The Last Boyfriend tibt-2

by Нора Робертс

  “I saw Beckett ten minutes ago. Clare’s not pregnant or he’d have told me.”

  “She hasn’t told him. She wants to tell him when they’re alone, wants to make it a special moment—which you’d also get if you weren’t the moron. And she asked me not to tell anyone, and now I’ve broken my promise. And that pisses me off.”

  “I won’t say anything to him, for Christ’s sake. I won’t spoil it for them.” Unsteady, unsure, a little light-headed, he shoved both hands through hair just damp enough to stand out in tufts. “But, Jesus, what was I supposed to think when I saw you buying the thing?”

  “I don’t know, Owen. Maybe the solution might’ve been to walk the hell up to me, say, hey, Avery, fancy meeting you here, and why are you buying that pregnancy test?”

  “I have to sit down.” He did. “I’m going to remind you, you owe me a break.” He breathed for a minute. “I couldn’t think. And then you were just walking off. You were so damn casual about it, and I just couldn’t think.”

  She said nothing as she studied him. He looked so perplexed, so confused, as Owen rarely did. “You wigged.”

  “In a manner of speaking. Maybe.”

  “And you jumped to conclusions.”

  “I . . . Okay.”

  “You never jump.”

  “I’ve never seen you buy a pregnancy test before—especially when I’m the only one having sex with you.”

  She considered. “That’s actually sort of understandable. Sort of.” When a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, she let it come. “You totally freaked.”

  “I semi-freaked,” he corrected. “I was more pissed, and . . .” Might as well admit it, he decided. “And hurt when I thought you weren’t telling me. We’ve never talked about if.”

  She blew out a breath. “That’s a conversation. I don’t know, and it’s not something we can talk out in ten minutes, I guess. We’re fine now, right, because I’m not, and Clare is. And she’s so happy. Beckett’s going to be happy.”

  “Yeah, he is. He really is.”

  “So let’s just be happy for them, and let me have the pleasure of knowing you were a moron. We’ll talk about ifs sometime, but I really want to see the demo. Then I told Clare I’d get the kids from school and bring them to the shop so she can tell Beckett. She doesn’t want to tell the kids until she’s further along. Probably not until after the wedding anyway. It’s for her and Beckett now, and I guess you and me and Hope and Ryder and your parents and hers. Which is already a lot.”

  “All right.” Steadier, he rose. “But we’d both better think about it, and talk it out, in case.”

  “You worry about ‘in case’ more than I do, but we’ll do that. It’s a really good day, Owen.”

  “You’re right.” He settled a bit more when she reached up, smoothed at his hair. “It’s a really good day.”

  “For right now, let’s just be happy for Clare and Beckett. They’re getting married, making a family, expanding one. It’s all exactly what they both want.”

  “All right,” he said again, and reached for her, drew her in. “We’ll be happy for them. Sorry I was pissed at you.”

  “I’m not, because I get to say moron.” On a laugh, she tipped back her head, kissed him. “Let’s go over to the new place. Can I knock something down?”

  “I’ll find something for you to demo. It’s the least I can do.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hope shifted the clear vase of white roses an inch to the left.

  “There.”

  Though Avery didn’t see the difference, she nodded approval.

  They’d transformed the long table borrowed from Turn The Page with a draping of white linen. With Hope’s focused eye, clear, square vases of newly opened white roses and tiny white tea lights in silver holders graced what would serve as the dessert and champagne bar.

  Clare may have opted against a white wedding, but her wedding shower was going full-out.

  “Gifts there, food there, desserts and champagne here.” Hands on hips, Hope turned a circle in The Dining Room. “You did a great job on her chair.”

  “I amazed myself.”

  They’d positioned one of the high-backed chairs to face the room. An enormous bow of white tulle crowned the top, its tails flowing to the floor. Garlands of white and pale, pale pink twined around the rungs, the arms, the legs.

  “I forget how much I like girly stuff until I have a chance to do some.”

