The Perfect Hope, Page 28

  AT JUSTINE’S REQUEST, HOPE BLOCKED OFF THE INN FOR family on the night of MacTavish’s Restaurant and Tap House’s friends and family night. For the last ten days of a sweltering August, Avery and her crew—and anyone she could dragoon—hauled, carted, scrubbed, and polished her new space. Often when she did her final nightly walk-through of the inn, Hope would see the lights on across the street, and knew Avery and Owen had yet to call it a day. Sometimes she spotted Willy B’s truck parked late into the night, or stirred when Ryder and D.A. slipped in well after she’d gone to bed.

  His usual comment was: “Jesus, the Little Red Machine never runs out of gas.”

  She helped when she could, hanging art or scrubbing tiles, and as she had with the inn, saw the transformation of a neglected, unused space into something vital and exciting and smart.

  Hope spent most of the day of the event doing her favorite thing—perfecting finishing touches—while Avery fussed with recipes, loaded in fresh produce, and held her final staff meeting.

  “It’s going to be good, right?” Taking a break, Avery brought Hope a bottle of water and guzzled one of her own.

  “Avery, it’s going to be fabulous.”

  “It’s going to be good.” With a nod, Avery turned a circle in the bar area. “It looks really good.”

  “The word’s perfect.”

  The lighting struck a note between contemporary and Old World with funky shapes and dark bronze tones. Pendants hung over the long granite top of the mahogany bar. High-tops, low-tops, leather sofas offered inviting seating in a room full of character and texture. From the rehabbed wood siding to the old-style brick, the old gold walls and sage green accents, Avery had created a space Hope imagined full of people and fun.

  “It’s exactly what I wanted. The fabulous Montgomery boys made it so.” Avery leaned against the doorjamb, smiled in at the restroom where Hope had fussed, adding bud vases to the counter beside the copper vessel sink, polishing the bronze-framed mirror. “Even the johns are perfect.”

  Avery stepped back as she heard the restaurant door open.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get here before.”

  “Don’t apologize,” she said to Clare as she walked through. “Do you know how pregnant you are?”

  Clare rubbed her rounded belly. “Pretty pregnant.” She left her hands there as she looked around. “It doesn’t look like you need me. It looks amazing, Avery.”

  The dark wood floors gleamed. Lighting sparkled.

  “It doesn’t look like the same place. And God, something smells good.”

  “I’ve got some soup on. Are you hungry?”

  “Constantly.”

  “Come on back to the kitchen, have a sample.”

  “I will. I want to look around first.” Clare walked down to the bar side, slid an arm around Hope’s waist. “Wow, look at all those taps.”

  “Well, it is a tap house,” Avery reminded her. “I’d offer you a beer, but the twins might object.”

  “They might. I got the thumbs-up from the doctor. I’m having a glass of wine tonight—savoring every sip—to toast your opening. Where is everyone?” Clare wondered.

  “The crew will be back in …” Avery goggled at her watch. “Oh God, about an hour. It’s later than I thought. It always seems to be.”

  “Everything’s done.” Hope reached out a hand, took Avery’s, joined the three of them. “You’re going over to the inn, taking a breath—and a nice bubble bath.”

  “I don’t have time for a bubble bath.”

  “You do, because everything’s done.”

  “Clare needs soup!”

  “Then I’ll get Clare’s soup, do a quick walk-through, and lock up. You go now, so you can take that breath and bath, get dressed, look like the gorgeous proprietor of Boonsboro’s fabulous new restaurant.”

  “And tap house.”

  “And,” Hope said with a laugh. “Go on, Avery, take the hour. It’s the last one you’ll have until you shut the doors tonight.”

  “Okay. All right. I’ll be soaking in T&O’s amazing copper tub. Oh God, but maybe I should run over to Vesta first and make sure—”

  “No. Go. Now.” Hope pulled her to the door, opened it, shoved her out. “Bye!”

