The Last Boyfriend

A hard line, Avery thought again, and he’d drawn it for her.

“I want you to send me your address or a phone number when you’re settled,” Willy B continued. “To me, Traci, not to Avery. You don’t contact her again. If she wants to talk to you or see you, she can come to me and I’ll give her what you send me.”

“All right.”

He folded the check, handed it to her.

“Thank you. I . . . You kept the place real good. You’re a good man. I mean that.”

“I expect you do.”

“She’s beautiful.” Traci pressed a hand to her lips. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

“I expect you are. You’d best go on now. It’s dark, and there might be weather coming in later tonight.”

Gathering herself, Traci stood. “I guess you were the best thing I ever did,” she said to Avery. “And I did the worst thing to you. It’s hard knowing that.”

When Traci left, Avery walked to the window, watched her drive away. “Why did you give her that money?”

“Because she’s grieving. She lost someone she loved, and now she realizes she threw away something precious. She’ll never get it back, so she’s grieving over that, too. And because, for us, it closes the door.

“Why didn’t you tell me she’d come to see you?”

“That’s why I came tonight. To tell you. I just . . . I couldn’t talk about it for a while. I should’ve told you, then you’d have been prepared. I should’ve called Grandma. I just closed up. It hurt, so I closed up.”

“I know.” He went to her, folded her into his big arms.

“But tonight when I saw her, it just made me mad. That’s better, isn’t it?”

“For you? Always.” Holding her close, he swayed her side to side. “We’ll be all right, baby. You and me? We’re going to be just fine. Don’t you worry.”

Soothed by his voice, his scent, the mere fact of him, she pressed her face to his chest. “You told me that then, and a lot of times between now and then. It’s always been true. I love you, so much.”

“I’m bigger. I love you more.”

She laughed a little, squeezed hard. “I made soup. The MacTavish cook-out-the-blues potato-and-ham soup.”

“Sounds just right.”

“I’ll go get it out of the car.”

Chapter Sixteen

Owen opted to work in the shop. It gave him time to think—okay, maybe brood was the word, but he felt entitled.

Just as he started to take the next steps, she pulled back. What kind of sense did that make? While he makes the effort not to let things just slide, to be sure he wasn’t taking her for granted, to treat their relationship like a damn relationship, she’s suddenly too busy to spare ten minutes of her time.

“What kind of bullshit is that?” he demanded of Cus, and got a sympathetic tail thump as an answer.

He measured his board, marked it, and remeasured automatically before feeding it into the saw.

“She likes being busy,” he continued over the scream of the blade. “She likes the freaking chaos of a crazy schedule. But out of the blue she doesn’t have time, not to go out, to stay in, to have a goddamn conversation.”

He switched off the saw, stacked his board, pulled down his safety goggles. “Women are a pain in the ass.”

But Avery never had been, wasn’t supposed to be. So it all made less sense.

Something was up with her. Didn’t she get he could see it? Avoiding him, making excuses, closing off when she’d always been up front. She was acting like . . .

“Uh-oh.”

He’d started taking her out, making plans. Christ, he’d given her jewelry. He’d changed the balance—was that it? She didn’t want that next step. Everything had been fine, had been smooth until he’d started treating their thing like a thing.

Casual and easy, all good. Add a few shades of serious, and she pulls the plug. Just sex, fine, but try a little —romance, he supposed—and she shuts the door.

And made him look, made him feel, like an imbecile.

Couldn’t she have told him if she wanted to keep things simple? Didn’t he, and a lifetime of friendship, rate that?

Plus, fuck it, didn’t he have a say in the whole business?

Damn right he did.

“I’m not her damn sex toy.”

“Words a mother longs to hear from her beloved son.”

On a wince, Owen shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Owen.” Justine closed the shop door behind her, rubbed her chilled hands together. “What’s going on?”

“Just working on one of the built-ins for Beck’s place.”

“You’re a good brother.”

“Yeah, well. I had some time. I didn’t see your car when I came in.”

“I just got back.” Both dogs wandered over to press against her, tails batting. “I was over at Willy B’s. I took him some dinner, gave him a sounding board. I’m surprised you’re being a good brother instead of doing the same for Avery.”

“What? Why?”

“They . . . Hmm. Avery hasn’t talked to you about anything?”

“That’s exactly right.” Annoyed, he pulled off the goggles. “She hasn’t talked to me about anything. At all. Too busy, not enough time. What the hell is going on?”

“That’s a question for her. Go ask it.”

“Mom, come on.”

“Baby, this is something Avery should talk to you about. If she doesn’t, then I will. But she should tell you. The fact is, from where I’m standing, she should have talked to you already.”

“You’re starting to freak me out. Is she sick?”

“No, no. Stubborn, I’d say, and wrongheaded.” Moving to him, Justine sighed a little. “You’re a practical man, Owen. God knows how that happened. I don’t know whether to tell you to be practical or not when you talk to her, but I will tell you to try to be patient.”

“Is she in trouble?”

“No, but she’s troubled. Go, talk to her. And later, you and I, we’ll have a talk, too. Go on,” she said when he grabbed his coat. “I’ll get the lights.”

She watched him go, rubbing the heads of the dogs that leaned against either side of her. “He’s in love with her. It’s all over him. But he hasn’t figured it out yet, and she sure as hell hasn’t figured it out.”

Standing in the scent of sawdust, wood oil, Justine all but felt Tommy’s cheek against hers—and closed her eyes to hold on to it, for just a moment.

“It was easier for you and me, wasn’t it, Tommy? We didn’t do all that thinking. Ah well, come on, boys, let’s close up shop.”

*   *   *

He checked the restaurant first. Dave worked behind the counter, tossing dough.

“Is Avery in the back?” Owen asked him.

“Out on deliveries. We haven’t got a delivery guy yet.”

“Are you closing tonight?”

“Avery is.”