The Next Always

by Nora Roberts

  “Avery’s been pitching this B&B since I got here.”

  “Well then, it’s my turn.” Prepared, Clare straightened up, leaned forward. “It’s more than a bed-and-breakfast. I think it’s going to have that kind of warmth and charm, but combined with the pizzazz of a boutique hotel. I’ve been through parts of it, gotten a sense of the setup, looked at the cut sheets and photos of furniture and fixtures. I’m still dazzled.”

  “Living where you work.” Hope lifted her shoulders. “There are pros and cons there.”

  “Come on, Hope, you practically lived at the Wickham anyway.”

  “Maybe.” Unable to deny that singular fact, she blew out a breath. “The Prick and Miss Tits are officially engaged.”

  “They deserve each other,” Avery muttered.

  “Oh yeah. Anyway, she actually breezed into my office last week, wanting to discuss wedding plans, as they’ll have the event at the hotel.”

  “Bitch.”

  “And another oh yeah.” Hope toasted Avery. “Yesterday, the big boss calls me in. He’d like to discuss my contract as it’s nearly up. He offered me a raise, which I declined, explaining that I’d be tendering my resignation. He was, sincerely, stunned.”

  “Did he really think you’d stay on after his son treated you that way?” Clare demanded.

  “Clearly he did. When he realized I was serious, he doubled the raise.” One eyebrow arched, she lifted her glass again in toast. “Doubled it without a single blink. That was incredibly satisfying. Almost as satisfying as telling him thanks, but no thanks. Pissed him off, enough for him to release me from the remainder of my contract.”

  “He fired you?”

  “No, he didn’t fire me.” Hope grinned at Clare’s outrage. “We simply agreed that since I’d be leaving in a matter of weeks anyway, I could depart the premises on the spot. So, I’m done.”

  “Are you okay?” Clare leaned over, squeezed a hand over Hope’s.

  “I am. I really am. I have an interview next week in Chicago, another pending in Philadelphia, and yet another in Connecticut.”

  “Stay with us.”

  Hope gave Clare’s hand a squeeze in turn. “I’m not throwing it over, or I wouldn’t be here. It’s intriguing, I admit, what these people are doing. I want to see it, feel it out. Being so close to you and Avery is a big draw, but this job has to be the right fit.”

  “It’s as tailored as one of your Akris suits. Don’t take my word.” Avery shrugged, leaned back nonchalantly in her chair. And smiled a very smug smile. “You’ll see.”

  “I like the town, or I should say I’ve always liked spending a day or two here when I’ve come to visit. So, tell me more about the Montgomerys. Avery’s given me the basics. Mom, three sons. They lost their father who started the contractor’s business about ten years ago. They own several properties in and around town.”

  “They saved the inn property. There was talk about just razing it, it had gotten so bad. And that would’ve been a crime.”

  “I remember how it looked the last few times I came up,” Hope commented. “Saving it’s no small feat.”

  “They have a good eye, and talent. All three are terrific carpenters and cabinetmakers. They built this deck.”

  “Ryder—the oldest,” Avery continued. “He’s standing as job boss on this project. Owen’s the detail guy, runs the numbers, makes the calls, takes the meetings. Or most of them. Beckett’s an architect. Clare can tell you more about him since he’s sweet on her.”

  “Oh?” That eyebrow arched again. “Oh, really?”

  “Really,” Avery said before Clare could speak. “They shared a big, sloppy kiss in the dark, haunted halls of the inn.”

  “Really? Wait, haunted? No, one thing at a time.” Hope waved her hands in the air as if clearing a chalkboard. “Now, tell me everything about Beckett Montgomery. I met him briefly in your place, Avery, but all I remember is an impression of yummy.”

  “Yummy’s accurate, but Clare would have more details there due to big, sloppy.”

  “I should never have told you about last night,” Clare said to Avery.

  “As if. He’s gorgeous—they all are. He has his office and apartment over the restaurant.”

  “Oh, that’s right, that’s right. I remember now. I met Owen long enough to say hi, there. Two out of three, at least, are yummy.”

  “Ryder carries on the tradition. Anyway, Beckett.” Avery grinned at Clare. “He got his degree from the University of Maryland, worked for the family business in the summers, then apprenticed with a firm in Hagerstown for a couple years. He’s full-time with Montgomery Family Contractors now, handles the architectural needs, and still straps on a tool belt whenever he’s needed. Which looks fine on him.”