  Laughing, Clare boosted herself onto one of the bar stools. “I really don’t need soup. I wanted to give her something to take her mind off her nerves.”

  “Are you sure? I had some a little earlier. It’s delicious. Roasted red pepper and tomato.”

  “Oh God. Well, if you insist. Just half a cup. Just a taste.”

  “I do insist. Sit,” Hope added when Clare started to rise. “I’ll bring it out.”

  Enjoying the sparkle of Avery’s kitchen, Hope ladled soup into a cup, turned off the burner. When she brought it out, Clare sat at the bar, turned toward the room.

  “Thanks. I was just thinking, back to high school. Avery and I, cheerleader cocaptains. We were friendly, but not especially close. We got close after I came back home, after Clint died. She really helped me set up the bookstore, make the transition back. And without her, I’d never have met you. And here we are.”

  She sampled the soup, rolled her eyes. “It’s wonderful.”

  “Without Avery I wouldn’t have met you, and I wouldn’t be the keeper of the inn.”

  “Or in love with Ryder.” Clare smiled when Hope remained silent. “It shows, at least to someone with heightened hormones.”

  “I thought we’d enjoy each other, then ease away amicably. Love wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “But love looks so good on you.”

  “It feels good in me.”

  “You haven’t told him.”

  “That’s definitely not in the plans. We’re fine, Clare,” Hope insisted, “just as we are. I matter to him. I don’t expect more.”

  “You should.”

  “It’s good to be with someone when you know you matter. Not assume,” she qualified, “but know. To be with someone, who even when you don’t think you want or need it, will stand up for you. Someone who sends you flowers and buys you magic wands. I’m not going to look around the corner for what’s next.”

  “Indulge me. If you did look, what would you hope to see?”

  “The chance to make a life together. I guess I want what Eliza wanted. Love, a home, a family that comes from me and the man I love. And, of course, I want my job, good muscle tone, and a fabulous collection of shoes.”

  “You already have the last three, so I’m putting my hormonal mojo toward getting you the first three. Here, rub the magic babies.”

  With a laugh, Hope obeyed, gently rubbed Clare’s belly. “They’re kicking.”

  “They’re either kicking or wrestling on top of my bladder. I’m just a little afraid of how active they’re going to be when they’re out and have more room.”

  “More soup?”

  “Don’t tempt me. I took the rest of the day off to help out here, and no help’s needed. My mom has the boys—and she and Dad are bringing them tonight; as Harry rightfully pointed out, they’re friends and family, too. Then they’re having a sleepover with my parents. I’m at loose ends.”

  “You’re also in Eve and Roarke. Go do what Avery’s doing. Have a bubble bath.”

  “Do you know the last time I managed to sneak in a bubble bath, alone, just me? Without needing to keep an ear out for declarations of war?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Grab one now, and keep your phone handy. You can text an SOS if you can’t get yourself and the magic babies out of the tub.”

  “Somehow mean and considerate at the same time. Come on, I’ll help you walk through and lock up.”

  HOPE DIDN’T HAVE time for the indulgence of a bubble bath, but she did indulge. Ryder told her to pick the room, so she’d taken Elizabeth and Darcy for the night. Out of sentiment, she supposed, and because she thought Lizzy would enjoy the company.

  “It’s Avery’s big night.” Cozy in an inn bat
hrobe after her shower, Hope meticulously applied her makeup. “It’s going to be great. The biggest thing in town since they opened the inn, at least in my opinion. It just looks fantastic, and tonight it’s just friends and family. A kind of christening and trial run at the same time.”

  She glanced over as the eyeshadow palette she’d chosen lifted into the air. “Girl toys. Fun to play with. I’m going for smoky tonight, a hint of shine to go with a killer red dress and amazing shoes.”

  She decided there were few women alive, or otherwise, who didn’t enjoy playing with makeup. To her way of thinking, those who didn’t missed one of the major perks of being female.

  “Clare made me think how lucky I am today, to have this place, and my friends, to have Ryder and all the Montgomerys. To have you.”