  Gorgeous red heels clicking on hardwood, Hope walked over to shift candles minutely. “I’m going to put some wine, some nibbles in The Lounge so people can wander around, settle down wherever they like.”

  “You know a lot of people coming haven’t seen the place yet. You’re going to get hit up for tours.”

  “Already figured on it. It’s just too bad it’s really not warm enough so we can spread out into The Courtyard. Anyway, the place looks great, and we look . . .” She turned, hooked an arm through Avery’s so they reflected together in the gold-framed mirror. “Fabulous.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So . . . Pre-party champagne?”

  “Twist my arm.”

  They went into the kitchen where Hope poured two flutes. She clinked hers against Avery’s. “To maids of honor and godmothers.”

  “That would be us.”

  “And in about eight months, we’ll be hosting a baby shower.”

  “Four kids. Whew.” Avery took a drink, then hoisted her glass again. “More power to them.”

  “They’ve got it. Loves runs the engine.”

  “You think?”

  “I do.” Hope slid onto a stool. “How long do you think they can keep this a secret? The two of them are absolutely radiant.”

  “Most people will think that’s about the wedding, and part of it is. If they can keep it quiet until after the honeymoon—that’s Clare’s goal anyway—it gives them a little breathing room.”

  “I can’t believe you kept it from me for an entire day.”

  “I was dying to tell you.” In her spring green dress, Avery hopped onto her own stool, tugged down the narrow skirt. “And I would’ve come over and filled you in after work, but the whole Owen thing was so weird.”

  “What are the chances?” Because it still amused her, Hope leaned back and laughed. “Seriously, he turns the corner in the drugstore just as you’re buying the test kit.”

  “Fate’s twisted little joke on him.”

  “Poor guy. Imagine what was going through his mind.”

  “That’s just it. I can’t, or not clearly—and I usually get Owen’s mind. But he was so serious. I can’t figure out if he was mad, scared, what.”

  “A combo of both, I imagine.”

  “Even after I explained?” It continued to nag at her, just a little. “We both brushed it aside, but really, I can’t be sure. Mad and scared because maybe I was, or maybe I was and hadn’t said anything.”

  “I’d guess he had to process the okay, it’s Clare, but what if it had been? Didn’t you?”

  “Maybe. A little. But only because I had to think what if we’d gone down that road after his reaction. You know Owen by now. He’s a planner. Everything in its time, in its place. He’s the guy who actually checks the expiration date on the milk carton before he buys it.”

  “So do I.”

  “Which is why you get him. An unplanned pregnancy?” Avery rolled her eyes. “That would shake the very foundation of his life plan.”

  “What’s his life plan?”

  “I don’t know, but you can bet he’s got one.”

  “I think you’re wrong.” Hope topped off their flutes. “I say that because I share a lot of sensibilities and traits with him. Yes, he probably has a basic plan, which includes goals, achievements, events, steps. But he’s also capable of adjusting the plan.” She lifted a hand, gesturing around her. “I did.”

  “Sure, he can adjust.” Organized and efficient wasn’t rigid, she told herself. It was just . . . a little st
iff by her personal gauge.

  “Okay, since we’re playing what-if? If I’d been buying that kit for myself, and if the results had been positive, he’d adjust, and plan out from there. The first step of the plan would be marriage.”

  “That annoys you?”

  “No. No. He’d see that as doing the right thing, the necessary thing. I wouldn’t want to get married because it’s the right thing.”

  “Better that than the wrong thing,” Hope pointed out.

  “You know what I mean. I’d want to get married because I want to get married, I’m ready, in love, excited about the idea of spending my life with someone.”

  Because they were there, Hope took one of the little pastel mints from a bowl on the island. “You’d say no.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do. You’d say no because you’d feel obligated to prove a point, and to let him off the hook—both of those in equal measure.” Recrossing her legs, Hope studied Avery over her next sip of champagne. “I can take care of myself, and you’re not obligated to marry me. Share responsibility for the child, yes, be a vital and integral part of the child’s life, yes. But under no obligation to you, individually.”

