The Next Always

“Yeah?”

“Let’s give them something to talk about.”

Chapter Twelve

Monday morning, well shy of opening, clare used her key to get into Vesta. She heard the enormous mixer chugging along, and went straight back where she knew Avery would be making dough.

“Hi! I wanted to talk to you before—” She stopped dead, stared as Avery rolled already mixed and cut dough into balls. “Your hair! It’s . . . Is that magenta? You dyed your hair.”

“You had sex.”

“I—You dyed your hair because I had sex?”

“No. I dyed it because I didn’t have sex. Okay, not really.” She huffed out a breath as she rolled. “Maybe a little. Mostly I just wanted a change. Something to stir things up.”

“You definitely stirred.”

Avery looked down at her far from spotless baker’s apron all the way to her Old Navy sneakers with their gel inserts. “I’m in a rut, Clare. No, I am the rut.”

“You’re not the rut. I like it. It’s . . . fun.”

“I think I like it. Sort of.” Her hands coated with flour and dough, Avery rubbed an itch on her chin with her shoulder. “I scared myself this morning when I looked in the bathroom mirror. I forgot about it, then it was like eek, who the hell is that! Anyway, it’s just one of those wash-in-and-out rinses. I’ll live with it awhile and see.”

Privately, Clare thought: Thank God.

Movements practiced and quick, Avery began placing the rolled dough in rising pans. “Now, about that sex. You had sex Friday night and—”

“And into Saturday morning.”

“Bragging is the tool of the small and the petty. Am I or am I not your best friend?”

“BFF.” Clare tapped a finger on her heart.

“And what do I get, a measly little text message. Spent night with B. Fabulous.”

“Didn’t I leave that bit of Shania Twain on your answering machine, the ‘I Feel Like a Woman’ cut?”

“Okay, that made me laugh, but these are not the details given to the BFF.”

“Birthday party Saturday, and you worked here until what, midnight?”

“About.”

“I’m not used to having lots of sex. I went to bed Saturday right after the kids. Then Sunday, it’s enough to say I didn’t have any privacy, and you were working again.”

“See. I am the rut.”

“You’re not.” Clare laid her hands on Avery’s shoulders, gave them a good rub and shake. “But I came in early especially to talk to you. God, I really want to talk to my BFF.”

“You’re sucking up. I like it. Please continue while I deal with the rest of this dough.”

“That’s an awful lot of dough for a Monday, isn’t it?”

“Private party tonight, and I’ve got a lunchtime delivery on the books for six large. Now talk.”

“It was great. Everything. Dinner—”

“I’ve had dinner recently. I haven’t had sex. Move along.”

“Well . . .”

Clare told her about her concerns when she and Beckett left the restaurant and on to her change of plans at the door.

“You pulled the ‘oh, I need a big, brave man to walk through my scary, empty house’?”

“I did.”

“I’m proud to know you.”

“He had the idea I needed everything to go slow. I realized if I didn’t do something we could still be on phase one at Christmas. So I gave it a jump start, and took him for a drive.”

The blue of Avery’s eyes brightened with laughter, and a little pride. “Listen to you.”

“I know.” Delighted with herself and the world in general, Clare wiggled her shoulders. “I feel like part of my life that’s been on hold is back. I feel things with him I haven’t felt in so long. Not just the physical, though that was pretty damn perfect.”

“Slow and easy or wild and crazy?”

“I think by the time he left Saturday morning, we’d managed both, all, and some combinations.”

“Okay, now I’m jealous.” After covering the pans, Avery moved to the sink to wash dough off her hands. “Happy for you, but jealous. Happy for him, too. Beck’s always had a thing for you.”

“That’s the only problem. I’m not the Clare Murphy he had a thing for. He has to want to be with the person I am now.”

“Do you think he’s living out an old fantasy?”

“I’m not sure, not sure if he’s sure either. I’m not going to worry about it yet. I like getting to know each other as we are now. Things are changing. I want to see what they become.”

Beckett spent the next two weeks bouncing from project to project, from shop work to inspecting deliveries and carving out time when he could manage it to be with Clare. While the installers laid the tile on the main floor, the crew focused primarily on exterior work.

Then came the day when he and his brothers stood at the front doorway, studying the completed entrance porch and steps.

“What did I tell you?” Beckett said. “She gleams.”

“She ought to with all those coats of poly.” Ryder crouched down, ran a hand over the wood. “Smooth as glass. Hard dry, too.”

“You know skateboarders are going to see this run and go for it.”

Ryder glanced up at Owen. “Then we’ll kick some asses, and we’ll make sure word goes out on that. I say we pull this bastard down.” He jerked a thumb at the big blue tarp. “Give everybody a look at what Inn BoonsBoro’s crew pulled off.”

“Let’s do it—and,” Beckett added, “let’s run some tape between the posts to keep people from coming up this way.”

It may have been one of the most satisfying moments of his life, Beckett decided, when they dropped that tarp on a cool September morning with fall spiced in the air.

School buses lumbered out to pick up their load as he and his brothers crossed the street for a full-on view. Cars slowed as the drivers’ heads swiveled to look toward the unveiled building.

And she was beautiful—still not fully dressed for the party, Beckett thought, but beautiful. The deep, rich color of the wood gleamed against the old stone walls, drawing out the hints of gold and umber.

Generous in size, its steps spanning the length, it stood out against the softer colors of the rails and pickets. Rising over it, the upper porch added grace and charm to dignity.

“You know, you work on it,” Owen began, “and you see it change. But you’re inside it or on it, so you don’t really see. Fucking A, we did good.”

“Damn right. It’s a moment.” Ryder pulled out his phone, framed the building in, took a picture. “And the moment’s immortalized. Back to work.”

“Better send that to Mom.”

Owen shook his head at Beckett. “I’ve already talked to her this morning. She’s coming in anyway. Let’s give her the full impact.”

“Better idea,” Beckett agreed. “Talk of the town.” He studied the lines and colors as they crossed back over.

Inside, they split off, Owen to check on the progress of the tile install, Ryder to begin work on the coffered