Nora Roberts - The Next Always

They met halfway across Main.

“I know damn well you spent half your morning riding herd on three boys, dealing with breakfast, breaking up spats.”

“This is my life,” Clare agreed.

“How come you look like you never sweat?”

“It’s a gift.” They started down the sidewalk, ducking under scaffolding. “I always loved this building. Sometimes I’d just look at it out of my office window and imagine it the way it used to be.”

“I can’t wait to see how it will be. If they pull this off, your business and mine, baby, we’re going to see a jump for sure. So are the rest of the businesses in town.”

“Fingers crossed. We’re doing okay, but if we had a nice place for people to stay right in town, boy oh boy. I could lure more authors in, have bigger events. You’d have guests staying here heading over for lunch or dinner.”

They stopped a moment at the back, looked over the uneven ground, the planks and rubble. “I wonder what they plan for back here,” Avery began. “With those porches, you want something fabulous. Rumors are abundant. A bigger parking lot to an elaborate garden.”

“I heard fountain and lap pool.”

“Let’s ask the source.”

When they went inside, into the noise, the clutter of tools, Avery glanced at Clare. “Testosterone level just jumped five hundred points.”

“And counting. They’ve kept the archways.” She stepped closer, studying the wide, curved openings ahead and to the left. “I wondered if they could, or would. They’re about the only thing I remember from when there was an antiques shop in here. My mother used to come in sometimes.”

She moved through the center arch, noted the rough, temporary stairs leading up. “I’ve never been upstairs. Have you?”

“Snuck in once when we were in high school.” Avery studied the steps. “With Travis McDonald, a blanket, and a bottle of Boone’s Farm Apple. We made out up there.”

“Wild child.”

“My dad would’ve killed me, still would, so no telling. Anyway, it didn’t last long. He never made it to second before he got spooked. Doors and floorboards creaking. I wanted to check it out, but he was such a wimp about it. He never did make it to second.” She laughed as she started up. “He didn’t smell the honeysuckle, either—or never admitted it.”

“Honeysuckle?”

“Strong—heady, really—like I had my nose buried in a vine. I guess with all that’s going on here now, whoever—you know—walked the night’s moved on.”

“You believe that? In ghosts?”

“Sure. My great-times-three-grandmother is supposedly still haunting her manor house near Edinburg.” Stopping, Avery set her hands on her hips. “Wow. It sure didn’t look like this when I kissed Travis McDonald.”

Rough-framed doorways led off a hallway on the second level where the smell was dust from wood and drywall. They heard workers above on the third floor, below on the main. Clare stepped into the room on her left. The light, dim and faintly blue from the tarp blocking the front windows, washed over the unfinished floor.

“I wonder which room this is. We should probably find one of the Montgomerys. Oh, look, there’ll be a door leading out to the porch. I’d love that.”

“Talk about love.” Avery gestured. “Look at the size of this bathroom. From the looks of the pipes,” she said when Clare joined her, “you’ve got a tub here, shower over there, double sinks there.”

“It’s bigger than my bathroom and the boys’ combined.” Pure and undiluted bathroom envy washed through her. “I could live in here. Could they all be this big? I’ve got to know which room this is.”

She hurried across the bedroom space, and turned through the doorway. And ran straight into Beckett.

His hands came up to steady her. She wondered if she looked as surprised and flustered as he did. Probably more, she imagined, as the hammer slotted in his tool belt probably wasn’t jamming into his hip.

“Sorry,” they said in unison, and she laughed.

“Me, first. I wasn’t looking where I was going. The size of the bathroom in there put stars in my eyes. I was coming to find you.”

“Find me?”

“We probably should have before we came up, but everyone seemed so busy. I need to know which room this is before I move in.”

“Before you . . . Ha.” Jesus, his brain staggered under the scent of her, the feel of her under his hands, the misty lake color of her eyes. “You’d probably like it better when it’s finished.”

“Paint me a picture.”

For a half second he took her literally, and wondered if Owen had picked up the paint yet. Deliberately, he made himself step back. Obviously, his IQ dropped fifty points if he touched her. “Well . . .”

“It’s your design.”

“Mostly. Oh, hi, Avery.”

A laugh danced in her eyes. “I thought I’d swallowed an invisibility pill. I can’t believe the transformation here, Beck. The last time I was in here, it had broken windows, broken bricks, pigeons, and ghosts.”

“The windows and brick weren’t as big a chore as the pigeons, believe me. We’ve still got the ghost.”

“Seriously?”

He winced, adjusted his dusty ball cap. “Don’t spread that around, okay? Not until we figure out if she’ll be a liability or an asset.”

“She. Honeysuckle.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Yeah. How do you know?”

“Years ago, brief encounter. It gets cooler and cooler.” At his expression, Avery zipped a finger across her lips, then her heart.

“Appreciate it. Anyway, this one’s Titania and Oberon.”

“The copper tub.” With a swish of skirt, Clare beelined for the bathroom space.

“The big-ass copper tub,” Beckett confirmed, following her. “Along the wall there. The tiles will accent it, play off it, with coppery and earthy tones. Heated floors. All the baths will have heated tile floors.”

“I’m going to cry in a minute.”

More at ease, he smiled at Clare. “Shower there. Unframed glass doors, oil-rubbed bronze fixtures. Heated towel rack there, another feature in all the baths. Two copper-vessel sinks, each on this kind of foresty-looking stand, copper drum table between. The lighting picks up the organic feel with a vine pattern. John over there.”

“The famed magic toilet,” Avery commented. “Word’s out on those. It’s like a bidet and toilet all in one,” she told Clare, “with automatic flush— and the lid lifts when you walk up to it.”

“Get out.”

“At your service.” Grinning, Beckett stepped back into the bedroom. “Bed there, facing out into the room. Iron, open-canopy four-poster, in copper and bronze tones with a vine and leaf pattern. She’s a beauty.”

“Like a bower,” Clare murmured.

“That’s the plan. We’re going to drape it some, or our fabric people are. Dresser there, flatscreen above. Whitewashed nightstands, and these woodsy lamps. We need a bench under the windows, I think. Soft green on the walls, something flowy on the windows—we’re doing dark wood blinds throughout for privacy, and we’ll work on window treatments. Toss in a few accessories, and that’s a wrap.”

Clare sighed. “A romantic bower for two, midsummer or midwinter.”

“You want to write our brochure copy? I wasn’t actually kidding,” he said when she laughed.

“Oh.” Obviously taken aback, Clare looked around the bare room. “I could help if you—”

“You’re hired.”

She hesitated, then smiled. “Then you’d better give us a very thorough tour. In stages,” she said with a glance at her watch. “I’ve only got a few more minutes right now.”

“I’d really like to see the kitchen space. I can’t help it,” Avery said. “It’s a sickness.”