The Last Boyfriend, Page 29

  “Really?” Intrigued, she studied him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It’s your hair, but this is your hair.” Bending down, he sniffed at it. “Smells like it, feels like it, and now it looks like it. I’m crazy about your hair.”

  “Come on.”

  “Always have been. I’ve never made love with you and your real hair.”

  She laughed, then laughed again when he boosted her up. Obliging, she hooked her legs around his waist.

  “I think I should,” he continued, “just to see. Get a comparison study.”

  “You do like your research.”

  “And some more than others,” he agreed as he carted her into the bedroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  DECKED WITH FLOWERS and sparkling lights, the inn shimmered like a wish. Of all it had seen, all it had held in its long life, this celebration of love, faith, and endurance shone bright.

  The air bloomed with the scent of roses, hints of honeysuckle, a sweet drift of lilies. Overhead, the sky cupped blue and clear.

  Inside the fairy bower of Titania and Oberon, Clare stepped into her wedding dress. She took a breath, smiled at her mother as Hope fussed the dress into place. “No crying, Mom.”

  “My girl’s so beautiful.” Rosie blinked at the tears, stepped forward to take Clare’s hand. “And so happy.”

  “Perfect.” Hope stepped back to stand with Avery.

  “That’s how everything feels, right this moment.” Clare took another breath as she turned to the mirror. “Perfect.”

  “And right on schedule, too. Out on the porch for some photos,” Hope ordered, “so we stay that way.”

  “Are you sure Beckett’s not around? I don’t want him to see me before the ceremony. I know it’s silly, but—”

  “It’s not,” Avery corrected. “I’ll go back to J&R and make sure the men stay on that side.”

  “We need you for pictures,” Hope reminded her.

  “I’ll be back. Just let me round up the boys and Justine. And report on progress from the groom’s world. Get started, and give me five,” she said and dashed out.

  She noted the door to Elizabeth and Darcy stood open. “Can’t visit right now. Timetable. But I’ll be back.”

  Clicking along in her wedding shoes, enjoying the way her dress—the color of frothy champagne—flowed around her legs, she hurried toward the back, through the door, across the porch.

  She heard the voices before she knocked—the boys’ excited tones, a low, rumbling laugh. “Everybody decent?” she called out as she eased the door open.

  “Define decent,” Ryder said.

  Amused, she stepped through the door.

  Justine, hair tumbling down her back, stood cheek-to-cheek with Beckett. Another one of those perfect moments, Avery thought, while Ryder and the boys—all in their dark suits—sat on the bed with cards spread out in what appeared to be a marathon game of War.

  “It’s time!” Liam started to scramble off the bed, causing a stampede.

  “Not yet. We’re taking some pictures first, then the photographer will come down here, take some of you guys. Where’s Owen?”

  “Liquid refreshment detail,” Ryder told her.

  “You look great. God, everybody looks great. I need to steal Justine and the boys for the pictures, then I’ll ship them back. The rest of the groom’s team stays rear of the inn. No sneaking around the front.”

  “How about a pizza delivery?” Ryder asked, and as with the stampede, incited a small riot among the younger set.

  “After.” Justine turned, gave the boys the eye Avery imagined had quelled riots for decades. “Let’s go, troops. See you soon,” she murmured, kissing Beckett’s cheek.

  “But I’m pretty thirsty.” Murphy sent Justine an imploring look laced with a hopeful smile.

  “I’ll take care of that. I’ll be right behind you,” Avery promised Justine.

  “I win by default.”

  Harry spun around on Ryder’s smug grin. “Nuh-uh!”

  “Uh-huh. The war’s over for you, loser.”

  “Moratorium,” Justine declared. “A pause in the battle,” Justine explained to Harry as she herded them out. And she sent Ryder that same quelling eye before she shut the door.

  “You really do look great,” Avery said with her hand on the knob. “But wait until you see Clare.”

  “Just tell me I don’t have to wait much longer.”

  “Nearly there,” she promised Beckett, and scurried out.

  Avery glanced down at The Courtyard as she started down. The tents, wedding-gown-white under the softening blue sky, more flowers, more lights.

  Hope would say perfect, she thought. And she’d be right.

  Owen stepped out, a tray of drinks in his hands. Their eyes met, she on the steps, he below. The moment held—romantic, fanciful—and her heart gave that quick flutter.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You look amazing.”

  “Wait till you see the bride.”

  Owen only shook his head, watching the sun play on her highland queen hair. “Amazing.”

  “It’s all so beautiful.” She continued down. “Think of this a year ago. It’s hard to believe the changes, what can happen, what can, well, become I guess.”

  His eyes stayed steady on hers. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Justine took the boys to the bride’s side for pictures. I’ll deliver their liquid refreshment.”

  He glanced at the tray he carried. Odd, for a minute he’d forgotten it, forgotten the wedding, forgotten the world. “Yeah. Sprite, which Liam claims is the same deal as champagne. The real deal for Mom.”

  “And beer for you and your brothers. We’ll be about fifteen minutes more—according to Hope’s scary timetable. Then the photographer will be over to deal with you guys.”

