The Perfect Hope

CHAPTER TWELVE

RYDER COULDN’T QUITE DEFINE THE SITUATION WITH Hope. They weren’t exactly dating. They weren’t exactly friends. They weren’t exactly what his aunt Carolee called An Item.

But however he angled to consider the situation, he liked it.

Maybe it included a few elements of strange, the way he parked his truck behind Vesta or over by the fitness center job site rather than right behind the inn.

It wasn’t as if someone couldn’t figure out what was going on if they paid attention. Someone always paid attention. Still, it didn’t sit right with him to be blatant about it.

And maybe it added more strange the way he went up The Courtyard stairs to the third floor, and into the building that way.

Some evenings he heard voices from below, and just let himself and D.A. into her place until she knocked off for the night.

And maybe he found himself taking more of an interest in the workings of the inn than he’d expected to, but he was in it more than he’d imagined, so that followed.

And those workings struck him as pretty well oiled. No surprise, since in a lot of ways she was Owen in a skirt.

She emailed herself, doing room checks with her phone, using the phone to email herself notes she turned into lists on her office desktop. Fresh batteries for the remote in N&N, more TP in W&B, fresh room packets or menus or lightbulbs wherever. Saved steps, he imagined, as she’d be up and down countless times a day—stocking the coffee supply in The Library, hauling up wine, sodas, water from the basement storage.

She lived and died by lists, to his way of thinking. And, again like his brother, by the sticky note.

He’d invariably find a few whenever he’d go into her place while she handled guests. Beer in the fridge—stuck on the fridge door as if he couldn’t open it and see for himself. Leftover pasta on warm if you’re hungry—stuck on the oven, as if ditto.

But he had to admit it was nice to have her bother.

He supposed he’d figured she’d be rigid—live and die by the schedule as much as her lists and sticky notes. But she flexed, and plenty, when things called for it, giving here, adjusting there, shoring up or letting go.

He could admit he’d expected her to start laying down rules or making demands about their … situation. Instead she rolled with it—and rolled plenty with him, he thought as he set the next replacement window in the fitness center.

Even as he thought of her she came out, helping the laundry service haul away a load of linens and towels.

She looked so damn fresh and pretty. He’d seen her mussed now—and done the mussing up himself—but she still managed to grab a man by the throat and the balls.

She turned as someone came out of The Lobby doors. She had a houseful, he knew, for the July Fourth weekend. He couldn’t hear her, but he could see her laugh and engage fully with the three women who came out.

“Problem with the window?”

“Huh?” He glanced around as Beckett came up behind him.

“Oh yeah, nice view. Clare said she’s got sixteen people in there, through the weekend.”

“It’s a holiday,” Ryder said and went back to installing the window.

“Yeah, the boys can’t wait to hit the park tomorrow. We’re going early so they can eat and run off some steam before the fireworks. And we can claim enough territory for everybody. It’s too bad Hope can’t make it.”

“She’ll be able to see the fireworks from the top porch of the inn.” But it was a pisser, he admitted. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d hung out on the Fourth without a date. Not that he couldn’t ask somebody else—technically.

“Don’t you have something to do?” Ryder asked him.

“I’ve been doing it. You’re on the last windows. Roofers are on the shingles; looking good, too. Owen texted from MacT’s. The steel’s on its way here. Looks like we’re getting those beams up today.”

“Place’ll be full of subs next week.” Finished, Ryder stepped back from the window. “You sit on Mom until she picks out the style and finish of the rails for this place.”

“Why do I have to sit on her?”

“Because I thought of it first.” He checked the time. Close enough to lunch to take the break, but he didn’t want to leave the site if the steel was en route.

“And you can go get us some lunch.”

“I can?”

“I’ve got too much going on to leave, and I want to go over a couple things on the plans with you.”

Beckett’s jaw set. “Changes, you mean.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, sweetheart. Just some adjustments, some clarification. If we’re going to have the bones of this place in, I want to nail down the lighting.”

“We’ll do it now. I’ll call in an order. What do you want?”

“Food.” When one of the men hailed him, Ryder left Beckett to figure it out.

They used a back corner, what would eventually be the circuit-training area, to bargain over the plans. Ryder always wanted changes, Beckett knew, just as Ryder knew Beckett only held the line against them if they messed with the vision or didn’t make architectural sense.

