The Last Boyfriend Read online

  “But?” The single syllable rang with warning and challenge.

  Standing hip-shot now, Ryder put on his most agreeable expression. “Well, you said we were to treat her like family. So, do you want me to be polite to her, or treat her like family?”

  Justine said nothing for a long, simmering moment. Beckett edged away from his brother as she started forward. She reached up, grabbed both Ryder’s ears.

  “Think you’re clever?”

  “Yes’m. I take after my mama.”

  She laughed, shook his head from side to side. “Your father’s son is what you are.” And poked him in the belly. “Watch your tone.”

  “Okay.”

  Nodding, Justine stepped back, fisted her hands on her hips. “That top’s warped, Ry.”

  “Some, yeah. It’s poorly made and overpriced, but it works—and it’s pretty enough. Better when you put those big copper things on it.”

  “Maybe, yeah. Galls me. My mistake.”

  “Yeah, it was.” Ryder shrugged. “You outfitted a nine-thousand-square-foot B&B from p-traps to four-posters, and this is your mistake? That’s not shabby, Mom.”

  She slid him a glance. “You are clever. Maybe you do take after me.”

  She turned as Hope came in with a huge box, followed by Carolee with another.

  “Let me take that.” Ryder stepped over, took the box from Hope. “I’m being polite.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Not yet. Might be sore later.”

  Beckett took the box from Carolee, and Owen stood back a moment, watched them. Unpacking boxes, pulling out the big coffee urn, the chafing dishes, the racks, shoving aside boxes and packing material—he’d haul it out later.

  Carolee talking about washing wineglasses, his mother adjusting her hair tie. Beckett and Ryder making noises about hauling the mirror in so they could get next door and join the crew.

  He waited while the three women studied the result on the piece in question.

  “It doesn’t show, but I’ll know it’s warped.” Hope pushed at her hair. “That just irritates me.” She shifted her gaze to Ryder. “I’ll get over it.”

  “Good. Let’s get that mirror in place and get out of here before they find something else for us to haul around.”

  “I need a minute first. Quick meeting,” Owen announced.

  “After we knock off,” Ryder began.

  “It’s got to be now.” Deliberately Owen put a sour look on his face. “It’s about the U and O.”

  “Christ, don’t tell me they’re giving us a hassle with Use and Occupancy. The inspector signed off.”

  Owen gave Ryder a sigh, a slow shake of the head. “Yeah. I went up to Hagerstown to see if I could move this along. And . . . I got it.”

  Beckett pointed at him. “You got the U and O.”

  Grinning, Owen pointed back. “I got the U and O.”

  “Oh my God. Oh my God! Carolee.” Justine grabbed her sister’s hand.

  Owen punched Ryder in the shoulder, then grinned at Hope. “Are you ready to move in? We can haul the rest of your stuff over. You can stay here tonight.”

  “I’m so ready. Owen!” Laughing she threw her arms around him, kissed him on the mouth. “I’m moving in.” After the jump and squeal with his mother, with his aunt, Hope jumped at Beckett, kissed him noisily.

  Then stopped short at Ryder.

  “What do I get? A hearty handshake?”

  She laughed again, shook her head, and gave him a very prim, very chaste peck on the cheek.

  “Same thing,” he complained.

  But he threw an arm around Owen’s shoulders, the other around Beckett’s. “Son of a bitch. We did it.”

  Justine’s eyes filled, spilled over. “My boys,” she murmured. She spread her arms wide to embrace all three of her sons. She held tight there a moment, just held as Dumbass tried to nose into the hug.

  “All right.” Stepping back, she nodded as she brushed tears away. “Lunch, here. On me. Beckett, see if Clare can come over. Owen, call Avery, order us up some food, have her bring it over—and join us if she can. Hope, break out one—no two—of the bottles of champagne we’re stocking for guests.”

  “Oh, you bet.”

