The Next Always Page 6

I APPRECIATE THE LIFT,” CLARE BEGAN AS THEY WALKED TO his truck. “Especially since you look tired.”

“Not tired. It’s just been a pisser of a day.”

“Problems with the hotel?”

“Irritations equaling a day I’d rather have been swinging a hammer than talking on the phone. It better be worth it in the long run,” he added with a glance toward the inn.

“It will be. And now the gift shop. That’s exciting.”

“It’ll be more exciting six months from now.” He opened the passenger door of the truck, took a clipboard, a fat notebook, and an old, dirty towel off the seat.

“It’s mostly just painting, isn’t it?”

He turned, gave her a long look.

“What?”

“First, it’s never just painting, not with Mom. Second, you smell really great.”

A horn tooted. Glancing over, Beckett spotted one of his carpenters driving by, waved. Clare boosted into the truck.

“Are we still on for Friday night?”

“Alva’s free to watch the kids.”

“Good.” He stood there a minute, just enjoying the fact that Clare sat in his truck, and they were making plans for Friday night. “Does seven work for you?”

“Yeah, seven’s fine.”

“Good,” Beckett repeated, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. “So, are the kids up about school starting?”

“Liam’s all about it. Murphy’s thrilled—especially with his Power Rangers lunch box. And Harry’s still pretending not to be.”

Beckett pulled out of the lot, caught the light, made the left. “How about you?”

“We’ve got new shoes, backpacks, lunch boxes, crayons, pencils, notebooks. The Mad Mall Safari is now over, and that’s a relief. With Murphy in school full-time, a lot of the child-care issues go away, and that makes life easier.”

“I hear the but.”

“But . . . my baby’s going to kindergarten. Five minutes ago I had him in a backpack, now he’ll be carrying one to school. Harry’s moving halfway through elementary school. It doesn’t seem possible. So, I’ll drop them off Monday morning, go home, have a good cry. And that’ll be that.”

“I always figured my mom did a happy dance the minute we walked down the lane to the school bus.”

“The happy dance comes after the good cry.”

“Got it.” He pulled into her short gravel drive behind her minivan.

“I can’t ask you in to dinner. Avery and Hope are coming.”

“That’s okay. Mom’s bribing us with a meal.”

She hesitated, gave him a sidelong glance. “You could come in if you have a minute, for something cold to drink.”

“I’ve got a minute.” Testing them both, he leaned over to open her door, stayed where he was, looking into her eyes, into the glimmer of green over gray. “It’s nice. Being close to you without pretending I’m not trying to be close to you.”

“It’s strange knowing you want to be.”

“Good strange or bad strange?”

“Good and strange,” she said, and got out.

He didn’t really know her house. He’d been inside a few times. She’d hired Ryder to do some work shortly after she’d bought it, and he’d helped.

Any excuse.

She’d hosted a couple of backyard cookouts over the years, so he’d been in the backyard, the kitchen.

But he didn’t know how the place worked, day-to-day. It was something that interested him about buildings and the people who lived or worked in them. And particularly interested him about her.

She had flowers planted in the front, a nice, well-tended mix suffering a bit from what his mother called the late-summer shabbies. Her tiny patch of lawn needed mowing.

He ought to help her with that.

She’d painted her door a deep blue, had a brass Celtic knot knocker centered on it.

She opened it directly onto the living room with a small-scale sofa in blue and green stripes, a couple of chairs in the green. The remains of a multi–Matchbox car wreck scattered on the hardwood.

The bookshelves he’d helped build took up an entire wall. It pleased him to see she made good use of them by crowding them with books, family photos, a few trinkets.

“Come on back to the kitchen.”

He stopped in the doorway of a small room with the walls covered with maps and posters. Colorful cubbies held toys, the ones that weren’t littering the floor. He studied child-sized bean bag chairs, little tables, and the debris three young boys made.

“Nice.”

“It gives them a place to share, and get away from me.”

She continued back, passed the bolt-hole of a powder room under the stairs and into the combination kitchen/dining room.

White appliances and dark oak cabinets. Fresh summer fruit in a wooden bowl on the short run of white countertop between the stove and refrigerator, the refrigerator covered with kids’ drawings and a monthly planner calendar. Four chairs around the square wooden table.

“The kids’ll be in the back. Give me a second.”

She went to the door, called through the screen. “Hi, guys!”

There were whoops and shouts, and from his angle Beckett saw her face just light up.