“I’m making Mom a list,” Beckett began. “Number of lights, types, areas. She knows the look she wants.”

“Don’t let her order until you check the wattage.”

“It’s not my first rodeo, Ry.” He pulled out his phone as it signaled. “Owen’s in The Courtyard with food.”

“What’s he doing over there?”

“You want to eat, let’s find out.”

He did want to eat, and he’d be within sight if the steel arrived. And since the plans were burned in his brain, he didn’t need the blueprints to bug Beckett about them.

“About the bamboo floors,” he began as they started out.

“Mom’s set on bamboo; so am I for that matter. Don’t even go there.”

“It would save time and money, and look fine if we ran the padded gym flooring throughout.”

“It’d look boring and pedestrian. Bamboo’s got a nice give to it for the classroom, the interior steps and hallways.”

“The steps are going to be a pain in my ass if we use wood.”

“Not budging on it,” Beckett told him. “And you can bet your ass, pain or not, Mom’s not either.”

They stepped into The Courtyard where Owen sat under a cheerful umbrella with three take-out containers and a stack of papers.

“Hope caught me as I was going by and said to eat out here. Nice.”

“What’d I get?” Ryder flipped back the lid of the container, nodded at the panini and fries. “That works.”

“I’ve been going over the paint system for the exterior of the fitness center. It’s a lot of steps, a big process, to get those cinder blocks looking like anything but cinder blocks.”

“Don’t you start,” Beckett warned, and grabbed his own panini. “No way we’re just slapping on some paint and calling it a day. It’ll still be ugly.”

“It’s already less ugly,” Ryder pointed out. “But I’m on your side of this one.”

“Who said I’m not?” Owen stretched out his legs, circled his tired neck. “I’m saying we could do it, but we should go ahead and hire a sub who knows how to do it. It’d take us too long, and there’s too much room for screwups.”

Before Ryder could argue about that, Hope came out with a tray. A big pitcher, glasses, and a plate of cookies.

“Iced tea,” she announced. “And there’s more where that came from. I swear, the calendar turned over to July, and the furnace revved up. They’re calling for triple digits by Sunday.”

“Thanks. You didn’t have to bother,” Owen told her. “Avery said you’re slammed this weekend.”

“Boy, are we. All the guests are off doing something right now, so I’ve got a minute. There’s a lot of interest in the fitness center and the new restaurant. Everybody wants opening dates.”

“Everybody’s going to have to wait,” Ryder muttered.

“I’m telling them to watch Facebook and the web pages. Let me know if you want anything else.”

Ryder downed half a glass of tea when she went inside. “Be right back,” he said, and followed her.

“Does he know he’s hooked?” Owen wondered.

“Ry? Hell no.”

“That was a rhetorical question. Mid-August for MacT’s,” Owen added with his mouth full. “It’s moving good, and I know how Ry is about deadlines, but it’s not going to be a problem. I figure it’ll take about the same time for him to realize he’s hooked.”

Hope started to turn into her office when she heard the door open and close. Walking back toward the kitchen, she smiled as she saw Ryder.

“I told Owen you could eat inside where it’s cool. If you want I can—”

He grabbed—he always seemed to be grabbing her as if she might get away. And the kiss was hot as July.

“Just wanted to get that done,” he told her. “Now, I won’t be so distracted.”

“Funny, it works just the opposite on me.”

“Well, everybody’s out, so—”

“No.” She laughed, nudged him back. “Appealing, but no. I’m swamped.”

“Carolee—”

“Is getting a root canal.”

His wince was knee-jerk and heartfelt. “I didn’t hear about that.”

“She just went in this morning because I nagged her. She was going to pump Advil and tough it out until Monday. Laurie from the bookstore’s going to come over and give me a hand later.”

“You need any help until? I can spare Beck.”

“No, I should be fine.”

He had an idea now just what went into her day—and a weekend with sixteen guests meant that day would be jam-packed. “You could probably use a vacation, a long weekend. Something.”

“I think I’ll have a couple days clear in September. I intend to be a sloth.”

“Block it out. Mom would be okay with it.”

“I’ll think about that.” She gestured back as her office phone rang. “But we’re a popular place.”

“Block it out,” he repeated, and left her to work.

Ryder dropped back into his chair, picked up his sandwich. “Carolee’s getting a root canal, and we’re overworking the innkeeper.”