  “I haven’t washed all the glassware!” Carolee made a dash for the kitchen.

  “Champagne?” Ryder commented. “At lunch?”

  “Damn right, champagne.”

  “Speaking of champagne, sort of.” Owen scratched his jaw. “Ry, do you have a date for New Year’s Eve?”

  “Yeah. The Giggler. But I’m going to bail.”

  “On New Year’s Eve?” his mother demanded.

  “Believe me, if you heard the giggle, you’d understand. Why?” he asked Owen. “You want to take me dancing?”

  “I’m having a party.”

  “This New Year’s?” his mother said, eyes wide.

  “Yeah, yeah, this one.” Jeez! “It’s no big deal. Just a party. A holiday get-together. A thing with food and drink. You can come, right?”

  Puffing out her cheeks, Justine continued to study him. “Sure.”

  “Ry?”

  “Why not?”

  “Clare’s on her way up,” Beckett announced as he pocketed his phone.

  “New Year’s Eve party, my place. Okay?”

  “What year?” Beckett asked.

  “Okay, that joke’s old now. You in or not?”

  “We were going to stay home. The boys want to watch the ball drop, but Murphy’s the only one with a prayer of making it. I’ll ask Clare if she wants to get a sitter.”

  “Good enough.” Owen pulled out his notebook. “Lunch,” he said, and D.A. thumped his tail in anticipation. “Give me the orders. I’ll call them in.”

  As he started the list, he heard champagne pop from the kitchen. “That makes it official.” He grinned at his family. “Welcome to Inn BoonsBoro.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS HOPE TRUSTED HER—and would likely change things around anyway—Avery organized her friend’s new kitchen. She liked the tidy, efficient space, and everything new, new, new.

  “How much fun is this?” Still in her work jeans and Vesta tee, Avery happily arranged flatware in Hope’s drawer organizer. “Clare’s missing out.”

  “You’ll have this with kids,” Hope called out from the bath as she put away makeup.

  “Yeah, you will. Ever think about having them?”

  “Sure. One day. Do you?”

  “Sure. Especially when I’m around Clare’s boys for a while. They’re seriously addicting.” She shut the drawer, started on the next. “But having them is most traditionally preceded by marriage—and that’s the sticker.”

  “You’ve got too wide a romantic streak to really think of marriage as a sticker.”

  “It’s easy to be romantic for other people—it’s no risk, no fail—personally. Anyway, you’re starting a whole new adventure—and this is your first night. You’re not nervous about staying here alone, are you?”

  “No.” Hope poked her head out. “But I thought you might like to stay. Pick a room.”

  “Hot damn!” Hands fisted around forks and spoons pumped jubilantly in the air. “I thought you’d never ask. Are you sure it’s okay?”

  “More than. Justine asked if I’d use each room over the next couple weeks. That way I can check for any glitches with plumbing, electric, even just the flow of the rooms. And I’d actually like to stay in my apartment here tonight—first night. So you can be my first guest.”

  “T&O. I’d be the first to sink to my ears in that big copper tub. No, wait. J&R. I’d have the fireplace and a copper tub. Or . . .”

  Laughing, Hope came out. “It’s a problem, isn’t it?”

  “A really good one. Maybe I should pick one out of a hat. Couldn’t go wrong. Has Owen picked his room for opening night?”

  “He’s in Nick and Nora.”

  “Okay, I’ll take that out of the hat since I’ll probably be sleeping with him by then, a
nd get my chance at that room opening night.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. We’re taking a few days to make sure it’s not just crazy.” After closing the next drawer, she turned. “It doesn’t feel crazy.”

  “Why would it? He’s a great guy, gorgeous, smart, sweet. The two of you have a nice rhythm.”

  “That’s part of the ‘is this crazy.’ We do have a nice rhythm. Sex changes the beat.”

  “I think both of you will adjust very well.”

  “I hope so, and along those lines I have to ask you for a big favor. See, last night he lent me some Scotch tape, and one thing led to another.”

