The Perfect Hope (4 page)

“Funny.” He stepped over, braced a hand on either side of her head. “This is because I’ve wasted enough time, and I want a cold beer.”

“Fine.”

He leaned down, hovered a moment, a breath from her lips.

Don’t think, she ordered herself. Don’t react. It’s nothing.

It’s nothing.

It was heat and light, and oh, that surge again from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. He didn’t touch her, but for that mouth against mouth, and she had to curl her hands at her sides to stop herself from reaching out. Grabbing on, dragging him in.

She let herself slide, couldn’t resist it, as the kiss spun out.

He’d meant to do no more than brush his lips to hers. As he might to a friend, an aunt, a plump middle-aged woman with a couple of grandkids.

But he sank into it, too deep. The taste of her, the scent, the feel of her lips yielding to his.

Not sweet, not sharp, but something mysteriously between. Something uniquely Hope.

It—she—stirred him more than it should. More than he wanted.

Stepping back from her cost brutal effort.

He stared back at her for a beat, for two. Then she let out a breath, uncurled her hand, tried the knob.

“There.” She opened the door. “It worked.”

“Get moving before she changes her mind.”

The minute they were in the hall, he walked straight to the now cheerfully burning light, lifted the globe from the floor, fixed it on.

“Done.” He stood where he was, gave her another long look.

She started to speak, and the doorbell pealed.

“My guests are here. I need to—”

“I’ll go out the back.”

She nodded, hurried downstairs.

He listened to the clip of her heels on wood, let himself take a breath.

“Don’t pull that crap again,” he said. With his dog faithfully at his heels, Ryder walked away, out of the scent of honeysuckle and Hope.

CHAPTER THREE

G
RABBING PRIVATE TIME PRESENTED A CHALLENGE, BUT
a woman needed the ear and input of her female friends. Hope grabbed what she could the next day in the window after preparing breakfast for guests and before Vesta opened.

She dashed across Main Street a few minutes after ten, and straight into the restaurant. Clare and Avery already sat at a table, studying Avery’s potential wedding dress, again, on the iPad.

“I brought muffins.” Hope dropped the little basket on the table, tossed back the cheerful red napkin. “Blueberry, still warm from the oven. Thanks for being here.”

“You made it sound urgent.” Avery took a sniff, went
mmm
, grabbed a muffin.

“It’s not urgent. It’s just a thing. I know you’re busy.”

“Never too busy. Sit down,” Clare told her. “You look frazzled, and you never do.”

“I’m not. Exactly. Just . . .” With a shake of her head, Hope sat. “I’ve been having trouble with a couple of the lights,” she began, and ran them through the story.

“It’s like what she did with Owen and me. It’s kind of sweet, in a weird way.”

“It’s not sweet. It’s infuriating. And he actually opened the window, considered climbing out.”

“Of course he did.”

Hope goggled at Clare. “
Of course
?”

“Not of course that was the answer, but of course he considered it. It’s a guy thing.” Amused, but supportive, Clare patted Hope’s arm. “I have three sons, I know guy things.”

“She really does,” Avery confirmed.

“It’s just stupid, especially since we both had our phones. I wanted to call Owen or Beckett, or the fire department.”

“Which is sensible, and a girl thing—and a last resort, probably when starvation threatened, for a guy.”

“Well, it’s just stupid,” Hope repeated. “Anyway, I’d just had it, and I gave him a piece of my mind.”

“Now it’s getting good.” Avery rubbed her hands together.

“He’s rude and surly, never uses my actual name. He treats me like I’m a pain in his ass, and I’m
not
.”

“Of course you’re not,” Clare soothed.

“I do my job and keep out of his way. And what do I get? A curled lip and insults, when he bothers to acknowledge I exist.”

“Maybe he’s got a thing for you,” Avery suggested. “So he gives you grief or ignores you.”

“Oh.” Hope sat back, nodded. “That could be it. If we were
eight
. I said he was snotty, which he is—to me. And he said I was snooty. I am not snooty.”

“You’re anything but. But . . .”

Hope narrowed her eyes at Clare. “But?”

“I think some people, wrongly, assume really beautiful women are. Snooty.”

“That’s snotty
and
snobby. But thanks. Oh!
And
he snarked on my shoes.”

“Dangerous territory,” Avery murmured.

“It sounds like you needed to clear the air,” Clare began.

“Well, we didn’t clear it, unless you equate that with both of us knowing just where we stand.”

