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Even if he could find a spot where a half a dozen people weren’t moving through, by, or around, he got interrupted every ten minutes.
So he did what he decided was the next best thing. He acted as if nothing had happened. He talked to her, carted boxes for her, ordered food from her, just like normal over the next couple of days.
Since she behaved exactly the same way, he figured: problem solved.
For his last chore of the day—hopefully of the week, he thought—he carried a box of lightbulbs into Nick and Nora. He intended to work his way through the finished rooms, assembling lamps, screwing in the correct bulbs.
He hesitated only a moment when he saw Avery hanging glass drops on a floor lamp.
She glanced his way. “Some assembly required,” she said.
“Looks good.”
“I’m hanging these my way. I like it better than the way they have it in the diagram. Justine said she did, too.”
“Works for me.” He noted that the stacked glass ball lamps beside the panel bed had already been assembled.
“I’m Lamp Girl this evening,” she told him.
He started to make a joke about being Lightbulb Boy, but thought better of it.
Damn it. It was weird.
“I’m the man with the bulbs, so let there be light.” He took a bulb out of the box. “Listen, Avery—”
“Look!” Hope dashed in, still wearing her coat and scarf. “Isn’t this fabulous?”
She carried a Deco-style statue of a man and woman.
“It’s great! It’s Nick and Nora Charles.” Avery shifted to admire it.
“The amazing people at Bast gave it to us.”
“Aww. Now I love it even more.”
“It’s just perfect!” After a moment’s scan, Hope set it on the corner of the carved heater cover Owen had built. “Just perfect. I love that floor lamp. A little glimmer, a lot of glamour and style. Oh, when you’re done there, Avery, maybe you can give us an opinion out in J&R. Owen, we’re trying to decide on your grandmother’s crocheted pieces, the ones your mother had matted and framed. They’re so beautiful. She was an artist.”
“If she’d had enough thread, she could’ve crocheted the Taj Mahal.”
“I believe it. We’ve narrowed it down to two spots. We need another eye, Avery.”
“You can have mine. That’s the last drop. Thank God.” She stepped back, nodded. “Excellent.”
“Come on down then. We have to decide, then that’s it for tonight.”
“Good, because I need to run over, take care of a couple of things.”
“After you do, come to my place,” Hope told her. “Clare’s parents have the kids tonight, and Beckett’s got a dinner meeting with a client. We’ll have some wine, and I’ll cook something.”
“I’m in. Two minutes here.”
As Hope went out, Avery crouched to gather up the packaging from the lamp. “They’re even prettier lit,” she commented when Owen tested the lamps.
“Yeah. So, Avery . . . are we okay?”
After a humming beat of silence, she flicked him a glance. “There’s that word again.”
“Come on, Avery.”
Still crouched, she gave him a long, steady stare from under her arched eyebrows. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just—”
“Sounds like we’re okay. It wasn’t my first kiss, Owen.”
“No, but—”
“Not even my first with you.”
He shifted the box of bulbs to his other hip. “That was—”
“So, no problem here.”
“No problem,” he agreed, but thought it felt like one. “I’ll get that stuff. We’ve got a load to take out anyway.”
“Good enough.” She started out. “Oh, if you have time, maybe you can hang the mirror, that starburst deal there. Hope marked the spot on the wall.”
“Sure.”
“Have a good weekend if I don’t see you.”
“Yeah, you, too.”
He frowned at the cardboard, frowned at the mirror, frowned at the empty doorway.
“Shit,” he muttered, and went out for his drill.
“‘Are we okay?’” Avery gestured with her wineglass. “Jerk.”
In Hope’s living room, curled on the sofa, Clare smiled at her friend. “He just doesn’t know how to handle it.”
Far from ready to cut him a break, Avery huffed. “He didn’t have any problem handling me the other night.”
“Beckett got awkward and a little jerky with me after we almost kissed the first time. Maybe it’s a Montgomery brothers trait.”
“Once you had, he wasn’t awkward.”
“True.” Clare’s smile warmed. “Very true. Still, given your history—”
“History-smistory.”
“What history?” Hope carried a tray of fruit and cheese out of her little kitchen. “I haven’t had the opportunity to get all the details on this. Ghostly nudges, hot kiss, lame Owen aftermath.”
“That sums it.”
“History? Is this more than knowing each other forever? Clare and Beckett knew each other for years before they got together.”
“I was with Clint,” Clare reminded her. “We were a couple from the start, so I didn’t have any history other than casual friendship with Beckett.”
“And you had more with Owen?” Hope probed. “What have I missed?”
“They were engaged.” Grinning now, Clare toasted Avery.
“What?” Hope’s dark chocolate eyes rounded with shock. “When? Why didn’t I know this? This is huge.”
“We were kids. I think I was five—almost six. Our fathers were tight, so we had a lot of activities together. I had a crush on him.”
“So she proposed to him—or more she announced they were going to get married when they grew up.”
“Aw, that’s so cute.”
Softening a little, Avery shrugged. “It was probably a major embarrassment for him. I guess he was about eight. But he was nice about it. Patient,” she remembered, softening a bit more. “I crushed on him for a couple of years.”
“That’s a long time at that age,” Hope pointed out.
“I tend to dig in. Then he started hanging out with Kirby Anderson.” The softening process halted as her eyes went flinty. “That ten-year-old slut. Owen Montgomery broke my heart with that boyfriend-stealing bimbo.”
“I should point out, for Hope, that Kirby Anderson is now married, the mother of two, and an environmental activist living in Arlington, Virginia.”
“She grew out of it.” Avery shrugged. “But there could still be slutitude in there, dormant. Anyway, after that I was off boys until I hit puberty.”
“But you forgave Owen,” Hope prompted.
“Sure. I refused to pine. Besides, a girl’s first boyfriend isn’t going to be her last, right?” After gesturing, she cut a slice of Gouda and nipped into it. “Especially when he’s an ass.”
“Don’t be too hard on him.” Clare reached over, patted Avery’s hand. “He’s probably flustered, not sure how to act. You know you mean a lot to him. To all of them.”
“Yeah, yeah.” But she sighed. “It was a damn fine kiss. He’s learned a lot since eight—or I’ve learned. We both have. I wouldn’t mind kissing him again.”
“Really?” Hope drew out the word as she sampled an apple slice.
“Sure. What am I, stupid? He’s a damn fine kisser—as I now know. And he’s really pretty.”
“Would you sleep with him?” Hope wondered.
“Hmm.” Considering, Avery reached forward, snagged a tart, green grape. “We’re both currently unattached, both adults. Maybe. Yeah, maybe, as long as we went into it clear-eyed. You can trust Owen. That’s a big one, knowing you’re with somebody you can trust.” She bit into the grape, grinned. “And who’s really pretty.”
“Listening to all this, I’m glad I’m out of the arena.” Content, Hope slid down in the chair with her wine.
“You won’t stay out.” Avery shook her head. “You’re gorgeous, smart, interesting—and human.”
“I’m not interested in dating right now. Not just because of Jonathan. In fact, now that I think about it, not at all because of that dick. Right now, all I want is to focus on the inn, on being the world’s best innkeeper, and keeping that beautiful place perfect. Men, dating, sex? Just not currently on the radar.”