  Now Hope fisted hands on her hips. “You’ve already slept with him, and you’re just getting around to telling me?”

  “No. Almost, but no. But while we were deciding to wait a few days, I asked him if he had a date for New Year’s Eve. Mostly I wanted to know if he was seeing—okay, sleeping—with anybody else.”

  “Reasonable.”

  “I should’ve just asked him, but I caged around it, and he asked me if I had one, and I told him you and I were going to hang out.”

  “Avery, if you want to go out with Owen on a major date night, I’m fine with it. Absolutely, one hundred percent. You should know that.”

  “I do, just like you should know I’d hate myself if I ditched you. You wouldn’t do it to me.”

  “I might if Owen asked me out.” Hope fluttered her eyelashes.

  “Get your own Montgomery boy. There’s one left.”

  “Maybe I could just borrow Owen. Test him out for you.”

  “Aw, you’re such a good friend.” Miming wiping a tear aside, she gave Hope a hug. “No. Anyway, Owen popped up with this idea of having a party at his place, which is very un-Owenish as he can’t plan and plot it out for weeks, preferably months. So we’re all going to ring in the new at Owen’s.”

  Thoughtful, Hope opened cupboards to check Avery’s kitchen organization. “Avery, I don’t have a date. I don’t want a date, but not having a date on New Year’s at a party is just embarrassing.”

  “Not when you look like you do. Besides, not everybody’s going to be coupled. I could practically recite Owen’s most likely guest list, so I can guarantee other singles of both varieties. He throws a really good party when he throws one. You’ll meet more people,” Avery wheedled. “And that’s good community relations for an innkeeper.”

  Hope turned the handle of a cup a fraction to the left. “Now you’re digging.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still true. Clare and Beck are getting a sitter, I checked with her. And they can bring you home. Unless you get wild and crazy and hook up.”

  “I won’t be wild and crazy, that’s a promise.” Hope blew out a breath. “But I probably shouldn’t decline an invitation from one of the bosses, at least this early on.”

  “You’ll have fun. I promise.” Delighted, Avery threw her arms around Hope. “Thanks.”

  With her arm still around Hope’s shoulders, she turned, scanned the living room. “It was really nice of Ryder to bring your tree over.”

  “He griped about the decorations.”

  “But he bagged it up, brought it over, set it up here.”

  “Okay, it was nice of him, even though Justine probably told him to do it.”

  “Either way, you’ve got your Christmas tree in your new apartment. It already looks like you in here. It looks like Hope. Are you happy?”

  “I really am, and excited. I can’t wait to—”

  They both jolted at the rattle of the doorknob, stared as the door opened.

  “Oh, Jesus, Clare! Next time,” Avery suggested, “just shoot us both.”

  “Sorry. Kids are asleep. Beckett handed me the key, and told me to get my butt up here for a couple hours. He knew how much I wanted to.” Looking around, she pulled off her gloves. “Oh, you’ve already done so much! It looks—”

  “Like Hope,” Avery finished.

  “Yes, it does. What can I do?”

  “Kitchen’s mine.”

  “I just finished in the bathroom,” Hope told her. “I guess I should move to the bedrooms.”

  “Then . . .” Clare opened the door again, lifted the painting she’d left propped against the wall.

  “My housewarming gift! Oh, I love it.”

  “Madeline said you could change your mind,” Avery told her, “if it didn’t suit once you moved in. You can exchange it at Gifts for another painting, or whatever.”

  “It’s exactly what I want. It’s gorgeous, and every day’s spring when I look at those cherry blossoms. Thank you. Both of you. I know just where I want it, in the bedroom so I can wake up to spring every morning.”

  Taking the painting, Hope held it out at arm’s length. “I’m going to hang it right now.”

  In the bedroom Clare made the graceful sleigh bed Hope had chosen, fluffed pillows, smoothed the duvet while Hope—meticulous as Owen—measured and marked and leveled.