  She gave herself a critical study in the magnifying mirror, then stepped back for an overview. “Not bad, huh?”

  She moved into the bedroom to dress, taking her time with it, enjoying the steps and stages of preparing for a big night out.

  She sat to strap on the mile-high silver heels, and rose for another overview just as Ryder came in, grimy from work with a beer in his hand.

  His forward motion stopped, mostly because she’d knocked the legs out from under him. The dress, in sexy siren red, clung to her curves, dipped low at the top, rose high at the hem. The long line of her legs ended in a sparkle of silver straps and needle-width spikes. She’d draped more sparkle around her neck, from her ears so she seemed to glitter and pulse in the light of the Tiffany shade.

  “Nice,” he said.

  She winged up her eyebrows, did a slow turn, gave him a sultry look over her shoulder. “Just nice?”

  “Okay, you’re a fucking heartbreaker.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She smoothed the dress at her hips. “Hard day at the office?”

  “Ha. Got hung up some.”

  “But progress?”

  He had to remind himself she wanted details, then had to search for them as she sprayed on the scent that drove him just a little crazy. “Rough-ins passed this morning, and we’re starting on insulation. On the exterior stone work.”

  “That is progress.”

  “Why are you dressed already?”

  “I’m going over early to help out.”

  “I’m not wearing a suit.” He said it like a warning, maybe a threat.

  “Why would you?”

  “Willy B’s wearing one. With a vest. And a tie. I’m not.”

  “All right. Since I’m ready, I’m going to go over and see what I can do.”

  “I’d like to get ahold of you. I’d mess you up.”

  “You can get ahold of me later.” She stepped to him, leaned—but not so far any grime transferred from his clothes to hers—and kissed him. “I’ll see you over there once you’re changed into not a suit, vest, and tie.”

  “Yeah.” He saw her, he thought, even after she’d shut the door behind her. Sparkling and pulsing and more beautiful than anyone had a right to be.

  MUSIC STREAMED OUT of the juke, beer poured from taps, and voices filled a space empty too long. Family and friends mixed and mingled over appetizers, sat and talked, talked, talked over entrées. And lifted glasses in toast to MacT’s.

  Avery bustled from kitchen to dining room to bar and back, a redheaded dervish in a short green dress with a bubblegum ring bouncing from a chain around her neck.

  Hope finally stopped her with a hard hug.

  “It’s really good,” Avery told her. “Is it really good? We’ve got some glitches.”

  “It’s really good, and they don’t show.”

  “We’re working them out. Candles on the tables, music, good food. Good friends.”

  “You hit the target, Avery, dead center. Just like you did with Vesta. You can expect to pack them in, day after day, night after night.”

  “We’re booked solid for dinner tomorrow, and the day after. Did you see how people are stopping to look in the windows?”

  “I did.”

  “Look, Clare and Beckett are dancing, and my dad’s talking to Owen and Ryder at the bar. That’s my bar, you know.”

  “It is indeed. And a beautiful bar it is.”

  “And that’s my boyfriend sitting on one of my bar stools. He’s so cute. I think I’m going to marry him and live happily ever after.”

  “I guarantee it. I’m so happy for you, Avery. So proud of you.”

  “Everyone who matters to me is here, right here in this place. In my place. It doesn’t get better. Go, sit and have a drink. I need to check on some things.”

  Don’t mind if I do, Hope thought and walked to the bar and Ryder. He slid off his stool, waved at it when she gave him a puzzled smile.

  “Take it. Your ankles have to be crying by now.”

  “My ankles are steel, but thanks.” She slid on.

  “Give her some of that champagne you’ve got,” he told the bartender. “You look like champagne tonight.”

  “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

  “I’m no Willy B.”

  In his dark three-piece suit and polka-dot tie, Willy B flushed. “Oh now.”

  “Where’s Avery?” Owen demanded.

  “She went to check on something.”

