been busy getting ready for tonight, and dealing with . . .”
He caught himself, shook his head. “Beckett probably already has. So, it’s a big night for my family, for the town. I’ve got to get to it.”
He thought he felt something brush at his lapels—as a woman might brush a man’s before going out. “Ah . . . thanks. I think.”
He glanced back on his way out, but saw nothing. So walked down to the lights, the voices.
After centuries of change, of war and weather, of neglect and of sweaty effort, the old hotel on The Square again welcomed guests. They toured rooms that offered warmth and welcome, gathered in groups near simmering hearths and connected with neighbors in the open kitchen.
Light filled spaces dark for so long; voices brought life to the years of silence. People walked over pretty tiles and polished wood, lounged on a sofa yellow as butter or sipped drinks under an archway. Those brave enough to face the chill wandered out to admire The Courtyard or enjoy the view from a graceful porch.
Some caught the light summery drift of honeysuckle, but thought nothing of it. More than once someone felt a brush on their shoulder, only to turn and find no one there. Twice Owen took friends through and found the doors to the porch in Elizabeth and Darcy open. He simply closed them while guests commented on the bed or the tile work, or the pretty stained-glass shade of the lamp.
“Cut it out,” he said under his breath, and moved on.
Later in the evening he checked again, pleased to find them closed. Probably too busy partying, he thought, to play games with him.
As he turned to go, Franny came in. She wore black pants and a frilly blouse rather than her usual jeans and tee, and had added a fitted black jacket.
“Hi! I brought over some more trays, and I’m taking my turn at the grand tour.”
“You look nice, Franny.”
“Thanks. I wanted to spruce it up a bit since I’m going back and forth. Gosh, Owen.” Looking everywhere at once, Franny trailed her fingers over the upholstered footboard. “It’s all so beautiful. Honestly, I know how much time and work went into it, but I swear, it’s like a miracle.”
“Thanks. We’re really proud of it.”
“You should be. I’ve only seen the rooms on this floor, and I’m already arguing with myself over my favorite.”
He’d heard variations of that sentiment all evening, and it still made him smile. “I do the same thing. Want me to show you around?”
“No, I’m fine on my own. It’s like exploring,” she said with a laugh, “and I’m loving it—and I’m running into people everywhere I go. I just saw Dick in Eve and Roarke.”
“Dick the barber or Dick the banker?”
“Ha. You’re funny. Dick the barber. And I saw Justine and Clare’s parents in The Library.” Moving past him, she stepped into the bath. “Oh, look at the tub. It’s like something out of an English novel.”
“That’s the idea.”
“It’s a great idea. I’d live in this bathroom, which I’ve said about every one of them so far. Don’t worry about me. Get back to the party.”
“It’s nice to take a quick break.”
“I guess it is. Since I’ve got you alone for a minute, I wanted to say how good it is to see you and Avery together.”
“Oh. Ah—”
“I got used to seeing you as friends—I guess everyone did—so it was a surprise. A really nice surprise.”
“It was . . . a surprise for us, too. I think.”
“It’s good. She deserves some happy, and you might just deserve her.”
“Doing my best.”
“I like your best. She matters a lot to me.”
“I know.”
“And just so you know.” She walked back, tapped him on the chest. “If you hurt her, I’ll slip a hefty dose of laxatives in your calzone. You’ll never know when.”
She arched her brows, nodded. “And, because you matter, too, and because I’m fair, I’ll do the same to her if vice versa.”
Maybe, just in case, he’d stick with gyros for a while. “You’re a little scary, Franny.”
“Be afraid. I’m onto the next.”
As she walked out, Owen caught the whisper of laughter and honeysuckle behind him. “Oh yeah, you women are a riot.”
Once again he started out, and once again stopped short. This time Willy B filled the doorway. Owen supposed if highland chieftains wore suits and polka-dot ties, they’d look pretty much like Willy B MacTavish.
“Hey. I was sort of looking for Justine.”
“I heard she was in The Library. Might still be. It’s down the hall, to the left.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Willy B shuffled his feet, a sure sign he was about to address something that embarrassed him. “Ah, since I’ve got you alone for a minute . . .”
“A common theme.”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing. Is something up?”
“A couple things.” He shuffled into the room, glanced behind him. “I thought I should tell you—you and your brothers—that Justine . . . She asked if I’d . . .” He trailed off again, looking around the room. “Here. Tonight. Stay here. You know.”
“Oh.” Well shit, Owen thought. He should’ve seen it coming. “Well,” he said and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“I understand you might feel a little . . . I feel a little . . . but. Well.”
“Yeah. Should I ask if you—if this is—if you’ve got plans? Or something?”
“She means a lot to me, your ma. I loved your daddy.”
“I know. I know you did.”
“I know he’d want me to look out for her some, and I did. And . . . She’s a hell of a woman, your ma. I got pure respect for her. I’d never do anything to hurt her. Cut off my hand first.”
“Okay, Willy B.”
“Okay.” Some of the flush receded from his face. “I’ll talk to Ryder and Beckett.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Or it’ll take another hour and a half of fumbling.
“If you think.” Willy B nodded, cleared his throat. “Um, you and Avery are . . . My Avery.”
Same boat, Owen thought, different oars. “Everything you just said about my mother? Insert Avery. She’s important to me. She’s always been important to me.”
“I know that’s the truth. She’s always had a sweet-on for you.”
“Oh, well.” Jesus, he’d be blushing and shuffling himself in a minute. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe you don’t, but I do. Just like I know she’s still got hurt inside over her mother, how she walked away. I want you to be careful with her, Owen. She’s had other boyfriends, but you’re different. You’ve got history and connections, and she’s had that sweet-on going. She’s tough, my girl, but she’s got places that bruise easy. It’s easy to forget that, so . . . don’t. I guess that’s it.”
On a long,
Alone, Owen sat on the side of the bed. It was a lot, he decided. A big pile of a lot. His mother and Willy B. And here, right here— The right here had him shooting up to his feet again with an uncomfortable glance at the bed.