“How did you get out?” Avery wondered.

“That’s the rest.” Hope pointed a finger. “I thought of just what you said before. How she pulled this on you and Owen. So I said he should kiss me, and he got snotty about
that
. I mean, honestly, what’s the big deal? He did it before and managed to survive, so—”

“Wait a minute, wait.” Avery twirled her fingers in the air. “Rewind. Ryder kissed you?”

“It was nothing.”

“We’ll be the judge of that. When did this happen?”

“It was just a . . . nothing. New Year’s Eve. We happened to run into each other in Owen’s kitchen right at the countdown. It was awkward, and I guess we both felt it would be more awkward if we didn’t. So we did. It was nothing.”

“You keep saying it was nothing.” Clare considered. “Which makes it sound like something. Especially since you didn’t tell us before.”

“Because it was no—” Hope caught herself. “It didn’t matter. I forgot about it. My point is, it was just a device, like New Year’s Eve. We’re dealing with a romantically inclined ghost, which sounds enormously silly, but it is what it is. So we did, and the door opened. Then the bell rang, I had guests arriving. I went down, he went out.”

“I must repeat. Rewind. You kissed Ryder, again.”

“I might have murdered him if we hadn’t gotten out of that room. Kissing seemed less bloody.”

“So how was it?”

Hope pushed up, circled around. “He’s got skills. And I’m in a dry spell. I’m in a desert. I’m fine with the desert, but it’s a desert nonetheless.”

“You felt something for him,” Clare prompted.

“I felt something,” Hope qualified. “He’s good at it, and the desert is dry. Now I’ve kissed him, twice. We can barely have a civil conversation—scratch that—we can’t have one, and I’ve kissed him twice. So now it’s a situation. Isn’t it?”

“I’m going to let Clare take this one,” Avery decided, “except for saying the only situation I see is two healthy, unencumbered adults who are both more attractive than they have a right to be engaging in a little enjoyable physical contact.”

“But we don’t even like each other. And he’s one of my employers.”

“You’d like each other fine if you’d give each other a chance. And he’s not your boss. Justine’s your boss. And I still say you’re edgy around each other
because
you’re attracted to each other.”

Clare poked Avery in the arm. “I thought you were going to let me take this one.”

“Oh yeah. Take it away.”

“Thank you.” Clare looked over at Hope. “Ditto. More or less.”

Hope sat again. “I agree Justine’s my boss, but don’t you think Ryder considers himself my boss, too?”

“No, and I think he’d be annoyed if you did.”

Avery furrowed her brow, gruffed up her voice.
“I’ve got enough to deal with, for Christ’s sake, without being the boss of you. You’re my mother’s problem.”

Hope laughed, felt the tension at the back of her neck dissolve. “That sounds just like him, in content anyway. So what am I worried about? It wasn’t a way
into
a situation. It was a way
out
of a situation.”

“Let’s focus on that a minute.” Avery wiggled down in her chair. “During the way out of the situation, were tongues involved?”

“Avery.” Laughing, Clare shook her head, then reconsidered. “Actually . . . were there?”

With a cat-in-the-cream smile, Hope tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’ve both known me long enough to know if I’m going to do something, I do it right.”

“I admire that about you,” Avery said. “Where were his hands?”

“On the door, he kept them off me. I was against the door, so—”

“Mmmmm. Don’t you love against the door?” Avery asked Clare.

“A personal favorite. Too bad about the hands, though. I bet he’s got good ones. I think it runs in the family.”

Hope let out a sigh. “Despite your mutual obsession with tongues and hands, I feel better. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Grinning, Avery gave Hope’s hand a squeeze. “And I do mean anytime. Ry’s going to be working on two sides of you for the next however. The odds of further situations are excellent.”

The tension settled into the back of her neck again. “I’m not looking for further situations.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t walk into one.”

“Or open the door and let one in,” Clare added.

“The two of you think that way because your current life punch is spiked with weddings and babies. Mine is a crystal-clear bowl of career.”

“We’ve got careers,” Avery pointed out.

“And excellent ones. We should all get back to them.”

Even as she started to rise, the door opened. Justine Montgomery walked in.

Her appealing wild mass of dark brown hair tumbled out of a messy tail. She pulled off sunglasses with vivid green frames and grinned. “Hello, girls.”

Nothing to feel guilty about, Hope reminded herself. Nothing at all.

“Powwow?”

“We were just catching up,” Clare began.

