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Nodding, she laid her head on his chest again. Old foundations, she thought, new phases. Who knew what you could build?
“I need to make dough.”
“Who doesn’t?”
With a smile, she tipped up her head. “I need to make pizza dough so I can make the other kind and pay my landlord.”
“While you’re doing that, I’m going to make some calls in the quiet.”
He gave her a last squeeze. “About these.” He gestured to the blueprints. “It’s going to take a while. Making the changes, getting the mechanicals, then the permits. And we’re centered on the other building right now.”
“It doesn’t matter how long it takes.” She thought of him, of them, the lifetime already shared. “It’s how long it lasts.”
* * *
JUST AFTER OPENING, Hope dashed in the door.
Avery added pepperoni to a large. “Hey. How’s it going in Hollywood?”
“It’s good. Pretty smooth so far. They’re doing some interviews and videos with the Montgomerys right now. I’ve got ten minutes.”
“Have a seat.” Avery slid the large in the oven.
“I thought I should run over and tell you rather than text. A lot of the crews asked about lunch, so we’ve been hyping Vesta.”
“Your hype’s appreciated. Good thing I made that extra dough.”
“The thing is, a couple of them got the idea to do some video and interviews around and about. Here to start. With you.”
“Me?”
“And maybe some photos.”
“Of me? I can’t do that. Look at me. I have sauce on my apron. I didn’t wash my hair this morning. I have naked face.”
“Sauce works, it’s the job. Hair’s fine. I’ve got nine minutes now. I can do makeup in six. Let’s go.”
“But orders—shit. Chad. Two large in the oven for delivery. Deal with it. Back in five.”
“Six,” Hope corrected.
“Six,” Avery called as she ran for the door.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me this could happen? I wouldn’t have naked face.”
“Six minutes, maybe less. The gods gifted you with gorgeous skin. We’ll just pump up the eyes, give you more color, less shine.”
“I’m shiny!” Desperate, Avery shoved open her apartment door, raced to the bathroom. “I’m wearing an old shirt.”
“The apron covers it.” Focused, Hope yanked open the drawer of the vanity.
“The saucy apron.”
“I’m telling you the sauce is good. It’s like a prop. Sit,” she ordered. “This is simple. It’s not a screen test for a major motion picture. It’s a few seconds on the evening news.”
“Oh God.”
“Quiet. Why can’t you organize your makeup into groups? Eyes, lips, cheeks?”
“Don’t start on me when I’m having a nervous breakdown. Why did I use this color on my hair?”
“Why do you use any color on your hair when you have gorgeous hair to begin with?”
“It was because of the rut. It was the rut, but now it’s like an addiction. Help me.”
“Shut up and close your eyes.”
Hope swiped on shadow, blended, drew on liner, smudged. “Didn’t I tell you to buy an eyelash curler.”
Wary, Avery opened one eye. “I fear them.”
“Get over it. Look here.” She leveled a finger, then brushed on mascara.
“Why do you always look so perfect?” Avery complained. “Why are you beautiful? I hate you.”
“I can give you clown cheeks.”
“Please don’t.”
“You have skin like porcelain. I hate you.” Deft and quick, Hope feathered on blush. “And for God’s sake buy an eyelash curler. And a lip liner. Relax your jaw.” She chose a lipstick from the two dozen jumbled in the drawer, dusted on translucent powder, blotted.
“Done, and in four.”
“My pizzas.”
“Chad’s got them. Take a look.”
Avery rose, studied the results in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes looked bigger, bluer, her cheeks more defined, her lips rosy. “You’re a genius.”
“I am.”
“But my hair.”
“Leave it. Twenty seconds.” Hope tugged here, smoothed there. Nodded. “Unstudied, casual, and just a little sexy.”
“The shirt—”
“Is fine. Different earrings. Thirty seconds.”
Hope made the dash, pulled open the earring drawer. A quick scan, eyes narrowed. “These. A little sparkle, a little dangle, and they’re from Gifts. Symbiotic.”
She did one ear while Avery did the other.
“Shouldn’t I—”
“Done,” Hope declared, and grabbed Avery’s hand. “Switch focus. You want the reporters to mention the excellent food and fast, friendly service in a cheerful atmosphere, right?”
“Right, right. Jesus, stupid. It doesn’t matter how I look. Of course it does, but I need to warn the staff. I should call Franny in.”
“Wouldn’t hurt. Gotta go.”
“Thanks for the face. Really.”
* * *
BY ONE SHE was too busy to worry about her shirt, the sauce on her apron, or if she’d chewed her lipstick off. She focused on pizzas, making pie after pie, and thanked God for Franny, who’d come in at her call and dealt with pasta orders, salads.
She worked her way through it; in fact did two quick interviews while she stood at her work counter. Even tossed dough on request for a camera.
And she thought of the lovely perk of having her place on a D.C. station for even two or three seconds.
At three, with the madness over, Avery took her first break by collapsing in the empty back dining room with a bottle of Gatorade.
She waved weakly when Clare came in. “I think I used up all my electrolytes. Did they come to your place?”
Clare held up the go-cup from her bookstore. “Skinny latte with a double shot of espresso.”
“That answers that.”
“It was good though. Good for Turn The Page, for the inn, for the town, I think.”
“I bet Hope didn’t have to rush down to TTP and do your makeup.”
“No, but I don’t work in a hot kitchen all day.”
“Good answer.”
“The reporter from Hagerstown Magazine wants to pitch a follow-up, or a related story to her editor. You, me, Hope.”
“Us? What kind of story?”
“Three women, three friends. One who runs a bookstore, one who runs a restaurant—soon two—and one who runs the B&B.”
“I don’t want to wear a saucy apron.”
“Saucy as in sauce, or saucy as in French maid?”
“Guess.” Smirking, Avery pointed at her stained apron. “We’d have more warning, right? Not have a four-minute-from-naked-face-to-camera-face deal again.”
“Much more. If it flies, we’d coordinate the day and time. It’d be good promotion for all of us. Still, I don’t know how Hope does it. She walked one of the reporters down to the bookstore. She looked—”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect. And relaxed. I can’t wait to see how the whole thing comes out on the news tonight, then in the paper. Beckett’s picking up the kids from school—or has by now. He said they needed some man time.”
Everything in Avery went soft. “You struck gold there, Clare.”
“A mountain of it. I was also ordered to pick up Vesta spaghetti and meatballs. Manly portions.”
“We can help you with that.”
“I’m going to need help with more soon. After the opening, I’ll only have two months before the wedding. I know we’re not doing a huge bash, but . . .”
“Everything has to be wonderful.”