  “She needs to sit down for five minutes, whether she knows it or not. I’ll take care of it.”

  When Owen walked off, Willy B smiled into his beer. “He sure loves my girl.” He sighed, looked around the bar. “Look what she did. My little girl. What you all did,” he amended and tapped his glass to Ryder’s.

  “She’s the machine.”

  “I’m going to go tell her I’m proud of her.”

  “Again,” Ryder commented when Willy B lumbered off. “He’s not especially drunk, just really happy.”

  “All he has to do is walk across the street to bed when he’s ready, so he can get a little drunk if he wants. It’s a big night for Avery. For Boonsboro. For all of us.”

  “Yeah.” Ryder stared into her eyes. “A big one.”

  They stayed until midnight, then gathered at the inn for post-party replay until after one in the morning. By the time she climbed the steps for the last time that night, Hope’s ankles of steel had begun to shed a few tears.

  She thought of another perk of being female. Taking off heels, peeling out of a killer dress, removing every layer of makeup, and sliding into a bed mounded with pillows beside a hot, sexy man.

  And when she stepped into E&D with Ryder she saw the bottle of champagne.

  “Like I said, you look like champagne tonight. We could sit out on the porch awhile, have some.”

  She’d take off, peel out, remove and slide just a little later, Hope thought.

  “That sounds good.”

  She went out with him, chose the wooden bench as she expected him to join her. Instead, once he’d shoved a glass in her hand, he walked to the rail, leaned on it.

  No way she was joining him, she decided. She was finished standing in these shoes.

  “I know it’s been said—many times, many ways—but it was a really fabulous party.”

  “Yeah. Avery did good.”

  He turned back, left it at that.

  He thought about this. Thought long and hard, and he’d figured it out. But now, looking at her—pulsing, sparkling, a fancy glass of fancy wine in her hand, he wondered if he’d lost his mind.

  Beauty queen, city girl. Sure, she was here, she was Hope, but those things were part of her. Like the scent, those smoldering eyes, the shoes that cost more than a decent table saw.

  “I hate opera. I’m not listening to opera.” He didn’t know why he blurted that out. It just came to mind.

  “Fine. I don’t like opera either.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’ve got those opera things.”

  Over a sip of champagne, she gave him a puzzled frown. “What opera things?”

  “Like the—t
he fancy binoculars?”

  “The opera glasses.” She laughed. “Guilty, but they’re not just for opera. They’re also useful for spying on sexy construction workers on hot summer days when they strip off their shirts.”

  His lips quirked. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. And for ballet, and—”

  His lips flattened. “I’m not going to any ballet either.”

  “That’s too bad for you.”

  “Or art films, foreign films, anything—anything with subtitles.”

  She tilted her head. “And when have I ever suggested an art film?”

  “Just putting it out there, in case. Or chick flicks.” With a firm nod, he swiped a hand through the air. “They’re off the table.”

  She tilted her head the other way, considered. “I like a good romantic comedy. I’d be willing to bargain a romantic comedy for two action movies.”

  “Maybe. If there’s partial nudity.”

  God, he made her laugh. He made her tremble. She took a slow, deep breath. “I hate football.”

  His face crumbled into the lines of a man in serious, physical pain. “Oh, man.”

  “However, I have no objections to a man who enjoys spending a Sunday afternoon watching football on his enormous TV or at a stadium—as long as he doesn’t paint his face like some crazy person.”

  “Have you ever seen my face painted?”

  “Just putting it out there, in case,” she echoed. “I wouldn’t feel obliged to drag him to the ballet, which he wouldn’t like, and he shouldn’t feel obliged to drag me to a football game. I like basketball.”

  Intrigued, he walked back, picked up the glass of champagne he’d poured himself and hadn’t thought he’d actually wanted. “Yeah?”

  “Yes. I like the speed and the uniforms and the drama. I don’t have any serious objections to baseball. I’d need to withhold judgment until I’ve seen a game at a stadium.”

  “Minor or major league?”