The Perfect Hope

over a wood clamp. “Why don’t you come by my place when we’re done here?”

“I have guests.”

“You’ve got Carolee.”

That surge worked through her, but she shook her head. “Tuesday night.” She stepped away before she could change her mind. “Avery, let’s get out of the way.”

“You did your corner, Red,” Ryder added. “Scram. No girls allowed.”

“Boys are mean.” Avery drilled her finger into Ryder’s belly as she passed.

Then when they got outside where kids and dogs ran like the wild in the yard, she hooked her arm through Hope’s. “Sizzling-hot sex vibes.”

“Stop.”

“I know sizzling-hot sex vibes when they’re snapping in the air. You know he lives a couple minutes away.”

“I have—”

“Guests. Still. Quickies are underrated.”

“Again, I say, one-track mind.”

“I’m engaged to my boyfriend. I’m supposed to think about sex.”

“You’re supposed to think about wedding dresses and caterers.”

“And sex.” Laughing, Avery pulled off the bandana, scooped her fingers through her hair. “I don’t want to pick the dress yet. I’ve been looking at magazines and scoping online to get ideas, to try to find a style that pulls at me. It’s like the bar top.”

“Avery.” With an eye roll for her friend’s lack of romantic priorities, Hope sighed. “Your wedding dress is not like the bar top.”

“It is because they both have to be exactly right, exactly what looks fabulous and makes me feel excited.”

“Okay, your wedding dress is like the bar top.”

Avery walked inside, through the kitchen door where Clare sat at the counter peeling carrots. Justine stood, chopping celery with the pug curled at her feet. Something boiled on the stove.

“Avery, your dad’s coming over.”

“Great. I want to introduce him to the puppies.” She bent down to rub and nuzzle Tyrone—currently hiding under Clare’s stool.

“We’re cooking out,” Justine announced. “Ry’s been dropping broad hints about the lack of potato salad in his life, so I figured I’ve got three girls here. We ought to be able to pull that off.”

“I’d be happy to help,” Hope began, “but I really have to get back in about an hour.”

“I called Carolee. She’ll hold the fort until you get there.”

“Really I should go, let her come, be with the family.”

“She’s fine,” Justine insisted. “Avery, will you make that marinade you do for this chicken? The spicy one. We can handle it—we’ll do something mild for Harry and Liam. God knows Murphy can handle the heat. The boy would eat hot peppers like gummy bears if we let him.”

“He likes them better than gummy bears,” Clare agreed. “Relax,” she told Hope. “This will give us more time to brainstorm about Lizzy.”

True enough, Hope thought. But if she’d known she’d have extra time, she might’ve taken Ryder up on that visit to his house.

Now who was thinking about sex?

“I’d love a cookout,” she said, smiling at Justine. “How can I help?”

Justine just handed her a potato peeler.

RYDER WALKED IN with his brothers, a herd of kids, and a pack of dogs. Chaos immediately ensued. Rolling, running, wrestling, demands for food, drinks. His mother, as expected, ignored it or rolled with it. Avery added to it—also expected. Clare handled the boys’ insanity with a look that cut it almost in half—that mom thing—while Beckett grabbed cups to deal with claims of death by thirst.

None of that surprised him.

Hope did.

She hauled the runt onto her lap, listening with appropriate responses of shock and awe as he bombarded her with every detail of his past hour.

The women had gotten into the wine, but he didn’t think that was responsibile for her equanimity. In his observations, she just handled what came.

“Can we have a snack?” Liam tugged at Justine. “We’re starving.”

“We’re going to eat as soon as you wash up and Willy B gets here.”

“That could be forever.”

“I think it’ll be sooner. In fact, I hear Willy B’s truck coming up right now.”

So did the dogs, who immediately ran out the door—except for Tyrone, who stuck by Justine as if Velcroed. “Go on, wash your hands. We’re going to eat out on the deck.”

Ryder opened the fridge for a beer, spotted the bowl of potato salad. Grinned. “Keep your fingers out of that,” Justine ordered, anticipating him. “Wash your hands.”

So Hope ate grilled chicken and potato salad on the deck in the early summer evening, hip to hip with Ryder, with dogs wandering mournfully in the yard hoping for handouts.

Except for Tyrone. He sat—despite Justine’s protests—in Willy B’s lap, gazing up with shining love.

“This sure is good.”

Justine arched her eyebrows. “How much are you sneaking to that dog?”

“Oh now, Justine, I’m not. He’s a good boy—aren’t you a good boy? He’s not even begging.” Tyrone planted his front paws on Willy B’s massive chest and wiggled in ecstasy as he licked Willy B’s bearded face.

Then the dog laid his head on Willy B’s shoulder.

“That’s it.” Avery shook her head. “Dad, that’s your dog.”

The same shining love beamed out of Willy B and he stroked the dog’s back. “He’s my first granddog.”

“No, he’s your dog. You’re taking him.”

“Avery, I’m not taking your pup!”

“That dog’s yours. I know love at first sight when I see it, and I’m looking at it. He likes me, and he’ll love me eventually. But he’s in love with you. And you’re in love with him. You’re taking him.”

“She’s right,” Owen agreed. “You’re made for each other.”

The little dog snuggled into the big man’s arms.

“I wouldn’t feel right taking …” Tyrone turned his head, stared at Willy B with his dark, bulging eyes. “Are you sure?”

“You come by on the way home, get his things. You just got an extra Father’s Day present.”

“Best one ever. But if you change your mind—”

“Dad.” Avery reached over, gave Tyrone’s back an affectionate scratch. “Love’s love.”

Yes, it was, Hope thought. And there was plenty of it to go around on an early summer evening.

When the food was cleared they managed to interest the boys in the toys Justine had started stockpiling in a spare room. The room she now thought of as the boys’ room.

They sat outside as Hope related the details of her eventful Friday night.

“Before we talk about what all of this might mean, and so on, I wanted to ask you, Justine, if we should have any sort of a policy. Do you want me to tell people about Lizzy, or not tell them?”

“I think a policy is too limiting. You should handle it just the way you are. You judge, guest by guest, what to say, how much to say. This is the first time she’s ever disturbed anyone,” Justine considered. “And it seems like she did it on purpose. She didn’t like seeing someone being rude to you.”

“Ought to have better manners,” Willy B commented and gave Tyrone a tickle under the chin. Tyrone grumbled happily in his throat.

“Well, manners aren’t requirements for paying guests. They’re a nice benefit. I’ve certainly dealt with ruder.”

“But we’re not talking about Ry,” Beckett pointed out, and grinned when Ryder sneered at him.