“You can call her Hope,” Owen pointed out. “You’re sleeping with her.”

“Root canal?” As his brother had, Beckett winced. “Does she need more help? Hope?”

“I don’t know. Not my area. But when she doesn’t have people in there, she’s doing stuff to get ready for having people in there, or that marketing crap. Whatever. She needs some time off.”

“There wouldn’t be any self-interest wound through there?” Owen suggested.

“Sex isn’t the problem. If she runs herself into the ground, we’re in trouble.”

“Okay, that’s a point. Plus, none of us wants her overworked. So—”

Owen broke off as she burst out the door. “I’ve got documents,” she announced. “My cousin came through. There’s a load of them. I don’t know when I’m going to get to them, but—”

“Forward them to me,” Owen told her. “I’ll start combing through.”

“I will, and I’ll carve out time to do the same. It feels like progress.” Unconsciously, she laid a hand on Ryder’s shoulder as she spoke. “I have to believe we’ll find something.”

“Why don’t you sit down a minute?” Before she could respond, Ryder just pulled her down on his lap. When she tried to push away, he grinned at his brothers and tightened his hold. “Screws with her dignity.”

“My dignity remains unbowed. You’re sweaty.”

“It’s hot. Eat some fries.”

“I just had a yogurt, so—”

“Then you definitely need some fries.”

She knew full well he’d keep her pinned in his lap until she did. She plucked one out of his container. “There. Now—”

“Wash it down.” He picked up his glass, put it in her hand.

“Fine, fine.” She drank, put the glass down again.

“Ry was saying you could use more help,” Owen began.

Her back went stiff as a two-by-four. “Have there been complaints?”

“No, but—”

“Have I complained? No,” she answered for herself. “I know what I can handle and what I can’t. Keep that in mind,” she told Ryder, poking her elbow into his gut and pushing to her feet. “I need to get back to work.”

“You’ve got a big fucking mouth, Owen.”

“You just said she—”

“A big fucking mouth. There’s the steel.” He took his sandwich with him as he walked away.

“Definitely hooked,” Beckett observed.

“He’s the one who said she was overworked.”

“Yeah, ’cause he’s the one who’s hooked.”

HE SENT HER flowers. Ryder’s working theory had always been if a woman was pissed off, no matter the cause or the blame, a guy sent flowers. Mostly that smoothed things out again. Then he forgot it in the sweat and effort of work until he was locking up for the night and she walked over.

“The flowers are beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ve only got a minute, which doesn’t mean I’m overworked. It means I’m working.”

Damn Owen, he thought. “Okay.”

“I don’t want you telling your family I can’t handle this job.”

“I didn’t.”

“If I need more help, I’ll talk to Justine. I can speak for myself.”

“Got it.”

A man could always hope that would cap that, but as he expected she—like most women—gnawed on it.

“Ryder, I appreciate your concern. It’s nice, and it’s unexpected. Sometimes there’s a lot of stress and pressure involved. I’m sure it’s the same with your work.”

“Can’t argue there.”

“You could probably use a vacation, a long weekend or something.”

He laughed at having his own words tossed at him. “Yeah, probably. The thing is, I’ve got the next two days off.”

“How much time will you spend in the shop, or working out next week’s plan of attack, or talking to your mother about this job?”

She had him there. “Some.”

D.A. waddled over, nudged his nose at her hand. “He thinks I’m mad at you. I’m not.”

“Good to know.”

She stepped up, kissed his cheek. “Maybe you could come by after the fireworks tomorrow.”

“I can do that.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Hey,” he called when she walked away. “You want to go to the movies? Not tonight,” he added at the puzzled look on her face. “Next week, your night off.”

“Ah … I can make that work. Sure. I’d like that.”

“Set it up. Let me know.”

“All right.” She smiled, but the puzzled look stayed in her eyes. “Do you buy a ticket for your dog?”

“I would, but they won’t let him in.”

“Do you have a DVD player?”

“Sure.”

“A microwave?”

“How else would I cook?”

“Then why don’t I come over to your place? We can watch a movie there—all three of us.”

It was his turn to be puzzled. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“Wednesday night?”

“Fine. You want dinner?”

“Not if you’re cooking it in the microwave.”

“I can toss something on the grill.”

