Nora Roberts - The Next Always

“I’ll take you down. We’ll work our way up when you’ve got time,” he told Clare.

“Perfect. What’s this one?”

He glanced over as they stepped out. “Elizabeth and Darcy.”

“Oh, I love Pride and Prejudice . What are you—No, no, don’t tell me. I’ll never get to work.”

“Highlights,” he said as they started down. “Upholstered head- and footboard, lavender and ivory, white slipper tub, tiles in cream and pale gold.”

“Hmm” was Clare’s opinion. “Elegant and charming. Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy would approve.”

“You’re definitely writing the copy.” He turned left at the base of the steps, came up short when he heard Ryder curse from the laundry room.

“Goddamn it.”

“It’s a problem,” Owen responded. “I’ll work the problem.”

“What problem?” Beckett demanded.

Owen shoved his hands in the pockets of his carpenter jeans. “Karen Abbott’s pregnant.”

“Didn’t your mom ever talk to you about safe sex?” Avery asked, ducking around Beckett’s arm.

Owen sent her a bland stare. “Funny. It’s Jeff Corver’s. They’ve been seeing each other since Chad started college last year.”

“Doing more than seeing,” Ryder muttered. “Jesus, she’s got to be forty-couple, right? What’s she doing getting knocked up at that age?”

“I note you don’t question how Jeff Corver could knock her up at his age,” Avery added.

“She’s forty-three.” Owen shrugged. “I know because we’ve been talking to her about the innkeeper position. We were pretty well set. Now she and Jeff are getting married and picking out baby names.”

“Damn it. Well, from our perspective,” Beckett said when Clare sent him a disapproving look. “We know Karen, and she and Mom and Owen were working out all the details. Hell, she’d picked out the paint colors for the innkeeper’s apartment on the third floor.”

“And she had hotel experience,” Owen put in. “Working at the Clarion. I’ll put some feelers out,” he began.

“I know somebody.” Avery held up a finger. “I know the perfect somebody. Hope,” she said, turning to Clare.

“Yes! She is the perfect somebody.”

“Hope who?” Owen demanded. “I know everybody, and I don’t know the perfect Hope.”

“Beaumont, and you met her once, I think, when she was up visiting, but you don’t know her. We went to college together, and we stayed pretty tight. She’s in D.C., and she’s thinking of relocating.”

“What makes her perfect?” Ryder asked.

“A degree in hotel management to start, and about seven years’ experience at the Wickham—ritzy boutique hotel in Georgetown. The last three as its manager.”

“That’s too perfect.” Ryder shook his head. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch with Hope. It’s the jerk she was involved with, whose parents own the Wickham. He dumped her for some bimbo with a pedigree and man-made tits.”

“She’s working out her contract,” Clare continued, “and that takes spine. Professional spine. She’s looking to move, considering her options.”

“From Georgetown to Boonsboro?” Ryder shrugged. “Why would she?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Avery countered.

“Avery and I have been trying to talk her into moving up here, or closer anyway. She likes the area.” The more she thought of it, the more Clare wanted it. “She comes up to see Avery now and then, and we got to be friends. We had a girls’ weekend at the Wickham last year, and I can personally attest, Hope doesn’t miss a trick.”

“Do you really think she’d go from managing urban ritz to innkeeper at a small-town B&B?”

Avery smiled at Owen. “I think she might, especially if the rest of this place is going to be as good as Titania and Oberon.”

“Give me some more data,” Owen began.

“Show me the kitchen space, then you can come over to the shop. I’ll give you more, and I’ll call her if you want.”

“Deal.”

“What does she look like?” Ryder called out.

“One of the many reasons Jonathan Wickham is a jerk? Throwing over somebody who looks like Hope, has her brain and energy, for some pinched-nose, big-racked social piranha.”

“Confirmed. I’ve got to get back,” Clare told her. “Let me know what Hope says. This would be great.” She beamed at Beckett. “Will you be here later? I can probably get back around two or two thirty.”

“Sure.”

“See you later then. Oh, and you’ll be lucky to have Hope if this works out. She really is perfect.”

Ryder scowled as she hurried out. “I don’t like perfect. Because it never is, but you don’t see the trouble until it’s too late.”

“I’ve always admired and envied your sunny optimism.”

“Optimists never see the boot coming until it kicks their balls into their throat. Optimism is how a forty-three-year-old woman ends up with one kid in college and another in the oven.”

“Owen’ll fix it. It’s what he does.”

Clare met with a sales rep, then chatted with her UPS guy while she signed for a delivery. She loved new shipments, opening the cartons and finding books, the covers that closed in all those stories, all those worlds, all those words.

While shelving, she paused when her phone signaled an incoming text, then smiled at Avery’s message.

H will talk to O tmoro. If click H cms up nxt wkend 4 intrvw. :)

She texted back. Fingers X’d.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful? she thought. Not only for Hope, but all of them. She’d have a friend right down the street, and another right across. She’d be able to pop over to the inn now and then to see Hope, and all those beautiful rooms. They would be beautiful. She was sure of it now.

Oh! She’d book the Titania and Oberon room for her parents’ anniversary next spring. Or maybe Elizabeth and Darcy. A perfect gift, romantic and special. The Montgomerys ought to push that, subtly, in their brochure.

She should make some notes.

She took out her phone to do just that, then tucked it away again when one of her regulars came in with her toddler in tow.

“Hi, Lindsay, hi there, Zoe.”

“Need book!”

“Who doesn’t?” Charmed, as always, Clare plucked Zoe up, set her on her hip.

“I was a block away,” Lindsay said, “and I wasn’t going to stop in. But she got so excited, bouncing in the car seat.”

“I swear, I’m going to hire her the minute the law allows.” Clare kissed Zoe’s dark curls as she carried her back to the children’s section.

By the time they left—two books for Zoe, one for Mommy, and a pretty plush kitty purse for a niece’s birthday—Clare had been filled in on celebrity gossip, town gossip, the niece’s mother’s recent weight gain, and Mommy’s newest diet.

When the door jingled closed, Laurie peeked up from the annex. “I deserted the field.”

“I noticed.”

“You handle her better than I do. She gives me an earache.”

“I don’t mind. She just needs to talk to an adult now and again. Plus she spent more than fifty dollars. Did you take your lunch yet? I can handle things if you want to get out for a bit.”

“I brought mine with me. Lindsay’s not the only one on a diet. I’m going to eat my measly salad in the back. Cassie just got in. She’s getting some net orders together for shipping.”

“I’ll take the front. I need to go back out about two, but I’ll be back before you leave for the day.”

“Give a shout if we get busy. One of us’ll come out.”

She could only hope. The store hadn’t exactly bustled with business today. She could use a few more Lindsays before closing, she thought as she got herself a cold drink from the refrigerator.