The Last Boyfriend

coincidences happen, but this? This is really stretching it.”

“So what? Fate?”

“What else?” He pushed up to pace. “You’re born and raised in Boonsboro, and Hope’s born and raised in Philadelphia. You end up being college roommates, and friends. Solid friends. So solid, she visits here, makes solid friends with Clare. The same Clare my brother’s about to marry. My mother falls in love with the old hotel, manages to buy it, we put blood, sweat, and tears into rehabbing it. The person we’re hiring as innkeeper gets pregnant, has to bow out, and you and Clare come up with Hope.”

“Who’s looking to relocate because she’s been screwed over by her asshole and his family.”

“She’s tailor-made for the job,” Owen continued. “Hotel manager, knows all the ropes—some we hadn’t even thought of. Overqualified, and not really looking to relocate here. And my mom hires her on the spot—barely talked to her, and boom, she’s hired. Hope accepts the same way—boom.”

“Well, when you add it all up that way . . .”

“That’s how it adds up.” He stopped his restless pacing to face her. “One twist, then another, one choice, then another, all leading to the same place. The inn, Lizzy, Hope—and maybe, if it keeps adding—to this Billy.”

“Do you think she knows—Eliza, I mean?”

“I don’t know. It seems if she did, she’d have made more effort to connect with Hope. When you think about it, it’s been more with us—Beckett, me, Ry—though Ry doesn’t talk about it much. My mother. Even you.”

“And Murphy. He’s the first one who saw her, that we know of.”

“Kids.” Owen shrugged. “They haven’t learned not to believe the impossible. This is . . .”

“Is what?”

He looked at her, lit up with a grin. “So fucking cool. And . . . wait a minute. I was distracted, caught up. I just noticed.”

“Noticed what.”

“Your hair. It’s back.” He crossed to her, ran his fingers through the bright golden red. “It’s Avery’s hair again.”

“I decided to try being me for a while, see how it goes.”

“The way I like you best,” he told her.

“Really?” Intrigued, she studied him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s your hair, but this is your hair.” Bending down, he sniffed at it. “Smells like it, feels like it, and now it looks like it. I’m crazy about your hair.”

“Come on.”

“Always have been. I’ve never made love with you and your real hair.”

She laughed, then laughed again when he boosted her up. Obliging, she hooked her legs around his waist.

“I think I should,” he continued, “just to see. Get a comparison study.”

“You do like your research.”

“And some more than others,” he agreed as he carted her into the bedroom.

Chapter Twenty

Decked with flowers and sparkling lights, the inn shimmered like a wish. Of all it had seen, all it had held in its long life, this celebration of love, faith, and endurance shone bright.

The air bloomed with the scent of roses, hints of honeysuckle, a sweet drift of lilies. Overhead, the sky cupped blue and clear.

Inside the fairy bower of Titania and Oberon, Clare stepped into her wedding dress. She took a breath, smiled at her mother as Hope fussed the dress into place. “No crying, Mom.”

“My girl’s so beautiful.” Rosie blinked at the tears, stepped forward to take Clare’s hand. “And so happy.”

“Perfect.” Hope stepped back to stand with Avery.

“That’s how everything feels, right this moment.” Clare took another breath as she turned to the mirror. “Perfect.”

“And right on schedule, too. Out on the porch for some photos,” Hope ordered, “so we stay that way.”

“Are you sure Beckett’s not around? I don’t want him to see me before the ceremony. I know it’s silly, but —”

“It’s not,” Avery corrected. “I’ll go back to J&R and make sure the men stay on that side.”

“We need you for pictures,” Hope reminded her.

“I’ll be back. Just let me round up the boys and Justine. And report on progress from the groom’s world. Get started, and give me five,” she said and dashed out.

She noted the door to Elizabeth and Darcy stood open. “Can’t visit right now. Timetable. But I’ll be back.”

Clicking along in her wedding shoes, enjoying the way her dress—the color of frothy champagne—flowed around her legs, she hurried toward the back, through the door, across the porch.

She heard the voices before she knocked—the boys’ excited tones, a low, rumbling laugh. “Everybody decent?” she called out as she eased the door open.

“Define decent,” Ryder said.

Amused, she stepped through the door.

Justine, hair tumbling down her back, stood cheek-to-cheek with Beckett. Another one of those perfect moments, Avery thought, while Ryder and the boys—all in their dark suits—sat on the bed with cards spread out in what appeared to be a marathon game of War.

“It’s time!” Liam started to scramble off the bed, causing a stampede.

“Not yet. We’re taking some pictures first, then the photographer will come down here, take some of you guys. Where’s Owen?”

“Liquid refreshment detail,” Ryder told her.

“You look great. God, everybody looks great. I need to steal Justine and the boys for the pictures, then I’ll ship them back. The rest of the groom’s team stays rear of the inn. No sneaking around the front.”

“How about a pizza delivery?” Ryder asked, and as with the stampede, incited a small riot among the younger set.

“After.” Justine turned, gave the boys the eye Avery imagined had quelled riots for decades. “Let’s go, troops. See you soon,” she murmured, kissing Beckett’s cheek.

“But I’m pretty thirsty.” Murphy sent Justine an imploring look laced with a hopeful smile.

“I’ll take care of that. I’ll be right behind you,” Avery promised Justine.

“I win by default.”

Harry spun around on Ryder’s smug grin. “Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh. The war’s over for you, loser.”

“Moratorium,” Justine declared. “A pause in the battle,” Justine explained to Harry as she herded them out. And she sent Ryder that same quelling eye before she shut the door.

“You really do look great,” Avery said with her hand on the knob. “But wait until you see Clare.”

“Just tell me I don’t have to wait much longer.”

“Nearly there,” she promised Beckett, and scurried out.

Avery glanced down at The Courtyard as she started down. The tents, wedding-gown-white under the softening blue sky, more flowers, more lights.

Hope would say perfect, she thought. And she’d be right.

Owen stepped out, a tray of drinks in his hands. Their eyes met, she on the steps, he below. The moment held—romantic, fanciful—and her heart gave that quick flutter.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You look amazing.”

“Wait till you see the bride.”

Owen only shook his head, watching the sun play on her highland queen hair. “Amazing.”