Нора Робертс - The Last Boyfriend

“’Kay.” She gave him a smile as she stood swaying with fatigue. “You’re so sweet, Owen. I’d pick you.”

“For what?”

“My share. ’Night.”

“Okay. Lock the door, Avery.”

He stood outside, waiting until he heard the lock click in place.

Her share of what? he wondered, then shook his head and went down the stairs to the back lot and his truck.

He glanced up at her windows as he got in. He could still smell the lemon she used on her hair, her hands.

He smelled it all the way home.

The minute she could break away from the restaurant, Avery bundled into her coat, yanked a ski cap over her hair, and dashed across the street.

She spotted the furniture truck in the parking lot and quickened her steps as much in excitement as to get out of the cold. She walked into a buzz of activity—guys on ladders touching up paint, the thwack of nail guns from The Lounge and The Dining Room, the whirl of a drill.

She headed through the front arch, then went ooooh when she got to the railing leading up the stairs. Ryder poked his head out of the front door of The Dining Room.

“Do me a favor. Don’t go up that way. Luther’s working on the rails.”

“They’re so beautiful,” she murmured, trailing a hand over the dark bronze curve.

“Yeah, they are. He’s spread out on the stairs up there, and he’s too polite to tell you to go around the other way. I’m not.”

“No problem.” She eased toward The Dining Room door, looked up. “God, it’s gorgeous. Look at those lights.”

“Bitching heavy.” But he looked up as well at the big acorn globes with their oak leaf branches. “They look good.”

“They look amazing. And the sconces, too. I can’t poke my nose in for a few days, and look what happens. I don’t have much time, but I want to see everything. Is Hope around?”

“Probably up on three, fussing with furniture.”

“Furniture!” With a whoop, Avery ran back toward The Lobby and out.

Breath puffing in clouds, she ran up two flights of stairs. She opened the door of Westley and Buttercup, stood for a moment just grinning at the simmering fireplace in the wall, the dark slats of window blinds. She wanted to explore, to look at every detail, but she wanted people more.

She rushed down to the porch door, hurried through, following voices to The Penthouse.

Her mouth dropped open.

Justine and Hope angled two occasional chairs covered in silky fabric. The blues and golds in the pattern picked up the rich dark gold of the elaborate sofa where Carolee fussed with throw pillows.

“I think we should . . . Avery.” Justine straightened. “Walk through to the window. I want to check the traffic flow.”

“I’m rooted to the spot. My God, Justine. It’s gorgeous.”

“But does it work? I don’t want guests bumping into chairs or having to wind and scoot. Pretend you just checked in, and now you want to walk through, look out the window on St. Paul.”

“Okay.” She held up her hands, closed her eyes a moment. “Well, Alphonse, I suppose this will do for the night.”

“Alphonse?” Hope commented.

“My lover. We’re just in from Paris.” She strolled across the room, put a snooty look on her face as she glanced out the window. The look broke into a grin as she turned back, danced in place. “It’s spectacular. And no bumping or winding. Are you actually going to let people sit on this furniture?”

“That’s what it’s for.”

Avery ran her fingers over the rolled arm of the sofa. “You know, they’re going to do more than sit. Just saying.”

“Some things I don’t need to think about. I want a little lamp for this chest. Something slim with a sparkly shade.”

“I saw one at Bast,” Hope told her. “I think it would work.”

“Make a note, okay? One of us will run down, grab some accent pieces, and try them out.”

“It’s stunning,” Avery said. “Just as it is.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Hope winked at her. “Bring Alphonse into the bedroom.”

“His favorite place. The man’s a machine.”

She followed Hope back, would have detoured into the bath, but Hope grabbed her arm. “This first.” And Hope beamed like a new mother at Avery’s gasp.

“The bed! I saw the cut sheet, but that’s nothing compared to the real thing.”

“I love the carving.” Hope trailed her fingers over one of the tall posts. “And with the bedding, it really looks plush. I swear Carolee fussed with the duvet and shams, the bedroll for an hour.”

“I love it—the oatmeal of the shams against the white bedding, and the throw.”

“Cashmere. Just a nice touch.”

“I’ll say. The tables, the lamps. And this dresser!”

“The subtle gold sheen really works in here. I want to finish the whole space up by tonight. The journal, the books, the DVD, all the little details. We need photos for the website.”

“I love the plush little stools and pillows at the foot of the bed. Everything in here says luxury. Even Alphonse would be impressed.”

“And God knows he’s not easy to impress. The Bast crew just left. They’re bringing in Westley and Buttercup next. It’s a job and a half getting these pieces up the stairs.”

“I’m glad it’s not mine. I can’t stay long now, but Dave’s back this afternoon so I’m not working tonight. I can help.”

“You’re hired. I thought I’d bring a few of my things over, things I don’t absolutely need for now. We have to start on the art, too, and I’ve got my eye on a few pieces from Gifts.”

“It’s really happening.”

“I need your menu for the room folders.”

“I’ll get them for you.” She wandered out, into the bath. “You put stuff out! Soap dishes, the shampoo and stuff. The little dishes.”

“Photographs, or that’s my excuse. We really wanted to see it dressed. I’m going to put out the towels, hang the robes. Ryder’s going to take the photos. Apparently he’s good at it.”

“He is,” Avery confirmed. “I’ve still got a shot he took of me and Owen when we were teenagers. It’s nice, fun. Do you know he came over and waited and bussed tables last night?”

“Ryder?”

“No. Owen. Then he had to all but carry me upstairs. Two doubles, a bus tour, a spur-of-the-moment high school chorus party, a temporary glitch with the computer, and so on. I was like a zombie by closing.”

“He’s a sweetheart.”

“Yeah, most of the time.”

“So’s Beckett. What happened to Ryder?”

Avery laughed, circling a finger around the rim of one of the oval vessel sinks. “Oh, he’s got some sweet in there. You just have to dig it out.”

“I think it’d require explosives. But he does good work. We can dress the place, but it wouldn’t hold up without the frame. And he’s hell on details. So I respect that. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to it.”

“Me, too. I should be able to knock off about four, five latest. I’ll pitch in.”

“Rumor is we should be able to start loading in The Library sometime today. At least the shelves. And possibly Elizabeth and Darcy.”

“I’ll be here. Hope!” After a quick bounce, Avery tossed her arms around Hope, bounced again. “I’m so happy for you. I’ll see you later.”

Avery hurried out, trotted down the steps just as Owen came through the gate between the proposed bakery and the inn courtyard.

“Hey,” she called out.

“Hey, yourself.” Clipboard in hand, he crossed to her. “You look better.”

“Than what?”

“The walking dead.”

She punched him lightly in the stomach. “I’d put something behind that but I owe you. I forgot to ask how you made out in tips.”