  “Maybe you should go out with him.”

  Avery just kept grinning at Clare over her wine. “He never gave me the puppy-dog eyes. He’s been stuck on Clare since high school. He told her.”

  “Aww.”

  Avery gave Hope a light slap on the arm. “I know. They’re going out Friday night.”

  “Where?”

  Clare shifted in her chair. “I don’t know. Dinner, I guess. He’s coming at seven. That should be dinner.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “I don’t know. God, I don’t know. I don’t remember how to do this.”

  “We’re here to help,” Hope assured her. “We’ll go up and pick something out.”

  “I don’t even know if I have anything that’s date-wear. Everything’s Mom- or bookstore-wear.”

  “I love your clothes,” Avery disagreed.

  “We’ll see what’s what. And if we can’t find anything that makes you happy, we’ll go shopping.”

  “I don’t really have time to—”

  “Clare, you’ve been shopping with me.” Hope lifted a finger. “You know I can whip together an outfit, including shoes, accessories, and underpinnings, inside twenty minutes.”

  “She has that talent,” Avery confirmed. “See, fun. We can do this all the time when Hope’s living in town. You know what you need to do! You need to move up here now. Move in with me until the inn’s finished. It’s perfect. We could be roommates again. You’ll get to know the area, the people, have a real handle on the inn before you really start working there.”

  “Getting way ahead of yourself has always been one of your talents. I haven’t even seen the place. And, even if I decided I wanted the job like I want a new pair of Manolos, there’s no guarantee they’ll hire me. For all we know, Mom and Sons might take an instant dislike to me.”

  “Never happen; they’re too astute. Especially Justine. Oh, Oh.” Avery waved her wineglass. “Did you hear about the gift shop?”

  “I was in there earlier,” Clare confirmed. “The building next to the bookstore,” she told Hope. “Their tenant moved out, and they’re going to make it into a gift shop, specializing in local arts and crafts. Tying it in with the inn.”

  “That’s a clever idea.”

  “They’re full of them,” Avery told Hope.

  “Uh-huh. Tell me about the place being haunted.”

  “It’s a woman with a preference for honeysuckle. That’s all I know.” Avery shrugged. “The original part of the building is the oldest stone house in town. Seventeen-ninety-whatever. So she could be from any time. You know what? Owen ought to research her. That’s what he does—research things.”

  “Owen’s the one I talked to. The detail man. Has this honeysuckle-loving ghost caused any problems?”

  “Not that I’ve heard of. And I would, or Clare would. The crew eats at my place a lot, and gets coffee or books at TTP. They’d talk about it, believe me. Maybe you’ll make contact when we go through tomorrow. Clare, you’ve got to come.”

  Clare tuned back in, shifted her gaze from the softening light over the backyard—that needed mowing. “I don’t think the Montgomerys want three little boys running around the place. Plus, it’s not safe.”

  “It
wouldn’t take long. I could get Franny to watch them for a half hour. She’s on tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know . . . Let me see. I might be able to drop them at my mother’s for a bit. A little bit,” she added. “We’ve still got a lot of back-to-school prep to do, and I’ve got yard work and housework.”

  “Walk-through’s at ten.”

  Clare juggled tomorrow’s agenda in her head. “Maybe. I’ll be there if I can make it.”

  “Good enough. Now.” Hope rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go play closet.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AS ARRANGED, OWEN ARRIVED AT VESTA AT NINE THIRTY sharp to meet and interview Hope. Since she’d promised to stay out of the way, Avery busied herself with the morning prep—firing up the pizza ovens, making the sauces in anticipation of Saturday business when they opened at eleven.

  When Owen walked in, Hope sat at the counter drinking coffee as she looked over her notes.

  Owen shifted his briefcase to his left hand, held out his right. “Hope.”

  “Owen.”

  “It’s nice to see you again. Appreciate this, Avery.”

  “All for the common good,” she said from the stove. “Coffee?”

  “That’d be great. I’ll get it.” At home, he walked around to the pot she had on one of the twin burners, poured, then added a dose of sugar. “Why don’t we take a table?” he suggested. “So, how was your trip up?”

  “Not bad.” She took her seat, gauging him as she knew he gauged her. His eyes, a clear, quiet blue, stayed direct on hers. “I left early enough to miss the traffic.”

  “I don’t get down to D.C. often. Traffic’s one of the reasons.” A smile shifted, softened the angles of his face. “Things move a lot slower up here.”

