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Alone, Owen sat on the side of the bed. It was a lot, he decided. A big pile of a lot. His mother and Willy B. And here, right here— The right here had him shooting up to his feet again with an uncomfortable glance at the bed.
Probably better, all around, not to think about that.
The door to the porch eased open.
“Now that you mention it, I could use some air.”
He walked out, hissed a little at the cold. Wished he had a beer.
It looked fine, he thought. Main Street. He’d known it all his life. It changed, of course—a new business, new paint, new neighbors, kids growing up as he had himself. But it remained a constant for him.
So was Avery. A constant. A kind of touchstone.
She’d changed. They’d changed together, he supposed. Growing up, becoming, expanding their reach.
He studied Vesta, the lights, people moving behind the glass.
She’d built that. They’d provided the shell—the stone, the wood—but she’d built it into what it was. And now she’d do so again.
Yeah, she was tough and smart and willing to work hard. She’d dug in when her mother had walked out. Kept her head up, though he knew damn well some kids ragged on her about it.
He’d had a few short words with a couple of assholes over it, he recalled. He didn’t think she knew, just as he didn’t think she knew that once, not long after Traci MacTavish ran off, he’d walked into the kitchen back home to see Avery crying in his mother’s arms.
He’d backed out again, and the next time he’d seen Avery, she’d been dry-eyed and steady.
She was rarely otherwise.
But Willy B was right. There had to be places that bruised easily, and he should be careful.
Other boyfriends. Other, which made him—by Willy B’s gauge—her new boyfriend. Or current. Or . . .
He hadn’t really thought about it. To joke, sure—about being her first. Now the one-two punch of Franny, then Willy B made him consider the big picture.
He’d never taken her out on a date. To the movies, a concert, to dinner.
He’d never bought her flowers.
Okay, he bought her a present, so he got some points there. If he was keeping score, which, of course, he wasn’t. Exactly.
She usually ended up cooking for him. Sure, she liked to cook, but that wasn’t right, was it?
If he wanted this to be a real relationship, and he did, he had to start putting more effort into it.
“I haven’t put any effort into it,” he admitted. “Major fail.”
Fresh start, he decided, and turned to go in.
He spotted the bottle of Heineken on the table between the doors.
“How the hell did you do that?” Though a chill ran up his spine, he picked up the bottle, took a drink. “I don’t know whether it’s spooky or handy. But thanks.”
He took another drink. “Now I’m standing here, freezing to death, drinking a beer served by a ghost and talking to myself.”
Shaking his head, he went back in, secured the door. He took his beer, headed downstairs to find Avery.
He should’ve known she’d be doing something useful. He found her in The Lounge, passing champagne to guests.
“Where’s yours?” he demanded.
“There you are. My what?”
“Champagne.”
“Oh, I had some. I think I set it down in the kitchen when I was switching trays.”
“You’re not here to work.” He took the bottle, then her hand, and drew her toward the empty flutes. “You’re here to enjoy yourself.” And he poured her a glass of champagne.
“I’m enjoying. Your hands are freezing.”
“I was outside for a while. Let’s find a place to sit. You should get off your feet.”
“You need to mingle.”
“I’ve been mingling. Now I want to sit down with you, spend some time with you.” Leaning down, he laid his lips on hers.
She blinked up at him. It wasn’t as if they were having a clandestine affair, but it was the first time he’d kissed her—like that—in a public setting.
New Year’s, she recalled, but people traditionally kissed at midnight, so it didn’t really count.
She could actually feel speculative eyes on them.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m great.” He draped an arm over her shoulders to steer her out, then toward the stairs. “How are you?”
“I’m absolutely fine. I just wanted to check on the—”
“Avery, you don’t have to check on anything. There’s plenty of everything, and people are enjoying themselves. You get to relax.”
“I don’t relax at parties unless I’m doing something. My hands start itching.”
“Scratch them,” he suggested.
“Hey, Owen.”
Charlie Reeder, old friend and town cop, crossed their path. “Could use a hand a minute.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Your cousin, Spence? He’s getting ready to go. He was pounding them back pretty good tonight. He won’t give up the car keys. I tried talking to him, but he got belligerent. I don’t want to have to arrest him. Maybe you can talk him down before it comes to that.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be back.”
It took him twenty minutes, much of which he spent with his cousin draped around him in drunken sentiment, or hee-hawing as he tried to walk a straight line to prove his competency.
When he fell on his ass a third time, Spence finally gave up his keys.
“I’ll drive him home, Owen,” Charlie told him. “We’ve got to get going anyway. Kids are with a sitter. Charlene’ll follow me, and we’ll pour him through his front door.”
“Appreciate it, Charlie.”
“All in a day’s work.” He paused a moment, hands on his skinny hips as he looked over The Courtyard, up to the porches. “She’s a beauty. I booked a night for our anniversary next May. A surprise for Charlene.”
“Which room?”
“She seems to favor the one with the drapes on the bed and the ginormous tub.”
“Titania and Oberon. Good choice.”
“Hope talked me into the package that comes with a bottle of champagne, and dinner for two and whatnot. It’ll be ten years, so we ought to do something special.”
“Hope will make sure it is.”
“Well, I’ll help you get Spence into the car.”
“I’ve got it. Go ahead and get Charlene. Thanks for the assist.”
“Not a problem.”
By the time he got back inside, the crowd had thinned out. His fresh hunt for Avery was hampered by othe
r guests preparing to leave, stopping him with thanks for the evening, compliments on the inn, and good-luck wishes.
He appreciated it, he really did, but it occurred to him they’d just had their second party as a couple where he’d spent more time without Avery than with her.
And she’d spent more time serving than being served.
He found her in The Dining Room, bussing tables.
“Don’t you know how to be a guest?”
“Not really. And I promised Hope and Carolee I’d help them clean up after. It’s pretty much after. It was great, Owen. Everyone had a good time, and really loved seeing the inn. Racked up some bookings, too.”
“So I hear.” He took the plates from her. “Where’s your champagne?”
“I set it down somewhere, but I drank most of it this time. I just scooted your mom up to The Library. We’re going to bring up a fruit and cheese tray, some crackers. Most of you didn’t get much food.” Insistent, she took the plates back from him. “Go on up. I’ll be up there soon. I’ll finish up with Hope, then I have to get my bag out of her apartment.”
“I’ll get it. Where is it?”
“Just inside the door, but her apartment’s locked.”
“I’ll get the key.”
He got her bag, put a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, added two flutes, and pocketed the key to Nick and Nora. After setting the ice bucket in his room for the night, he found his family, including Clare’s parents, sprawled in The Library and already diving into food trays.
“I didn’t think I was hungry till right now.” Justine grabbed some crackers. “There’s my missing son.”
“Spence,” he said. “Car keys. It took some persuading.”
“You should’ve found me,” Justine told him. “Spence listens to me.”