“Clare! Why didn’t you call me to come get you?”

“I got a ride home. No problem.”

Beckett heard the scrape of a chair, then saw Alva Ridenour come to the door.

He’d had her for algebra, freshman year, and calculus his senior. As she had then, she wore silver glasses perched on her nose, and her hair—now brilliantly white—pulled back in a no-nonsense bun.

“Why, Beckett Montgomery. I didn’t know you were running a taxi service.”

“Anywhere you want to go, Miz Ridenour. The meter’s never running for you.”

She opened the screen as the boys rushed in to assault Clare with tales of the day’s adventures, questions, pleas, complaints.

Alva scooted around them, gave Beckett a poke in the shoulder. “When’s that inn going to be finished?”

“It’ll be a while yet, but when it is I’ll give you a personal tour.”

“You’d better.”

“Do you need any help with your car?”

“No. My husband managed to get it into
the shop. How’s your mama?”

“Busy, and keeping us busier.”

“As she should. Nobody wants a pack of lazy boys. Clare, I’m going to get on.”

“I’ll drive you home, Miz Ridenour.”

“It’s two houses down, Beckett. Do I look infirm?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You boys.” She used her former teacher’s voice, and the three kids fell silent. “Give your mother a chance to take a breath. I want to hear all about the first day of school when I see you next. And Liam? You pick up those cars in the living room.”

“But Murphy—”

“You brought them down, you pick them up.” She winked at Clare. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Thanks, Alva.”

“Oh, I promised them cookies and milk if they didn’t fight for a half hour. They made it.”

“Cookies and milk it is.”

“Did you fight with your brothers today?” Alva asked Beckett.

“Not in the last half hour.”

She cackled out a laugh as she left.

Murphy tugged on Beckett’s hand. “Do you wanna see my Power Rangers?”

“You got Red Ranger from Mystic Force?”

Murphy’s eyes widened. He could only nod rapidly before running from the room.

“Wash your hands,” Clare called after him. “Now you’ve done it,” she murmured to Beckett. “Wash up,” she told the other boys, “if you want cookies.”

They obviously did, as they dashed off.

“Power Rangers are Murphy’s current obsession. He has action figures, DVDs, pajamas, T-shirts, costumes, transports. We had a Power Ranger theme for his birthday in April.”

“I used to watch them on TV. I was about twelve, I guess, so I said they were cheesy. But I ate it up.”

As he spoke he watched her take little plates out of a cupboard to set on the table. Power Rangers, Spider-Man, and Wolverine.

“Which one’s mine?”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t I rate cookies and milk and a superhero plate?”

“Oh. Sure.” Obviously surprised, she went back to the cupboard, chose another plate. “Han Solo.”

“Perfect. I dressed up as Han Solo for Halloween.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

He loved the way she laughed, and when she brought the plate and four small, colorful plastic cups to the table, he caught her hand.

“Clare.”

“I got ALL of them.” Murphy muscled in a white plastic basket loaded with action figures. “See, we got Mighty Morphin and Jungle Fury and see, I got Pink Ranger even though she’s a girl.”

Beckett crouched down, took out one of the Green Rangers. “This, my man, is an amazing collection.”

Murphy, eyes wide and deadly earnest, nodded. “I know.”

HE STAYED NEARLY an hour. Clare would have kissed him again just for the fact he’d given her kids such a great time. He’d never seemed bored or annoyed with a conversation dominated by superheroes, their powers, their partners, their foes.

But he didn’t kiss her.

Of course, he didn’t kiss her, Clare thought as she slipped potatoes, quartered and coated with olive oil and herbs, in to roast. That would’ve proved awkward with three kids hanging all over him.

She set her cutting board over the sink—the better to watch the kids, who’d gone back to swarming all over the play set her parents had given them—and minced garlic for the chicken’s marinade.

They’d so enjoyed having a man to play with.

They had her father, of course, and Clint’s dad when he came to visit, and Joe, Alva’s husband. But they didn’t really have anyone, well, their dad’s age.

So, it had been a nice hour.

Now she was behind in dinner prep, but that was okay. They’d eat a bit later than planned. The evening would be nice enough to have dinner out on the deck, then the boys could spill back out into the yard after for a bit before bedtime.

She whisked ingredients together, poured the marinade over chicken breasts, covered the bowl, set it aside.

