Нора Робертс - The Last Boyfriend

She loved knowing Clare and Beckett would take a week for themselves after the wedding with an island honeymoon on St. Kitts.

One day, Avery thought, she’d have to take a vacation in some tropical paradise.

One day she’d have to take a damn vacation, she thought, opening one eye to look at the gloomy sky outside the bedroom window.

She would. She’d get her new place up and running, get the routine smooth—then reward herself with a few days of sun, white beaches, and blue water.

Someplace she’d never been—someplace where no one knew her.

Maybe Owen would go with her. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see how they dealt with nothing to do, with being strangers in a strange land—together.

And she loved that later in the summer, after school let out, the newlyweds planned a week’s vacation with the kids. A familymoon, she’d heard little Murphy call it.

What could be better, she decided, than a familymoon?

Meanwhile Owen—and Hope—dug deeper into the mystery of Eliza Ford when one or the other could squeeze out the time. Were Lizzy and Billy a kind of miracle? she wondered. Had love brought them together before tragedy crept in? Or was the answer less romantic—and probably more realistic—as Owen had suggested?

A young girl dreaming of love, and a young man going his own way.

She’d dreamed of love once. But she’d been a child, and for a child, magic and miracles were always possible, and happy-ever-after simple and real.

Over time, she’d learned it was best to believe in the miracles and happy-ever-afters she could achieve herself, with hard work, determination, and long hours.

Plenty of satisfaction in that, she told herself. And she’d better get started on the day’s miracle and get the hell out of bed.

She sat up, then just hugged her knees in and smiled at the fire he’d left simmering. He was sweet that way, she mused. Sweet to stir up the fire, add a log so she’d wake up to its warmth and light on a gloomy March morning.

She was lucky to have him in her life—had always known that. But now she was lucky to have this new, fascinating connection with him, luckier still he was as content to take things one day at a time. No pressure, no scary talk about futures.

She’d barely rolled out of bed when her phone signaled an incoming text.

She rolled back, hoping it was Owen suggesting she come in and have a look at the initial demo after all.

But she read the quick message from Clare asking her to stop by the bookstore before she headed into Hagerstown for supplies.

A little puzzled, she answered, changed her plans to include a stop by the store—and hell, since she’d be right there, take a quick peek in at the demo.

She grabbed a shower, pulled on jeans, added a sweater over a short-sleeve shirt to accommodate the fickle March weather. Lips pursed, she considered her hair. The latest rinse had faded some, so she added a mental note to check out the range of colors, see what she was in the mood to be.

Downstairs, she discovered he’d made coffee, set a travel mug for her beside the pot. Another reason to smile, she thought. You could always count on Owen. She couldn’t think of another man, other than her father, who was so consistently solid .

On impulse, she went to his kitchen board, drew a heart with their initials in the center.

Fueled with coffee and a quick yogurt, she pulled on boots, wrapped on a scarf and shrugged into her coat before she saw the note by the door.

Take this, it read.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the folding umbrella.

She’d take it, but he’d be lucky if she didn’t lose it somewhere along her morning run.

Halfway to Boonsboro, the first drops of rain splatted her windshield. She could only cast her eyes skyward and think how annoying it was that Owen was always right.

Minutes later, going over her morning plans, she forgot the umbrella and dashed through the rain to the bookstore’s covered porch.

She tapped on the glass, then used the key Clare had given her after the trouble with Sam Freemont the previous fall. As she stepped in, shaking rain from her hair, Clare walked down the stairs.

“Coffee’s fresh,” Clare announced.

“I just had some, but . . . who can say no to a latte?”

“I’ll fix you up. Thanks for coming by.”

“No problem. It’s just the excuse I needed to nose into the new place. They’re starting the demo this morning.”

“I know. Exciting.” She steamed milk while Avery glanced at the bestsellers on the front display.

“I need an afternoon off, a rainy afternoon like this one will probably be, so I can catch up on my reading. I couldn’t get through the book club book this time. Why do I want to read about someone else’s misery? Is it supposed to make me feel better about my life? Smug? Or just depressed? Because it was bringing me down.”

“I hated it, too. I choked it down the way I used to choke down the brussels sprouts my mother insisted were good for me. It was a brussels sprout book, and I’m not convinced they’re good for me.”

“Exactly.” Idly, Avery pulled down a thriller, skimmed the copy. “Plus, if I sit down to read, I want crème brûlée, or a good meaty steak, maybe pepperoni pizza, possibly a hot fudge sundae. And now I’m hungry.”

She turned back, smiling as she reached for the coffee. “Thanks. Hey, you look a little ragged-out.”

“Feeling a little draggy, a little off this morning.”

“You can’t catch anything.” Avery pointed a decisive finger. “You’re getting married in less than a month. You’re not allowed to catch anything. Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

Clare shook her head at the offered latte. “I haven’t caught anything the way you mean, and I’m off coffee for now. I’m not sick.” Clare drew in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

“What? Now? Pregnant as in baby-on-board?”

“Yes, now. Pregnant as in.” On a laugh, Clare pressed her hands to her belly. And Avery wondered how pale could go to glow so fast.

“Oh, Clare. You’re pregnant, and you’re happy.” Setting the coffee down, Avery rushed around the counter, folded Clare into a hug. “I’m so happy for you. When did you find out? How far along are you? What did Beckett say?”

“I don’t think I could be happier. This morning, though I suspected yesterday. Probably about two weeks. And I haven’t said anything to Beckett yet.”

“Why?”

“I need you to do me a favor first. You’re going into Hagerstown, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ll be heading that way.”

“Could you pick me up a home pregnancy test?”

“You haven’t taken one already? You said you found out this morning.”

“Morning sickness, the second day running. I know the signs—this would be the fourth time. I’m wifty and tired, and sick in the mornings, and my body feels . . . It’s hard to explain.” Again she touched her belly, then her breasts. “My body feels pregnant. But I want to confirm before I tell Beckett just in case I’m wrong. I just don’t want to pop in the pharmacy here or in Sharpsburg to buy the kit.”

“Word spreads fast.”

“You got it, and since you’re going into Hagerstown anyway, you could get one for me, in anonymity.”

“Happy to. Wow. Wedding, honeymoon, familymoon, baby! Beckett’ll be good with it, right?”

“Very good.” Reaching down, she chose a ginger ale for herself from the under-counter cooler. “We wanted a baby, though we thought we’d wait a few months. We weren’t trying, but obviously, we weren’t not trying. If I’ve calculated right, we’ll be a family of six next January, right about the time the inn has its first anniversary.”