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* * *
SHE DIDN’T HAVE time to brood about it, even to think about it. They only had a week to finish the last details on the house, to load in furniture, stock the kitchen.
It reminded Avery of the final push on the inn, but this time with Beckett and Clare off on their honeymoon, they were short two pairs of hands.
Still, that sense of déjà vu trailed through as she and Hope loaded dishes, glassware, flatware, pots, pans, platters into cupboards.
“She’s not going to be disappointed she didn’t do all this herself, right?”
Hope shook her head. “I thought about that, second-guessed, third-guessed. Then I thought about her coming back from a week off—the work facing her at the store, the kids, the new routine, and being pregnant. I really think she’ll be relieved not to face hauling boxes, unpacking, and the rest.”
“I think so, too—but sometimes I fourth-guess. It’s great the boys are spending a few days down with Clint’s parents. It’s good for all of them, but I have to admit I miss them. And being able to use those tireless legs to run little errands.”
“We’re nearly there. With Justine and Rose handling the clothes, the linens, Owen and Ryder muscling in the big stuff, we’ll have it perfect for their homecoming.”
Hope paused, fingers reaching for her phone. “I should check, make sure Carolee ordered the flowers.”
“You know she did. Relax, Commander.”
“If he calls me that again, I may kick him in the balls.” Hope paused, rolled her shoulders. “It’s a beautiful house—the wood, the details, the sense of space.”
“The Montgomerys do good work.”
“They do. Speaking of the Montgomerys, what’s going on with you and Owen?”
“Nothing.”
Hope glanced toward the stairs. “Justine and Rose are up on the second floor. Owen and Ryder are getting another load. It’s just you and me.”
“I don’t know exactly. Things have been a little off since the wedding. My fault, I guess—sort of. When I showed him the heart stone, I made some comment about marriage. I do till death or divorce, something like that. He thinks I’m cynical.”
“I wonder why?”
“I’m not.”
“No, you’re not. But you put your mother’s baggage in your own closet. Eventually, you’re just going to have to pitch it out.”
“I don’t. Maybe I do,” she admitted, annoyed with herself. “But I really think I’ve got it down to an overnight bag. Now it feels weird between us, and that’s the last thing I want. We’ve been friends forever. In fact—”
She glanced around, making absolutely sure they were alone. “The other night I dug this out of my keepsake box.”
Avery opened her purse, unzipped a pocket. And pulled out a plastic ring in the shape of a pink heart. “He actually gave me this when I was about six, and crushing on him.”
“Oh, Avery, it’s so cute. So sweet.”
“It was, it is. Gum-ball-machine ring. He was just playing along with me, but it put me on top of the world. He does that kind of thing. The sweet thing.”
“You kept it, all this time.”
“Of course. My first engagement ring.” To amuse them both, she slipped it on, wiggled her fingers. But oddly seeing it there made her feel a little sad. “And now something’s off between us,” she continued as she pulled it off again. “I think he must want to take a step back and—”
She broke off when she heard the door open, and mimed zipping her lips as she tucked the ring back in her purse.
* * *
WHILE D.A. LAY on the kitchen floor, obviously exhausted, she helped arrange tables, lamps, pillows. When duty called Hope back to the inn, Avery unpacked towels, set out soaps, moving from master to kids’ bath, to guest bath, to half bath, to lower-level bath.
It was full dark when she came upstairs again, and stopped to grin at the great room. Homey, she thought, comfortable, and pretty.
She heard the sound of hammering, moved through to the playroom. Owen, tool belt slung at his hips, hung a framed X-Men poster.
“You put the cubbies together.”
He glanced back at her. “Ryder did it before he took off.”
“He’s gone?”
“We’re about done. Mom said to tell you she and Rosie will be back tomorrow, after a grocery store trip for fresh produce.”
“Great. I guess you’re right. I can’t think of much else to do. I wasn’t sure we’d make it, and we’re a full day ahead.”
“We had a lot of hands.”
“And you and Hope with your checklists. This is a great room. Fun. happy. The house feels that way, too.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Do you want a good-job beer?”
“I wouldn’t mind it.”
She went out, opened two. They were so freaking polite, she thought. So matter-of-fact. So damn weird.
Enough, she decided as she set them on the kitchen counter. She waited until he’d unstrapped his tool belt. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” He gave her a steady look out of quiet blue eyes. “Why would I be?”
“I don’t know. But we—you—something hasn’t seemed all the way right since the wedding.”
He considered her as he took a pull on the beer. “Maybe you’re right.”
“If this isn’t working for you, I wish—”
“Why do you go there? Why do you automatically go to it not working, it not lasting, it not sticking?”
“I don’t mean it like that. I—” When he waved that away, walked to the far window, she set her jaw. “You are mad at me.”
“I’m getting there.” He took another pull on the beer, then crossed back to set it on the counter. And looked her dead in the eye. “How would you feel if I said it wasn’t working for me? No bullshit, Avery, straight truth. How would you feel if I said I was done with it?”
The jaw she’d set wanted to tremble. And everything inside her trembled with it. “You’d break my heart. Is that what you need to hear? You need to know you could do that?”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, let out a breath. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I needed to hear, and what I needed to know.”
“Why would you want to hurt me that way? You’re not a hard person. You’re not cold. Why would you hurt me that way? If you want to step back, you could do it without being cruel.”
“Stop it.” A world of patience sounded in his voice. “I’m not stepping back. I don’t want to step back. That’s just it. But you don’t believe in me, in yourself. In us.”
“I do. Why would you think I didn’t?” Even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew. “I say stupid things sometimes. I think stupid things sometimes. You should know me well enough to get that.”
“I do know you, Avery. I know you’re loyal and generous, you’re tough and ambitious.”
Since Beckett’s wedding, Owen had looked for the answer, worked the problem. He thought he had it.
“Avery, you question yourself too much, you worry too much you’re something and someone you’re not. Because you’re nothing like her. Nothing, and you never have been. It pisses me off you don’t see that.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Okay.” He started to pick up his beer again, stopped. “No, it’s not okay. We’ll end up just circling around and getting nowhere. It’s not okay because I’m in love with you.”
“Oh my God.”
“I probably always have been. It’s taken a long time for it to sink in, so I figured you needed time to do the same. But it’s enough now. Do you see this place?”
“Yes. Owen—”
“It’s not just a damn house—a damn good house. It’s a place to build, to come back to, to depend on.” Everything he felt for her filled him. Everything he wanted surrounded him.
The hell with working it out, thinking it through.
“I’ve got a damn good house, too. You should be in it with me. Build in it with me, and co
me back to it with me, depend on it—and on me.”
“You want me to move in with you?”
He’d been working on it, he thought, and this wasn’t the direction he’d planned on. Screw it, he decided. All or nothing.
“I want you to marry me.”
“Oh, Jesus.” After a couple hitching breaths, she looked down. “I can’t feel my feet.”
“Trust you to have the most frustrating reaction.”
“I’m sorry. Just give me a minute.”