Justine walked over, laid a hand on Clare’s shoulder. “How are we doing?”

In answer, Clare rubbed a hand over her belly. “We’re doing good.”

“I was going to run down to see you, and see if I can steal the boys from the sitter later today. I’ve got a yen for a picnic.”

“They’d love it.”

“Then it’s a date. And you.” She pointed at Avery. “I’m hoping we can do another walk-through of the new space, and snag a little time for wedding talk.”

“I’m all over it. I ordered the lights from the site you sent me. They’re perfect. I can go over as soon as Dave gets here.”

“Works for me. Actually, Hope, I came by to see you. I found some furniture for the upper porch I think will work.” Justine opened her huge bag, as vivid a green as her frames, fished out a cut sheet. “What do you think?”

“Perfect. Casual, looks comfortable, and the tones and textures are right.”

“I thought so. Go ahead and order. And I want to hook up with you at some point about how we’re going to handle the guest passes for the gym, and what we could include in a package for guests. It’s a ways off, but—”

“It’s never too soon to plan,” Hope finished.

“Exactly. Staff’s going to be key, and I’ll need to find a good manager. I’ve got some feelers out.”

“Speaking of managers, I was thinking we might start having a managers’ meeting, maybe every four to six weeks. Just to coordinate events, ideas, marketing plans.”

Justine beamed at Hope. “I like it.”

“I’ll send an email out to everyone then, so we can work out the best time. If we go with early afternoons, we can use The Dining Room at the inn. And I should get back.”

“I don’t want to break up the party.”

“We’re caught up.” Hope got to her feet.

“Then I’ll walk over with you, before I go harass my boys. I’ll see the two of you later. What do you say to a nice soft, slatey blue to replace that green on the fitness center?” she asked Hope as they walked to the door.

“I say you’re my hero.”

Avery waited until the door closed. “There’s a thing going on.”

Content, Clare folded her hands on her belly. “Oh yes, there’s a definite thing going on.”

“How do we feel about that?”

“They’re not each other’s usual type. Not even close.”

“Absolutely not,” Avery agreed.

“Maybe that’s why I feel so good about it.”

“Me, too!” Avery popped up, grabbed a Coke and a ginger ale out of the cooler. “Part of it could be we’re in love with two of the brothers. There’s one of us, and one of them left.”

“It’s the kind of symmetry Hope would appreciate. If she wasn’t so annoyed and resistant. But it’s not the big part of why. We love them, so we want them to be happy. To have someone in their lives who makes them happy.”

“Ryder dates a lot, but . . .”

“He’s never involved,” Clare finished. “And Hope’s not dating at all. Hasn’t dated since—”

“Jonathan,” Avery said with loathing.

“He hurt her more than she’ll admit, even to herself. And over and above that, she’s pushed herself into this mind-set that she doesn’t want or need to date or have a relationship.”

“You had the same mind-set,” Avery pointed out.

“That was different, and I did date a little.”

“Very little.”

“Very little. But I had three children to think of, and a business to run. Plus, and most important, there wasn’t anyone until Beckett.” Clare sipped slowly. “And there’s another thing, and it sounds a little crazy.”

“I’m okay with crazy.”

“Lizzy. She, in a way, gave Beckett and me, and you and Owen, that little push—that springboard, so to speak. And look at us.”

Avery turned her hand, palm up to Clare. “Married, pregnant with twins.”

Clare mirrored the gesture. “Wedding planning. Do you think she, somehow, knows something, or sees something, senses something we don’t? About feelings or potential feelings?”

“Maybe. And that’s no crazier than having her in residence at the inn while she waits for somebody named Billy.”

“I guess it’s not. I wish we could find out who he was, what he was to her.”

“I’m banking on Hope and Owen. It may take a while, but they’ll dig it out.” Avery smiled at Clare over her soda. “So, how much about all this do we tell Owen and Beckett?”

“Oh, everything.”

“Good. They’ll rag on him, which will piss Ryder off. There’s a better chance of further situations if he’s a little pissed off. And, you know, after that asshole Jonathan, Hope could use somebody a little more real.”

“Ryder’s real.” Clare broke out with a grin. “She called him snotty.”

“I
know
.” Delighted, Avery tipped back and howled with laughter. “And he comes back with snooty. Snotty and snooty. It’s probably wrong, but I love it.”

“If it’s wrong, I’m right there with you.” She lifted her can, tapped Avery’s. “Here’s to the promise of an interesting summer.”