  “We’ll be ready. I’ve got the schedule.”

  “Of course you do.”

  He carried the tray up to the porch, made the beverage transfer. “Seriously amazing,” he added, making her laugh as she hurried away.

  He opened the door, stepped inside.

  “You know how if Avery had been pregnant I said I’d want to marry her?”

  “Jesus, Avery’s pregnant?” Quickly, Ryder grabbed a beer from the tray.

  “No.” But now he understood what that odd feeling had been when he’d learned the test kit had been Clare’s. Just a touch of disappointment.

  “The thing is, I realized a minute ago—I didn’t realize, and now I do.”

  “Spit it out,” Ryder advised, “or you’ll screw your own timetable.”

  “I just want to marry her.” A little stunned, he looked from Ryder to Beckett and back again. “I want to marry Avery MacTavish.”

  “Well. Let’s drink to that.” Beckett took his own beer, then Owen’s, set the tray aside. “Here you go.”

  Owen frowned at the beer. “Aren’t you even a little surprised?”

  “No. Not even a little.”

  “Wait. Wait.” Ryder edged back, eyes narrowed. “You said marry—as in marry? First Beck, now you?” He gave his beer a suspicious stare. “Is there something in the beer? Some sort of get-married drug? That’s going to piss me off.”

  “It’s not in the beer, you dick.” Beckett grinned at Owen. “You should ask her tonight. Asking her at a wedding feels like good luck.”

  “I’ve got to work on it.” Owen blew out a breath. “I’ve got to work on the how and when and all that.”

  “He’s going to work on it.” Ryder took a pull of his beer. “This’ll be fun.”

  * * *

  ONCE THEIR PART of prewedding photos was done, Rosie gave Clare another embrace. “I’m going to help with the boys, then I’ll bring your father up.”

  “About twenty minutes.” Hope held up her phone. “Owen and I are texting, so I’ll know when the photos are finished. Then we’ll know when Beckett and his party go out to The Courtyard.”

  “I’ll check wi
th Owen, don’t worry.”

  “You’re texting?” Avery said when Rosie went out. “Remember how this was going to be informal?”

  “Informal doesn’t mean sloppy. Guests are already arriving, by the way.”

  “Countdown.” Avery picked up the champagne. “Anybody else?”

  “Not for me,” Clare began, then frowned. “No, a swallow. I think I should have a swallow for luck.”

  “A swallow for the bride, and a full glass for the attendants.”

  Hope picked up her glass. “To the bride.”

  Clare shook her head. “No, to marriage. To the promises, the compromises, the endurance. That’s what I’d like to drink to.”

  “To marriage then,” Hope agreed as they touched glasses.

  “And to family,” Clare added after a minute sip. “It’s not just marriage, children when you have them, the parents you came from. It’s this, too. It’s the people who make your life whole and rich and steady. You both do that for me.”

  “You’re determined to make us cry,” Avery managed.

  “I thought I would.” Clare took another tiny sip, then set her glass down. “But I’m feeling very clear-eyed. I thought about Clint last night. A lot about Clint. And I know, absolutely, he’d be glad I found Beckett. That I have Beckett, and the boys have him. Knowing that makes me happy. And all I want to do now is walk out to The Courtyard, walk to Beckett and the boys, carrying this one,” she said, pressing a hand to her belly. “And make those promises.

  “Then I’m going to dance with my husband and our sons.”

  “After I touch up your lipstick,” Hope declared.

  While Hope fussed, Avery wandered onto the porch. A minute alone, she thought. Just a minute.

  But she heard the porch door open, glanced down toward Elizabeth and Darcy. She had company after all. And, she decided, that was fine.

  “I can’t figure it out. I’m not sad, but I don’t know if happy’s the word. For Clare, yes. Ecstatic for Clare. But otherwise, I’m somewhere between. I just wonder how it works, you know? I look at her, and I see she’s so sure, not at all nervous, no questions or doubts. What’s it like to feel that way? How do you get to that point?”

  She looked over to Vesta, then down Main Street to Turn The Page. That she understood—that commitment, that endurance. But what flipped the switch inside to let someone take those steps for and with another person?

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s not about me. It’s a happy day. It’s Clare’s day.”

  She turned to go in, saw something on the table between the doors. Frowning, she walked over, picked up a small stone. It was smooth as a cobble, shaped like a heart. It sat in the cup of her hand as she stared at the initials carved in its center.

  L. F.

  B. R.

  “Lizzy Ford. ‘B’ for Billy? It must be.” Heart drumming, she looked over. The door remained open, that summer scent fragile as petals.

  “Did he give this to you? Billy? He must have. And it . . . endured. But how? How am I holding it right here, right now? How can—”

  “Avery!” Hope called out. “Countdown.”

  “It’s Clare’s day,” she repeated as she closed the little stone in her hand. “I can’t show them now, but I’ll get it to Owen. I promise.” She laid the hand holding the stone on her heart. “I promise,” she said again.

  “Avery!”

  “One second!” She hurried in, went straight to her purse. “Lipstick.” She tucked the stone safely inside, wondered if it would be there when she came back.