  “Yes, they do. It’s a pretty town.” She kept her tone carefully noncommittal. “I’ve enjoyed the area when I’ve come up to see Avery and Clare.”

  “It’s a big change from Georgetown.”

  Circling each other, she decided. Well, she knew how to dance. “I’m looking for change. Rehabbing and reimagining a building like the inn, with its long history, must be a big change from the kind of work Montgomery Family Contractors has done in the past. You and your family have rehabbed old buildings before, including the one we’re sitting in, but nothing on this scale. It must be a challenge.”

  “It is.”

  “And owning an inn, with all its demands, issues—quirks—that’s a big change from a more traditional landlord role.”

  Who was interviewing whom? he wondered, and decided he liked her.

  “We thought about it for a long time, blended viewpoints, and came up with a specific vision. We’re going to make that vision a reality.”

  “Why an inn?”

  “I’m betting you researched the history.”

  “That doesn’t tell me why you and your family conceived this particular vision.”

  He considered her while she questioned him. He gave her points—for appearance, to start. Killer looks, and she knew how to play them. The sharp style of her hair set off her eyes. The cut and rusty red color of her suit set off her body, and telegraphed control and authority.

  Big, sultry eyes, he noted, offset by an air of coolness.

  It was a nice combo.

  “It was originally a tavern stand,” he told her, “a place for travelers to rest, rest their horses, get a meal. Over time, various owners added on. The name changed, but for more than a century it served as an inn. We’ll make it an inn again, respecting that history. While bringing it into the twenty-first century.”

  “I’ve been getting the rundown on some of the features.” She smiled then, warming up the cool.

  He gave her more points.

  “We’re having some fun there. This area has a lot to offer visitors. Antietam, Crystal Grottoes, Harpers Ferry, and plenty more. Right now, there’s no place for those visitors to stay in Boonsboro. Once there is, we’ll draw people in, people who’ll want to eat, to shop, to sightsee. We want to give them a unique experience in a beautiful place with exceptional service.”

  “Exclusive, individual, historic. It’s an interesting concept, naming the rooms after literary couples.”

  “Romantic couples. Each room has its own flavor, its own feel. Couples are a major clientele of B&Bs. We’d like to draw honeymooners, couples celebrating an anniversary or special occasion. Give them a memorable stay, so they’ll come back, and tell their friends.”

  And enough about us, he thought, sipped some coffee.

  “Your resume certainly qualifies you for the innkeeper position.”

  “I have a hard copy of the file I emailed you if you want it.”

  “Sure.”

  “You’d need the innkeeper to live on-site.”

  “Can’t keep the inn by remote. We’d provide the apartment. It’s a two-bedroom on the third floor. Living room, bath, smallish kitchen, but the innkeeper would have access to the main kitchen, and the laundry facilities.”

  “She—or he—would have to cook.”

  “Just breakfast.”

  “I’d think you’d want more than that. If you’re providing B&B service, you’d want homemade cookies, muffins, or some other type of thing to offer during the day. Wine and cheese in the evening.”

  “That’d be a nice touch.”

  “Avery had an idea about offering guests delivery, if they didn’t want to go out.”

  Owen glanced back toward the open kitchen. “Smart. We could put her menu in the room packs. Smart,” he said again, and made a note.

  “There are a lot of practicalities, Owen. A list of duties, salary, days off. Housekeeping, laundry, budget, maintenance. Anyone taking this on would need an assistant. Nobody can work twenty-four-seven, fifty-two weeks a year.”

  “Then let’s talk about that.”

  While they discussed nuts and bolts, Justine came in. Mint green sunglasses today, to match her high-tops. She sent Avery a wave and walked straight to the table.

  “And you’re Hope. I’m Justine Montgomery.” She shook hands before running one over Owen’s shoulder. “How’s it going here?”

  “A lot of questions,” Owen told her. “And a lot of fresh ideas.”

  Hope shifted in her chair to meet Justine’s eyes. “You already have a lot of great ones. I’m impressed with how many of the nitty details you’ve already nailed down. You’ve got a very comprehensive plan for someone who hasn’t worked in the trade.”

  “We took polls, friends and family, people we know who travel a lot. What their dream list would be in a hotel. I expect there’ll be a learning curve once we open, but we’d like to hit most of the notes right off the bat.”

  “Can I get you coffee, Justine?” Avery called out.

