The Last Boyfriend

upset. Including Owen, who just won’t back the hell off!”

“You are fighting with Owen.”

“I’m not.” Though she ground her teeth nearly to dust, Avery managed a calmer voice. “I’ve been busy. Beckett’s done with the plans, and they’re submitted for the demo permit. Now the mechanical plans are in the works. I’ve got a ton to do yet, to plan and decide on, all while I run Vesta.”

“So you’re nervous. I’d be nervous, too. But you know it’s going to be great.”

“Knowing it and making it great aren’t the same.” Her stomach hurt from the evasions. Lying always made her stomach hurt—and added to the side effect, she just sucked at lying, evasions, and half-truths.

“It takes a lot of time and thought,” she continued, sticking with the theme. “And that doesn’t leave a lot of time and thought for boyfriends. So I think we should slow it down a little until I’m back on keel. That’s all.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I swear.” Too tired to cry, Avery just laughed at Clare’s automatic assumption. “I’m just a little overwhelmed right now.”

At last! she thought. The truth.

“It’ll work itself out. Here, instead of a salad, try this.”

Avery got out a bowl, ladled in some of the potato soup, then sprinkled a little parsley, a little grated Parmesan on top.

“I have to decide on dinnerware, too. I may just go with restaurant white, then play up the linens, the glassware. Or maybe I need something bolder.”

“It’s not going to matter.” Clare spooned up another bite. “Nobody’s going to care what this is in. It’s delicious. Why were you so stingy with it?”

“Because you have to try the smoked tomato bisque, too.”

Another bowl, another ladle—and a sprinkle of croutons, a basil leaf.

“Oh God, this is so good. It’s smooth, a little creamy, and still has a bite.”

“Excellent.” To see for herself, Avery got out her tasting spoon. “Yes, excellent,” she decreed. “No more changes on these. I’ll give you a container of both to take home for dinner.”

“You mean I have to share?” Clare slid an arm around Avery’s waist. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready?”

Yes, she sucked at lying. Giving up, Avery leaned her head on Clare’s shoulder. “Yes. Just not right now.”

*   *   *

She’d cooked through it, Avery decided. Or nearly. Wallowing wasn’t getting her anywhere, and only drawing attention—the exact opposite of what she’d wanted.

She tubbed up the potato soup, snagged some Italian bread from downstairs. That cost her an hour, but she didn’t mind. Things had picked up for dinner, and though she wasn’t scheduled, she pitched in awhile.

That, too, smoothed her mood.

She needed to talk to her father, and hoped that would top off the recovery. He deserved to know, she reminded herself as she drove out of town. And he was the only person in the world from whom she never, ever kept secrets.

She’d treat him to some soup, and they’d talk it out. They could talk anything out.

But when she pulled in, spotted the bright blue Lexus with Nevada plates in his drive, her temper spiked.

He didn’t know anyone in Nevada.

Moved around, Traci had said.

The MacTavish Gut told her Traci had moved around most recently to Nevada. And was here trying to dip into the next well.

She charged into the house.

Willy B pushed out of his chair when Avery stormed in. Traci stayed in her seat, eyes drenched, fingers twisting a soggy tissue.

“You’ve got some nerve. You bitch.”

“Avery! You calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” She rounded on her father. “Has she got to the ‘can you make me a loan’ part yet, or is she still on the how fucking sorry she is?”

“Just sit down and . . . What?”

“Didn’t she mention she’d paid me a visit a couple days ago?”

“No.” He put an arm around Avery, as much to restrain as to unify. “She didn’t.”

“I was going to. I had to see Avery first, Willy B. I wasn’t even sure I could face you at all, and I wanted to see Avery, to tell her I’m sorry.”

“And to hit me up for money.”

“I’m broke. I’m in trouble. That doesn’t stop me from being sorry.” Her fingers trembled as she gave up on the tissue and knuckled a tear away. “I wish I’d done things different. I wish I’d been different. I can’t change any of it. We lost the house, right before Steve died. Everything went wrong. He had some deals in the works, and it all fell through. He didn’t have time to turn things around.”

“You’ve got a shiny new Lexus in the drive,” Avery pointed out. “Sell it.”

“It’s leased, and I’m going to lose that, too. It’s all I’ve got. I just need a stake until I can find a place, get some work.”

“You took money from Avery?” Willy B demanded.

Color flooded Traci’s face. “I just need a loan.”

“How much?” When Traci shook her head and wept again, he turned to Avery. “How much?”

“I don’t know exactly. Whatever was in my wallet. More than I usually carry because I was going out and wanted cash if I needed it.”

Anger, so rare in her easygoing father, kindled in Willy B’s voice. “You walked away from my girl, Traci. Now you come back and take her money?”

“She’s got her own business. She’s got a nice place. I did my best by her as long as I could.”

“No, you didn’t.” He kissed Avery gently on the top of the head. “Have you talked to your mother, Traci?”

“I . . . She helped me out some right after Steve died. Everything was a mess. I didn’t know he owed so much money. She helped me some, but she said that was all I’d get. She meant it. I went to see her before I came here, and she wouldn’t help.”

“How much are you looking for?”

“Daddy, don’t—”

“You hush, Avery.”

“But, you can’t—”

“This is my business.” He didn’t raise his voice—he’d never had to. He simply stared Avery in the eye. “You hush. How much, Traci?”

“If I could have five thousand, to get me settled. I’ll pay you back. I swear it. I’ll sign papers. I know I’ve got no right, but I’ve got no one else.”

“Avery, you go up, get my checkbook. You know where I keep it.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You do what you’re told, and you do it now. You want to argue with me, we’ll do it later.” Now he laid a hand on Avery’s shoulders. “You can say your piece to me, but not now. That’s our business, not hers.”

He rarely drew a hard line, but once he did, it didn’t budge. “All right, but it’s going to be a big, ugly piece.” She stomped upstairs, stomped back down.

He sat, opened the checkbook. “I’ll give you the five thousand. It’s not a loan.”

“But I’ll pay you back.”

“I don’t want you to pay me back. Unless Avery has a change of mind, I don’t want to see or hear from you after you leave. You take the money, and go. I hope you find your way.”

“I know you hate me, but—”

“I don’t hate you. You gave me the light of my life, and I don’t forget it. Ever. So I’ll give you what you need, and we’re done.”