Clare enjoyed the kitchen time, listening to her boys’ voices carry on the warm air, the bark of the neighbor’s dog, the scents from the oven, from her little kitchen garden. Which reminded her she had to do some weeding and some harvesting over the weekend.

And the laundry, she remembered, she’d let go because they’d stayed so long at Vesta the night before.

When she’d kissed Beckett in the shadows of the inn.

Silly to obsess over that, she thought. She’d kissed other men since Clint died.

Well, two, so that qualified as men. Her mother’s neighbor’s son, a perfectly nice accountant who lived and worked in Brunswick. Three dates there, two pleasant enough kisses. And no genuine interest or chemistry on either side.

Then Laurie’s aunt’s friend, an estate attorney from Hagerstown. Great-looking guy, she recalled. Sort of interesting, but very bitter regarding his recently-ex-wife. One date, one fraught good-night kiss. He’d even sent her flowers, with an apology for spending the evening talking about his ex.

How long ago had that been? she wondered. Idly she counted back as she peeled carrots. Harry had fallen off his trike and chipped his front baby tooth the morning before she’d gone to dinner with the accountant, so he’d been five.

God, over three years ago, she realized. And she’d gone out with the lawyer the day after she’d moved Murphy into his big-boy bed, so he’d been three. About two years there.

Which was more telling, the fact she measured time by little events in her kids’ lives or that she hadn’t even thought of dating for two years?

She supposed one was the same as the other.

She had the chicken simmering in wine and herbs when she heard the front door open, and Avery’s hail. “We come bearing gifts.”

“Back here!” Clare took one last glance out the window before hurrying toward the front of the house. “Hope.” She grabbed the woman in a hug. “You look amazing.”

It was invariably true. She radiated chic in her casual summer skirt and flounced top the color of chili peppers.

“Oh, it’s good to see you.” Hope returned the hug with an extra squeeze. “It’s been too long. God, something smells amazing.”

“Dinner, which is a little behind. Oh, sunflowers.”

“Couldn’t resist them.”

“I love them. Come on back.”

“Where are my men?” Hope shook the trio of gift bags she carried.

“You know you don’t have to bring them presents.”

“It’s as much fun for me.”

“Hey, I brought the wine.” Avery tapped the bag in her arm. “Which will also be as much fun for me. Let’s go open it, get this party started.”

Hope headed straight out the back, laughing as the kids stampeded toward her, and the gift bags. Clare watched through the screen door while Avery opened the wine.

The kids adored Hope, Clare thought, with or without gifts. And she really did look amazing. Sultry looks to go with the smoky voice, the short, razor-sharp wedge of dark hair with spiky bangs suited the knife-edged cheekbones, the long, heavy-lidded smolder of her eyes.

The body Clare knew she trained with vigorous daily workouts managed to be both athletic and intensely female at the same time.

“God, she’s beautiful.”

“I know. She’d be easy to hate.” Avery passed Clare a glass of wine. “But we’re bigger than that. We love her despite her beauty. We’ve got to talk her into taking this job.”

“But if she decides she doesn’t want it—”

“I’ve got the gut feeling.” Avery pointed at her belly. “The McTavish Gut Feeling. No one dares ignore the McTavish Gut. She’s unhappy down in D.C.”

“Small wonder,” Clare muttered and felt her gorge rise over Hope’s miserable prick of an ex yet again.

“She’s made some noises about going back to
Philly, or trying Chicago, and I know—Clare, I know that’s not what she should do. She should be here, with us.”

“Well, I can do my part, hyping the inn, and the Montgomerys. But it’s going to be her call at the end of the day.” She slipped her arm around Avery’s waist. “But it sure is good to have both of you here.”

So good, Clare thought over dinner while the food she’d prepared was enjoyed and the sunflowers beamed at the head of the table.

She let the boys burn off dinner and excess excitement until dusk. “I’m going to put them in the corral for the night.”

“Want some help roping them in?” Avery asked.

“No, I’ve got it.”

“Good, because after that meal, and the ice cream and fresh strawberries, I’m not sure I can move yet.”

Clare called them in, got the expected whines and protests. “We had a deal,” she reminded them. “Say good night.”

They obeyed, heads hanging, feet dragging like a trio shackled for the chain gang.

By the time she got back, her friends had cleared the table.

“I’d say you didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad you did.” She plopped back down, reached for the wine Avery topped off. “Boy, does this feel good. It’d feel great if we could do this anytime at all.”

“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.