“Then yes. I’ll come by about six, give you a hand. I have to get back. Laurie’s on her own.”

“See you later.”

Ryder stuffed his hands in his pockets, watched her walk away. “Every time I think I get her,” he said to D.A., “I don’t.”

THE NEXT NIGHT, as the sun lowered, Ryder gave the second half of his second steamer to Murphy.

“You’re a bottomless pit.”

“They’re good. And they ran out of ice cream.”

“Ought to be illegal.”

“We can put them in jail.” With a smile and steamer-sticky hands, Murphy climbed into Ryder’s lap. “Mom says we can go by the Creamery if they’re still open when we get there. You wanna come?”

A hot July night. Ice cream. “Maybe.”

“Mom says Hope couldn’t come ’cause she has to work.” Devouring the sandwich, Murphy licked steamer juice off the heels of his hands. “Is Hope your girlfriend?”

“No.” Was she? Jesus.

“How come? She’s really pretty, and she mostly always has cookies.”

Considering, Ryder thought the combination was as much a no-brainer as ice cream on a hot night in July.

“Those are excellent points.”

“My girlfriend’s pretty. Her name’s India.”

God, the kid just killed him. “What kind of a name is India?”

“It’s India’s name. She has blue eyes, and she likes Captain America.” He pulled Ryder’s head down, whispered. “I kissed her, on the mouth. It was good. You kissed Hope on the mouth, so she’s your girlfriend.”

“I’m going to kiss you on the mouth in a minute if it’ll shut it up.”

Murphy’s gut laugh rolled out, dragged a smile out of Ryder.

“They’re gonna start soon, right? Right?”

“As soon as it’s dark.”

“It takes forever to get dark, except when you don’t want it to.”

“You’re wise, young Jedi.”

“I’m going to play with my light saber.” He wriggled down, grabbed up the toy light-up sword Beckett had bought him, swished it through the air.

His brothers immediately launched an attack.

“That used to be you,” Justine told him.

“Which one?”

“All three of them. Why don’t you go on up to the inn? You can see the fireworks from there.”

Ryder stretched out in his sling chair. “Montgomery family tradition.”

“I’m giving you dispensation.”

He laid a hand over hers. “It’s okay. She’s busy.”

“Liam! If you don’t stop I’ll take that thing away from you.”

Justine glanced over at Clare, sighed. “And that used to be me. It goes by, Ryder.” She turned her hand under his, laid the other over Willy B’s, who sat at her other side with Tyrone on his lap. “It pays to grab what’s good and right when you can.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve bought something else.”

“You know what I’m talking about. It’s starting,” she murmured as a trail of light streaked skyward. “There’s nothing like the start of something big.”

FROM THE PORCH of the inn, Hope watched the sky explode. Around her the guests applauded, oohed, ahhed. She’d made margaritas on request, enjoyed one herself while she watched the color and light.

And thought of Ryder, down in the park with his family.

Flowers, she mused. Such a surprise. She liked surprises, but she also liked to know what they meant. An apology in this case, she concluded. Though it hadn’t been necessary.

Then there was the movie business. Where had that come from? Straight out of the blue, as far as she could tell.

Silly, she told herself. A movie was just a movie.

But it was the first time he suggested going anywhere—a date?—since they’d started sleeping together.

Were they dating now? Dating was different from sleeping together. Dating had a kind of structure and a set of rules—loose ones, depending, but rules and structure.

Should she start thinking about that—about rules, and structure?

And why was she complicating what was absolutely simple? They enjoyed each other in bed, and bonus, liked and enjoyed each other out of it.

And, both of them were sensible, straightforward people with busy lives.

Enjoy the moment, she ordered herself. Enjoy the fireworks.

A hand closed over hers, so she turned. No one touched her; everyone’s eyes were trained on the sky.

“All right, Lizzy,” she murmured. “We’ll enjoy them together.”

When the last boom echoed, she went down to make a fresh batch of drinks. It pleased her, a great deal, to know her guests had a good holiday experience, and were even now talking about the show, the feel, the local color.

It pleased her, too, to realize Lizzy wanted her companionship.

She fixed more chips and salsa, plated the pretty mini cupcakes topped with American flags she’d gotten from the bakery. She left some on the counter for those who came down, trayed the rest to carry up for those who wanted more time out in the summer night.

