“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—
“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.”
“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
“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
“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
