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No flowers yet, she mused, but everything gleamed and shone. Hope would make sure it continued to gleam and shine. The air smelled of the T&O scent, Pixie Dust, subtle and sweet.
She wandered into The Dining Room, studied the building across St. Paul. In a matter of months, she thought, she’d open her new place.
She hoped she’d be ready.
She hoped she was ready for the step she intended to take tonight.
“He was my first boyfriend.”
The scent of honeysuckle drifted over her, a summer breeze.
Her heart tripped into her throat, part excitement, part nerves as she turned.
“I didn’t know you came down here, but I guess you can go where you want. Looks nice in here with the art hung. Actually I was thinking about saving up, buying . . .”
A still life of sunflowers tipped crooked on the wall, then straightened again.
“Ha. Yeah, that one. Wow. Nice trick. Anyway . . . Happy New Year,” she added when she heard Hope—assumed she heard Hope—coming back down.
She walked to the hallway. “I didn’t know your inn-mate—get it—came down to the first floor.”
“Now and then. Did she?”
“Yeah. It’s my first solo encounter. How are you dealing with it?”
“We’re fine.” Cool and casual, Hope moved toward the kitchen. “I spent the night in Elizabeth and Darcy last night.”
“Seriously? Weren’t you a little . . .” Instead of words, Avery gave an exaggerated shudder.
“Not really. If I can’t sleep in there, we can’t expect guests to pay to sleep in there. And no problem.” Opening the fridge, she helped herself to a bottle of water. “It’s a beautiful, comfortable room.”
“And that’s it? No activity from the other side?”
“Well, I was in bed, working on my laptop, and about midnight, the bedside lamps went off.”
“Shit! I didn’t hear you scream.”
“I didn’t. It gave me a moment, I can’t lie, but they came back on when I turned the switch. She turned them off again a few seconds later. I finally got the picture. Lights out, get some sleep.”
“What did you do?”
“I turned off my laptop.” Hope laughed, took a long sip of water. “I was half asleep over it anyway. Once I settled down, the oddest thing happened.”
“Odder than that?”
“I heard the door across the hall open and shut. It seemed to me like a signal from her. She’d stay over there, and I could have some privacy. I appreciated it.
“Here, try this.” Hope hooked the bracelet around Avery’s wrist.
“We should try to find out who Billy is.” The lights flickered on and off, on and off, then seemed to glow just a little brighter. “Ah, I think she likes that idea.”
“I just haven’t had time. Once we get through the opening, and I find my routine, I can do some research. I will do some.”
“I’ll say something about it to Owen. Between the two of you, you’ll find something. Pretty.” Avery wiggled her wrist. “Thanks. I should go. I told him I’d try to be there around five thirty to help him prep and set up.”
“You’re an excellent girlfriend.”
“Not yet.” But Avery laughed. “But I may be next year.” Still she hesitated as Hope walked her back through Reception. “Are you sure you’re okay being here alone?”
“Obviously, I’m not alone.” Hope glanced back at the lights glowing behind them. “And I’m okay with it.”
“Anytime you want me to stay . . .”
“You just want to wallow in luxury.”
“It’s a draw, but seriously, Hope. Anytime.”
“I know.” Hope picked up Avery’s coat. “Go. Be a girlfriend.”
“I’m going to give it a shot.”
* * *
OWEN SCANNED THE party prep list he’d posted in his kitchen, checked off music. He had that set. Ditto for the fire, the shopping, the cleaning. He had the game area dealt with for those who aimed for it, and a couple of outdoor heaters on the deck for any who spilled outside.
Now all he had to do was put the food together, set up the bar, set up the food, haul the bags of ice he’d stockpiled in the freezer into the tubs for beer and soft drinks and . . . and, and.
What had he been thinking?
Oh yeah, he remembered. Avery. He’d been thinking of Avery.
Now he had to cook—and stir and mix and chop and slice and arrange.
Better get to it.
Gearing up, he gathered supplies, kitchen tools, bowls, trays. Even as he turned to his menu list, he heard his front door open. He heard Avery call out hello, and smiled.
His own personal cavalry, he thought, and headed out to meet her. “Jesus, Avery, let me have that.”
He grabbed the enormous stainless steel pot she carried. “It weighs as much as you do.”
“I make popular meatballs, so I made plenty of them. I’ve just got to run out and get my bag out of the car.”
“I’ll get it. Take off your coat,” he suggested as he set the pot on the stove. “Get a glass of wine.”
“Okay. Bag’s in the backseat.”
“Be right back.”
“The place looks good,” she called out. But then, it always did.
Neat and tidy, of course, but with a comfortable, open style. Quiet colors, she mused as she headed back. She might have zipped them up a few tones, but they suited him.
And she loved his kitchen. He may not do a lot of cooking—as far as she knew—but that hadn’t stopped him from building an attractive and efficient space for it.
Dark cabinets and walls of pale green onion—which she’d have bumped up to green tomato, she decided, for some energy.
Dark wood trim around generous windows and the atrium doors leading to his patio. Slate gray countertops—uncluttered, naturally—and gleaming white appliances.
She read his posted lists as she took off her coat, laughed to herself. The idea of the party might’ve been spontaneous, but his planning for it was anything but.
Knowing better than to toss her coat and scarf onto one of his kitchen stools, she took them into the utility room, hung them on a peg beside his work jacket. Noted his utility room was tidier than her own bedroom.
She stepped back out, opened his broom closet, and took a bib apron off a hook. With the apron over her arm, she switched the heat on under her pot, cut it down to low.
“I put your bag upstairs, so if you need . . .”
As she turned from the stove, the words—and he figured at least half of his IQ—spilled out of his brain.
“What?” Immediately she looked down at herself. “I didn’t spill anything on me, did I?”
“Uh-uh. It’s just . . . You look . . . You look,” he managed, and her face cleared in a delighted smile.
“That’s good?”
“It’s . . .” Maybe more than half of his IQ. “Yeah. Oh, yeah.”
“It’s new—the dress. Hope’s been helping me fill in my wardrobe, and thin out my bank account.”
“It’s worth it. I forgot about your legs.”
“What?”
“Not that you had them, but that they’re . . . like that.”
“I think you just made my year, right at the end of it.” She used the legs to walk to him, and even in the heels had to rise up to her toes a little to mate her mouth to his. “Thanks.”
“Absolutely anytime.”
He smel
led great. Tasted great. Looked great.
As an idea formed, she stayed where she was, linked her hands behind his head. “That’s quite a list you’ve got there, Owen.”
“List? Oh, the list. Yeah, a lot of work stuff got in the way the last couple days. I didn’t get as much done as I’d planned.”
“Still a lot. I have this thought. We’ve got a couple of hours, a little more, before people start wandering in. And we’ve put some pressure on ourselves, you and me. Waiting until after the party, whenever that is, to ring in the new, so to speak.”
His arms wrapped loosely around her waist. “I could put out signs. Party canceled.”
“Extreme—and half of them would just bang on the door anyway. But what if we took advantage of the time we have now? We could go upstairs, and . . . ring out the old. No pressure at the party that way.”
“It’s a really good thought. I don’t want to rush it—you. Us.”
“I think we can work out an acceptable pace. You could even put it on your list.”