  “I’m going to grab a soda out of the cooler. I’ve been up since six,” she said as she did so. “My brain won’t turn off. I was thinking, Owen’s going over all the details, the job description, and so on. I thought I’d come by for a minute before we went over, and tell you what it is I’m looking for.”

  “Of course.”

  “No question we need somebody presentable, who knows how to deal with the public, roll with the punches. But you wouldn’t have lasted at the Wickham if you couldn’t do all that. I want more.”

  Watching Hope, Justine twisted off the top on a bottle of Diet Coke. “I want somebody who can put down roots, who’ll look at the inn, and this town, as home. Somebody who does that’ll be happier in the job, and do a better job because of it. The day-to-day, the this-and-that, we’ll work that out. But you’ve either got the heart for it, or you don’t. You’re going to have to fall in love, or it won’t work for you, or for us.”

  She smiled. “Now, Owen’s thinking it’s more important that you can handle the reservation software, keep good records, keep a database on guests, know how to turn a room if there’s a rush. I imagine you can do all that and more, or Avery wouldn’t have suggested you in the first place. But this isn’t ju
st a business, not to us. That place needs love. We’re giving it plenty. I want to put it into hands that can do the same. And whip up some nice waffles.”

  “I don’t know if I’m the right person,” Hope said carefully. “I don’t know if this is the right place or situation for me. My life’s . . . in flux at the moment. But I do know I’m interested. And I have fallen in love with your concept, and your purpose.”

  “That’s a start. Why don’t we walk over, take a look? You and Owen can talk more about details later.”

  “I’d really like to see it.”

  “I’ll be over in a couple minutes,” Avery told them. “As soon as Franny gets in.”

  “Back door’s open.” Owen picked up his briefcase as he rose. “Ry and Beck are putting in a couple hours this morning.”

  “You’ll need your imagination,” Justine began as they stepped out. “We’ve come a long way, but there’s a lot left to do before she shines.”

  “It’s a big project. Beautiful stonework.” Hope studied the lines as they walked down the side.

  Justine talked about a courtyard where Hope saw rubble and hard-packed mud. But the porches looked promising with their charming banjo pickets.

  They went into The Lobby, and Hope listened as Justine talked of tile and tables, art and flowers, then moved through a wide arch into what would be the dining room. Coffered ceiling—white trim over deep brown, Justine explained. Tables of glossy wood, left unclothed, each with a little vase of flowers. A small arch of the original stone left exposed in the back wall, with a big, carved buffet in front of it. Chandeliers of iron with oak leaf motif and big globes of stained glass shaped like acorns.

  Hope nearly saw it in the unpainted walls, the rough floor, the jumble of material. She saw enough to be sure they’d need a couple of server tables, maybe under the wonderful side windows.

  They moved down, more exposed stone, exposed brick, passed what would be the laundry room, the office and into the kitchen space.

  She listened again, tried to see the cabinets, many with glass fronts to break up the solidity of dark wood. The granite countertops and stainless steel appliances—wall oven, the range in the island done in cream wood to contrast with the dark.

  “There’s no door on the kitchen?”

  “We’re leaving it open.” Justine, her sunglasses perched on her head, her thumbs in the front pockets of her pants, scanned the space. “We want guests to be at home, the minute they walk in the door. We’ll keep the fridge stocked with cold drinks—soda, juice, bottled water.”

  “Like a big minibar?”

  “In a way. Guests should feel free to help themselves. We’re not going to nickel-and-dime people. Once they’re here, the room charge covers the lot. They want a cup of coffee before breakfast—or anytime—and the innkeeper isn’t right on the spot, they can make a cup here, or on the little machine we’re getting for The Library on the second floor. We should have a bowl of seasonal fruit maybe. Or cookies.”

  “She already thought of cookies,” Owen pointed out.

  “See, same page. That’s the idea. Relax, enjoy, be at home.”

  Something in Hope warmed, and that warmth spread as they moved into Reception. She could barely see over boxes and tools, but she began to visualize. A pair of big barrel chairs in soft green in front of the brick fireplace. No desk, no counter, but a long, custom-made table for the innkeeper. Tile floors, tying in with the kitchen and lobby, and all the windows bringing in the light.

  She knew she asked practical questions about check-in, computers, storage, security, but by the time they’d finished the main and started up, she understood why the Montgomerys had fallen in love.

  “Sounds like my other boys are up on the third floor.” Justine glanced back.