  “That sounds hard-line.”

  “I don’t think so. It sounds like you—pride, caution, heart, tangled up with parental issues.”

  “Would they have gotten married if she hadn’t been pregnant with me?” A bit grimly, Avery took a gulp of champagne. “I don’t think so.”

  “If they hadn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here wondering about it. They made a choice; you’re the result.”

  Avery lifted a shoulder. “The Hope Beaumont Practical School of Logic.”

  “It generally works. Listen, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if Jonathan hadn’t made his choice—which led to mine. I’ve thought about that, a lot, in the past months. I’m happy here, happier than I was when I was with Jonathan, when I thought my life was proceeding according to my very solid, very Practical School of Logic plans.”

  Avery considered a moment. “I get your point, but, Hope, Jonathan was an asshole.”

  On a laugh, Hope lifted her glass. “Yes, but I thought he was my asshole.” She checked her watch. “We should start putting the rest of the food out.”

  They’d barely begun when Clare tapped on The Lobby door.

  “I know I’m a little early,” she began when Avery answered. “I dropped the kids off at the new house—which is really almost entirely a house. Beckett and his brothers are going to put the kids to work. God help them all. Oh wow. Just wow, look at those flowers!”

  “Wait till you see The Dining Room. Give me your coat first. We’ve got a rack for coats in the laundry. How are you feeling—it’s just me and Hope. Nobody else is here yet.”

  “Good.” Laughing a little, she tossed her sunny blond hair off her shoulders. “When I threw up this morning, all I could think was, I’m having a baby. Beckett and I are having a baby. So I’m good.”

  “It shows. I don’t mean the baby,” Avery said with a snicker when Clare laid hands on her belly. “Come see.”

  When she dragged Clare into The Dining Room, Hope stepped back from the buffet.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful. Oh, it’s so beautiful. All the flowers, and candles. You made me a chair!” Clare blinked at the tears swirling in her eyes. “I’m watering up again. I don’t know if it’s happiness or hormones, probably a mix of both. I got teary when Beckett did the breakfast dishes this morning.”

  “A bride’s allowed to get teary at her shower,” Hope told her.

  “I hope so, because I have a feeling . . . Thank you, so much, for everything. For all this. For being mine.”

  “Keep it up,” Avery warned, “we’ll all be crying. I’m going to go hang this up.”

  She hurried out, hung Clare’s coat next to her own jacket. As she started back again, something drew her across The Lobby, and down to the base of the stairs. Had she heard something? It was more felt something, Avery thought. She walked quietly up, away from Clare’s and Hope’s voices.

  The door to Elizabeth and Darcy stood open. But then all the rooms stood open, as Hope wanted to allow the guests to wander, to enjoy the rooms if they were busy playing hostess.

  In E&D, the porch door stood open as well. A touch of honeysuckle hung on the cool March air blowing gently into the room.

  She didn’t hear, or see, but again felt. And what she felt was sorrow.

  “Please come in,” she murmured. “Please come inside. I know you’re sad. It must be so hard, so hard to accept. Owen’s looking for Billy. If anyone can find things out, figure things out, it’s Owen. But meanwhile, you’re not alone here. I know how it feels, because I’ve felt alone.”

  She took another step toward the door, waited. “But I was wrong to feel that way. I always had someone who cared about me, even when everything seemed so hard, so sad. You do, too. We care about you.”

  She hesitated, then chose impulse. The majority of the time, Lizzy seemed happy, even playful. Romantic, Avery thought. A young woman with a cheerful nature.

  “I have a secret. I think I could tell you because I bet you know how to keep a secret. Especially a happy secret like this one. Please come inside.”

  The door to the porch slowly closed.

