fix it. It’s what he does.”
CLARE MET WITH a sales rep, then chatted with her UPS guy while she signed for a delivery. She loved new shipments, opening the cartons and finding books, the covers that closed in all those stories, all those worlds, all those words.
While shelving, she paused when her phone signaled an incoming text, then smiled at Avery’s message.
H will talk to O tmoro. If click H cms up nxt wkend 4 intrvw. :)
She texted back. Fingers X’d.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful? she thought. Not only for Hope, but all of them. She’d have a friend right down the street, and another right across. She’d be able to pop over to the inn now and then to see Hope, and all those beautiful rooms. They would be beautiful. She was sure of it now.
Oh! She’d book the Titania and Oberon room for her parents’ anniversary next spring. Or maybe Elizabeth and Darcy. A perfect gift, romantic and special. The Montgomerys ought to push that, subtly, in their brochure.
She should make some notes.
She took out her phone to do just that, then tucked it away again when one of her regulars came in with her toddler in tow.
“Hi, Lindsay, hi there, Zoe.”
“Need book!”
“Who doesn’t?” Charmed, as always, Clare plucked Zoe up, set her on her hip.
“I was a block away,” Lindsay said, “and I wasn’t going to stop in. But she got so excited, bouncing in the car seat.”
“I swear, I’m going to hire her the minute the law allows.” Clare kissed Zoe’s dark curls as she carried her back to the children’s section.
By the time they left—two books for Zoe, one for Mommy, and a pretty plush kitty purse for a niece’s birthday—Clare had been filled in on celebrity gossip, town gossip, the niece’s mother’s recent weight gain, and Mommy’s newest diet.
When the door jingled closed, Laurie peeked up from the annex. “I deserted the field.”
“I noticed.”
“You handle her better than I do. She gives me an earache.”
“I don’t mind. She just needs to talk to an adult now and again. Plus she spent more than fifty dollars. Did you take your lunch yet? I can handle things if you want to get out for a bit.”
“I brought mine with me. Lindsay’s not the only one on a diet. I’m going to eat my measly salad in the back. Cassie just got in. She’s getting some net orders together for shipping.”
“I’ll take the front. I need to go back out about two, but I’ll be back before you leave for the day.”
“Give a shout if we get busy. One of us’ll come out.”
She could only hope. The store hadn’t exactly bustled with business today. She could use a few more Lindsays before closing, she thought as she got herself a cold drink from the refrigerator.
She carried it into the children’s section, tidied up the toys Zoe had played with while her mother had her visit. And thought of Zoe’s soft, dark curls.
Clare wouldn’t trade her boys for anything in heaven or on earth, but she’d always secretly hoped for a little girl. Pretty dresses, ribbons and bows, Barbies and ballerinas.
And if she’d had a girl, her daughter would probably have turned out to be a tomboy, as into action figures and dirt fights as her brothers.
Maybe Avery would fall in love and end up having a baby girl. Then she could be the doting honorary aunt and finally get to buy all the fuss and flounces.
Now that would be fun, she decided while she tidied books, rearranged stuffed animals. Watching Avery fall in love—the real thing—helping her plan a wedding and on to sharing the excitement of a new baby. Their kids could grow up together. Well, her boys had ahead start, but still. Then, years from now, Avery’s daughter and . . . probably Murphy, considering the ages . . . would fall in love, get married, and give them both gorgeous grandchildren.
Clare laughed to herself, running her finger down the cover of a children’s book.
Fairy tales, she mused. She’d always been a sucker for them. And for a happy ending where everything wrapped up as pretty as a bow in a little girl’s hair.
Maybe more of a sucker than ever now, she admitted. Now that she’d known real loss. Maybe that’s why she just needed to believe in that bright, shiny ribbon tied in a bow around happy ever after.
“Daydreaming about me?”
She jumped at the voice behind her, turned and tried not to wince when she saw Sam Freemont in the doorway.
“Just restoring order.” She spoke pleasantly, reminding herself he sometimes actually bought something rather than just pestering her for a date. “I didn’t hear the bell.”
“I came in the back. You should put some security up, Clare. I worry about you working in this place.”
She caught the condescending tone in this place, struggled to remain pleasant. “Laurie and Cassie are in the back room—and there’s a
monitor. In fact,” she said deliberately, “they can see us right now. What can I do for you, Sam?”
“It’s what I can do for you.” He leaned against the framework of the opening. Posing, she noted, in his putty-colored suit—the bold blue tie, she imagined, chosen to play up his eyes. “Got a nice, fat bonus check in my pocket.” He patted it, added a wink. “I’ll take you to dinner at my club. We can celebrate.”
Since he worked—when he chose—for his father’s car dealership, and his mother came from old money, she imagined he often had fat checks.
He certainly bragged about money often enough.
“Congratulations, and thanks for the offer. But dinner at the club doesn’t work for me.”
“You’ll love it. I’ve got the best table in the house.”
Always the best, she thought. The biggest, the most expensive. He never changed. “And I’ll be at my kitchen table, convincing my three boys to eat their broccoli.”
“What you need is an au pair. My mother could help you with that.”
“I imagine she could, if I were interested, which I’m not. Now, I need to—”
“I’ve got some time now. We’ll go have a champagne lunch.”
“I don’t—” The bell jangled on the front door. “Have time. Obviously. Excuse me.”
Rather than moving past him, she went out the other doorway to the main room, ready to kiss whoever had interrupted Sam’s annoying campaign.
“Justine! I was just over at the inn this morning. Carolee. It’s so nice to see you both.”
Justine pulled off her red-framed sunglasses, waved a hand in front of her face. “We walked up from Bast. God, the heat! And you look cool and fresh as ice cream—no, lime sherbet—in that dress.”
Carolee dropped into one of the chairs at the little table by the windows. “God, I could use some lime sherbet. We’re going to treat ourselves to one of your fancy iced coffees.”
“Our special this week is Cookie Dough Jo—it’s sinful.”
“Make it two.” Justine dumped her purse on the table, then swung toward the stack. “I didn’t know this was out yet.” She grabbed a book. “Is this as good as the last one she did?”
“Actually, I think it’s even better.”
“Well, this stop-by’s going to cost me more than the price of sinful coffee.” Justine arched her brows at the sound of the back door slamming.
“Sam Freemont, expressing his annoyance. And the coffee’s on the house, in gratitude for you bringing the end to his pestering me to go to dinner at the club.”
“Sam Freemont’s a little prick who grew up to be a bigger one.” Carolee’s pretty hazel eyes turned hard. “Remember, Justine, how he spread rumors about my Darla? He was after her to go to the prom, and when ‘no’ didn’t work, she finally told him to get lost.”
“Or words to that effect,” Justine added, and made her sister smile fiercely.
“That’s my girl. So, he spread it around she was pregnant, and didn’t know who the father was.”
“And Ryder kicked his ass. Not that he’d ever admit it,” Justine continued,