  * * *

  AS THE SUN slid toward the western hills, she watched her friends marry, heard their promises to each other, to the children that formed their family, saw the rings they exchanged glint—another promise—in the soft sparkle of light.

  Joy, simple and huge, just flowed from them, she realized, in a slow, warm river. She felt it rise in her as well, something lovely and real, steady and strong.

  The tears that swam into her eyes were of that joy when they moved together in their first kiss as husband and wife.

  Then there were hugs, applause, music. Owen took her hand, led her down the aisle formed by chairs to The Lobby door. More hugs, a few tears, then laughter as Murphy announced, loudly, firmly, he had to pee, right now.

  “Pee first, then pictures,” Hope announced. “Bride, groom, wedding party and family. Then Clare, Beckett, and the boys, then Clare and Beckett.” She glanced at the photographer. “Forty-five minutes. That would keep us on the mark.”

  “Have you got a stopwatch on you?” Ryder asked.

  “In here.” Avery tapped her forehead.

  “Clare and Beckett need to be able to dance, eat, have fun,” Hope began.

  “I don’t think they’re worried about it,” Ryder pointed out as the bride and groom shared another long kiss. “Relax, Commander.”

  “You relax,” Hope muttered, and did her best to herd the group.

  Avery considered pulling Owen aside, but the timing didn’t work, the circumstances weighed against it.

  It could wait, she told herself, and fell into the moment.

  After the pictures, the return of the bride and groom, the first dance, a few toasts, she managed to pull him back inside.

  “I want to dance with you.”

  “I’m all about that,” she agreed, “but I have to show you something first. Upstairs.”

  “There’s also food—it looks good.”

  “We’ll get food, drink, dance. We’ll get it all.” She kept his hand clutched in hers as she hurried upstairs. “Backstory. I was standing out on the porch right before we came down. I was feeling . . . pensive maybe. Big day. And she came out. Or anyway, the door to the porch opened. I was thinking about Clare and Beckett, getting married, taking vows—that sort of thing. Wondering, really, how people get up the spine or whatever it takes to move on that.”

  “It’s not spine,” he began.

  “Whatever.” She unlocked T&O, drew him in. “Hope called me in, and when I turned around, this was on that table between the doors.”

  She closed her eyes a moment, reached into her bag, let out a sigh of relief when her fingers closed over the stone.

  “A rock. God, that’s earth-shattering.”

  “Shut up. Look at it, Owen.”

  He took it when she shoved it at him, turned it over. His expression shifted from amusement to puzzlement, then wonder.

  “She gave this to you.”

  “She left it on the table. It wasn’t there when I went out. I’m sure it wasn’t. Then it was. I wouldn’t say she gave it to me, but she wanted me to see it. Don’t you think?”

  “I’m still trying to get on board with how she could have this, or make it materialize. Or . . . I don’t know what.”

  “I decided not to think too hard about that or my brain might explode. He must’ve given it to her. The shape, the initials.”

  “Why would he give her a rock? When you think about it—”

  “It’s a heart, with their initials inside. Sentimental, right?”

  “I guess so. B for Billy works. William. R. It might help some having the first initial of his last name.”

  “You and Hope are the ones looking into it, so I wanted to get it to you as soon as I could. Hope’s helping run the show here, so you’re elected. But we should get it to her after the reception.”

  “She gave it to you.”

  “Lizzy? No, she just left it where I’d find it.”

  “Not much difference.”

  “She’d want Hope to have it. Hope’s her descendent.”

  “She didn’t leave it where Hope would find it.” He handed it back to Avery. “You need to keep it.”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “I figure there’s a reason she left it for you. Maybe holding on to it awhile will help you find the reason. And meanwhile I’ll look for William R. We’ll fill Hope in after the wedding.”

  “All right, but I feel weird about it
.” She traced the initials before she tucked it back in her purse. “And if she takes it back, she takes it back.”

  “Did I tell you, you look amazing?”

  Her eyes twinkled at him. “You might have mentioned it in passing.”

  “You do. And I . . .” No, he thought, not on impulse, not on his brother’s day, even if it was lucky. “We need to get back down. My brother doesn’t get married every day.”

  “You’re right.”

  “What did you mean about spine?” he asked her as they headed down.

  “What?”

  “About needing spine to get married. You need spine to, I don’t know, go to war or take on the IRS or skydive.”

  “I just meant people have to gear up to take that step into until-death-or-divorce-do-us-part.”

  It struck him wrong, just wrong. “Were you always this cynical?”

  “I’m not cynical.” Even the word annoyed her. “Just realistic—and curious. I’m a curious realist.”

  “Take a look at that,” he suggested when they’d walked back out where couples danced—Clare and Beckett, his mother, her father, Clare’s parents and more. “That’s real.”

  Real, he thought again, and what he wanted. What he wanted with Avery.

  “And it’s nice. Really nice. A moment. An important moment. But there are thousands of moments after the party. And speaking of that, why aren’t you dancing with me?”

  “Good idea.”

  He did his best to keep it light, but something had shifted between them with her words. And he understood she felt it, too.