  Taking the presence on faith, Avery sat on the side of the bed. “We’re having a party downstairs today. A bridal shower for Clare.” She wasn’t sure if they’d had the tradition of bridal showers in Eliza Ford’s time. “It’s something we do. Women, I mean. We have a party to celebrate our friend’s upcoming wedding. We have food, games, we bring her gifts. It’s happy. Only a few people who’ll be here know the secret, but I know Clare wouldn’t mind if I tell you. You care about Beckett, and Clare, and the boys. They’re making such a nice family. And in a few months, they’ll be a bigger family. Clare’s pregnant. She and Beckett are going to have a baby next winter.”

  The scent bloomed, strong and sweet as summer, and the air warmed with it.

  “I know. Isn’t it great? You watched them fall in love. I think it really started here, in the inn. Now they’ll be married here, in just a couple weeks. Everything about them is so strong and sure and right. That’s rare, don’t you think? To be that strong and sure and right? To find the person who fits and fills in, links up. I don’t even know the words.”

  She glanced down, saw she was clutching the little key Owen had given her. And there were tears, her own tears, on the back of her hand.

  “Clare’s hormones must be contagious. I’m not sad. I’m not.”

  She felt something stroke her hair, and she closed her eyes in wonder that she could be comforted by the touch.

  “I’m not sad,” she repeated. “I’m just not as strong and sure as I wish I could be. How do people risk it? You must have risked so much for Billy. How do you do that?”

  As she watched, a light fog covered the glass of the porch door. And the outline of a pretty heart shone against it.

  “It seems so simple,” Avery murmured. “Why isn’t it?”

  The sound of voices, of laughter, drifted up the stairs. “Party’s starting. I’ve got to get down.”

  She pushed to her feet, moved to the little mirror to make sure her eyes showed no sign of tears. “You should come. I’m issuing an official invitation. You don’t have to be alone,” she added, and went down to be with her friends, knowing she spoke as much to herself as her ghost.

  She dived into the party. Yes, she did enjoy the girly when she had time. Pretty dresses, pretty food, talk of weddings and men and fashion and morsels of gossip.

  Even better to remember she had a very juicy morsel herself, known only to a handful of the women—and one ghost—in attendance.

  She drank champagne and served it, ate fancy finger sandwiches and carried dishes to the kitchen. While Hope efficiently kept a log of gifts and givers for Clare, she bagged the torn wrapping. Carolee artfully
fashioned a paper-plate bouquet out of discarded ribbons and bows.

  Silly things and female things. The scents, the sounds against the backdrop of bride white and flickering candles. The bride-to-be and expectant mama drinking ginger ale disguised in a champagne flute and laughing at the whistles and cheers when she opened a nearly transparent black nightie.

  “You girls did good.” Over the boisterous competition in another game, Justine gave Avery a squeeze. “Couldn’t have done better.”

  “We loved every minute.”

  “It shows. Clare’s smart and lucky in her friends.”

  “I feel the same about myself.”

  “That shows, too. I think we could use another bottle of champagne. Give me a hand?”

  “Sure.”

  “I really just wanted a minute with you,” Justine said as they went into the kitchen.

  “Okay.”

  Justine took the bottle Avery got out of the fridge, set it on the counter. “I’m a really good mom.”

  “I don’t know better.”

  “And you won’t.” She grinned back at Avery, then her face softened as she stroked a hand over Avery’s hair. “I’ve thought of you as mine even before Traci left.”

  “Oh, Justine.”

  “I always figured you knew, but I never said it to you. Maybe I should have.”

  Touched, so touched, Avery could only shake her head. “I always knew I could count on you, could go to you.”

  “I hope so, and I hope you always will. Avery, you’re one of the brightest lights I know, certainly one of my brightest. I’m sorry to see some of that bright dim off and on the last few weeks.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “You don’t have to. You feel what you feel.”

  Owen had said exactly the same, Avery remembered. Like a stroke on her hair, it comforted.

  “I’m going to take a chance now and say something I’ve wanted to say for a lot of years. Traci was, and is, a flighty, selfish woman who always wanted more than she had, and always blamed someone else if she didn’t get it. If she did get it, it was never really right, never really enough—and that was always someone else’s fault. You’re nothing like her. I’ve watched you grow up, and I know who you are, what you are.”