She carried up the tray. Belatedly thought Ryder might like something if and when he came by. She slipped out and down, plated a few more cupcakes. She had beer in her personal refrigerator now.

And what did that mean?

Just that she often had the company of a man who preferred it to wine, she told herself as she once again climbed the steps.

And stopped short when Ryder came down from the third floor.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“I put D.A. in your place. The kids wiped him out. Did you make those?”

“No, the bakery—”

He grabbed two, ate the first in one bite. “Good.”

“Yes, they are. I was taking them upstairs in case you made it by and wanted some.”

“Good thinking. I do.” He ate the second, then held out some sort of plastic wand with a star on the top. “I got you a present.”

“You—What is it?”

“What does it look like? It’s like a magic wand or a fairy stick. They sell these light-up toys down at the park. The boys got light sabers and ray guns. This is girly.”

“It’s girly.”

“They’re fun.” He pressed a couple buttons, had it singing and shooting off light.

Laughing, she took it, gave it a little wag through the air. “You’re right. They’re fun. Thanks.”

“Did you see the show?”

“Yes, it was great. We had chips and salsa and margaritas on the porch.”

“It’s not Cinco de Mayo.”

“The guests are always right. And they’re excellent margaritas. Do you want to come out and have one?”

“Really don’t. I’ve had my quota of people today. The park was jammed with them.”

“Here. Take the cupcakes. I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

“Am I supposed to save any of these?”

“Yes.”

“Always a catch.”

“Beer’s in the fridge,” she said, and went out to her guests.

IT WAS LATER than she’d hoped, but they made their own fireworks. With too little sleep, she climbed out of bed to work with Carolee on breakfast. By the time she managed a minute to go back up, he and his dog were already gone.

See? Simple. Straightforward.

Then she picked up the silly wand, turned it on.

And felt her heart melt a bit—more, she realized, than it had with flowers.

She laid it down again to go and begin the process of reordering her inn after the long weekend.

As she hauled bags of linens into the laundry room to store till pickup, Avery poked her head in.

“Take a break.”

“I used to know what that meant. What are you doing in town?”

“Dragging you away. Come look at the new place. You haven’t been in for more than a week.”

“I wanted to, but—”

“I know. Now everybody’s gone. Take a break.”

“We have to turn all the rooms—and I have to order more supplies. We have a couple checking in later.”

“That’s later. Come on. Clare’s coming. She just had to check something at the bookstore. You can take twenty minutes.”

“You’re right. And I could use it. Just let me tell Carolee.”

“I already did.” Avery grabbed her hand. “Come let me show off.”

“I saw the sign. It’s great. Charming and cute and fun.”

“We’re going to be full of charming and fun, and really good food.” She pulled Hope along by the hand. “Owen says mid-August, and I’m so excited about that—but the way it’s going, maybe sooner. I mean they’d be finished sooner and I’d have longer to set up and perfect.”

“You’d have had sixteen people Saturday night, I can tell you that. I’m plugging you big-time.”

“Appreciated.” As they crossed the street, Avery dug out her keys. “Prepare to be wowed.”

“Prepared.”

Avery threw open the door.

The old dark tile was gone. Hardwood replaced it, deep and rich and protected by tarps and cardboard sheets, but Hope saw enough to be wowed. Stamped copper gleamed from the ceiling, and the walls were smooth, primed and waiting for paint.

“Avery, it’s going to be even better than I imagined.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet. They tiled the bathrooms.”

She kept dragging Hope, here, there—to see the tile, the fresh walls in the kitchen, through the now framed opening to the bar side.

“Oh, they’ve restored the siding. It’s fabulous!”

“Isn’t it?” Avery ran her fingers over the smooth wood. “This was the best surprise, and see my brick wall—it’s just right. They’re going to paint, and put in the lights, the bathroom fixtures, the kitchen … then the bar goes in. I may cry when the bar goes in.”

“I’ll bring tissues. Oh, here’s Clare. And look at the raised platform; the kids helped build it. I may cry now. Honey,” she said when she got a good look at Clare, “are you okay? You’re a little green.”

“It’s July,” Clare reminded her, and took slow little sips from her water bottle. “And it’s twins.”

“There’s a step stool in the kitchen. Stay right there.”

“I’m fine,” Clare began, but Avery was on the dash. “But I could sit.”