  “It’s perfect here. Exactly right,” Hope murmured.

  “So are you. It feels like you’re perfect here. Exactly right here.”

  “I want to be.”

  “Kitchen’s done.” Avery came in, turned, smiled at the painting. “You were right about it. It says spring, even on a night like this. Welcome home, Hope.”

  * * *

  LATER, WHEN CLARE left and Avery dashed home for what she needed for the night, Hope took a solo walk through the building.

  It did feel right, she thought. Like home.

  As she climbed back to her apartment, she caught the drift of honeysuckle, sweet as summer.

  “I’m here,” she said, “and I’ll be staying now. I guess neither of us has to be alone anymore.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Avery came downstairs to find the Montgomery family already on the job, and Hope in the kitchen making breakfast.

  “We haven’t organized the kitchen yet,” Avery commented.

  “I’m making do. I want to try out a few things, and this is a good chance.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “No.” To emphasize the point, Hope held up a finger. “No hand. You’re a guest. Go on into The Dining Room.”

  “Is there coffee there?”

  “There is. Avery? How was J&R?”

  “Like a dream. Only missing the madwoman in the attic, which I guess would make it a nightmare anyway. Coffee first, then report.”

  She walked through, helped herself at the copper coffee urn and considered. It might be the perfect time, she mused. Everyone was happy, excited. And a major project wrapped—beautifully wrapped. A few more days of work, sure, a few more details, but basically done.

  Owen wandered in. “I heard you were the first guest.”

  “I have that distinction.”

  “But we’re all getting breakfast. Hope texted everybody this morning.” He sat across from her. “How was it?”

  “Wonderful. Full report when you’re all in here. You’re in The Lounge?”

  “Mom wants another little cabinet, for the front corner. Ry’s hanging a mirror, Beck’s putting some shelves in the closet in there. You look good,” he added.

  She eyed him over her coffee. “Is that so?”

  “That’s so. Rested, but revved. Are you working today?”

  “Not until four. I’m closing.”

  “Why are you up so early?”

  “Habit. And I must’ve sensed somebody else was cooking.”

  Carolee carried in a tray of thick waffles, filled the room with their scent as she put them in one of the chafing dishes. She sent her nephew and Avery a wink before she bustled out. Hope brought in a clear glass bowl of berries, a glass pitcher of juice.

  “Hope, I could—”

  Hope made a dismissive sound. “Guest,” she said and went out again.

  “I really want to try out that stove top,” Avery muttered. “It’s so shiny.”

  In came a platter of bacon, anothe
r of creamy scrambled eggs.

  “We’ve been summoned.” Beckett strolled in, sniffed. “Smells like breakfast.” He lifted the lid of a chafing dish. “Looks like breakfast.” And snagged a slice of bacon. “Oh yeah. Tastes like breakfast. Hey, waffles.”

  “Waffles?” Ryder came in, headed straight for the chafing dish. “Those fat, round ones, too.”

  “Help yourselves.” Hope nudged Justine into the room. “If you want anything, please ask. And honest feedback, please. It’s better to know if something’s not working now than to find out after we open.”

  She stood back, waited as plates were filled, seats taken.

  Ryder took the first syrup-loaded bite of waffle. “You’re not fired,” he told her.

  “High praise.”

  “It’s wonderful, Hope.” Justine scooped up a little egg. “And the tables look cheerful, just as we wanted. Sit down.”

  “I still have a few things to see to, but I’d really like to hear what Avery thought about her night in J&R.”

  “Like I’d won a grand prize. The grand prize,” she corrected. “I’m really clean because I tried out the tub last night, and the shower this morning. Both are incredible. And the amenities are just delicious.” She held out an arm to Owen. “Smell me.”

  He did. “Nice.”

  “Yeah, it is. The towels are soft and thick—and God, let me say the heated