“You shouldn’t be out in this heat.”

“I’m not going to be for long. But pregnant or not, I have to live. Beckett’s dealing with the boys, the dogs, and the super-duper sprinkler.”

“You hit the jackpot there.”

“And I know it.” She didn’t argue when Avery came back with the stool, but sank onto it. “Thanks. It really looks good in here, Avery. Everything’s coming together just the way you imagined it.”

“Even better. There’s a fan back there. I’m going to get it.”

“Avery, stop. I’m fine. It’s a lot cooler in here than it is out there. I just got a little queasy. It’s passed.”

“I’m walking you to your car when you go, and if you’re not a hundred percent, I’m driving you home.”

“Deal. Now relax. There’s a lot of summer yet to get through. And don’t say anything to Beckett. I mean it.” Clare added a pointed finger. “He hasn’t been through this before. I have. I’d know if anything was off with myself or the twins. It’s just normal pregnant in high summer.”

“Times two,” Hope added.

“Boy, tell me. I’m getting huge and I’ve got months yet. They’re kicking,” she announced, pressing a hand to one side, then the other. “I swear I think they’re wrestling around already.”

“I have to feel,” Avery and Hope said together.

“Wow. Bump, bump, bump,” Hope said.

“It’s great, isn’t it? So lively. It’s worth going a little green. So, mid-August for your first baby,” she said to Avery.

“That’s the word, currently. I’m going to throw the best friends and family night, probably closer to September when I have it all perfect. Just wait.”

“Ryder sent me flowers.”

Avery blinked. “Sorry?”

“No, I’m sorry.” Surprised at herself, Hope tapped her temple. “Where did that come from? It’s working on my head.”

“Is there a problem with getting flowers from a man you’re involved with?” Clare wondered.

“No. I love getting flowers. It was sweet. He’s not usually sweet.”

“He is, under it,” Avery corrected.

“It was an apology, for the most part. Poking in about my work schedule.”

“Ah. Men will do this when it interferes with their sex.”

“No.” She shook her head at Avery, laughed a little. “It wasn’t that, because it’s really not. I guess I’m still making up for lost time, because I’m just fine for that even after a brutal day. Anyway, he sent me flowers. We didn’t even have an argument, not really.”

“Flowers to women are his thing,” Avery told her. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. I mean it’s his go-to. His mom loves flowers, so it’s his go-to.”

“That’s simple then. But … there are some other things. I want other takes.”

“I have a take. Avery has a take.”

“Always.”

“Okay. When I thanked him for the flowers, he suggested we go out to the movies.”

“Oh my God.” Staggering, Avery clutched at her heart. “This is awful. What next? Will he suggest going out to dinner? Perhaps live theater. Run away. Go now.”

“Shut up. He hasn’t suggested going out before, not like that. We stay in. We get takeout or I throw something together—more often than not he just comes over after dinner. Late, when there are guests. And we have sex. What does it mean, a movie? Flowers? And he bought me a magic wand.”

“A what?” Clare said.

“One of those things they sell over by the park with the fireworks. It’s one of the light-up, singing wands, with a star on it.”

“Aww,” was Avery’s response.

“Yes. It’s adorable. Why would he buy me a magic wand?”

“Because it’s adorable,” Clare suggested. “And you couldn’t come down with the rest of us. It’s sweet.”

“There’s that word again. I don’t know what it means, if anything. We’re not dating.”

“Yes, you are,” Clare disagreed with a smile that came from sympathy and amusement. “Didn’t you get the memo? You’re in a relationship with Ryder.”

“We’re not. I mean, we are, of course, because we’re sleeping together. But …”

“People who sleep together fall into specific categories.” Avery began to tick off her fingers. “One-night stands, which doesn’t apply. Friends with benefits, which doesn’t fit either because you weren’t all that friendly before the benefits. Pay to play, and that’s out. Or two people who like each other, care about each other, who have sex with each other. That fits, and that’s a relationship. Deal with it.”

“I’m trying to deal with it. I have to understand it, and I’m not sure I do. I’m not going to go into this with expectations. I’ve done that.”

“You shouldn’t compare him to Jonathan,” Clare advised.

“I’m not. Not at all. It’s me. I have to take some responsibility for what happened with Jonathan. I built up expectations, and—”

“Hold it right there.” Avery threw up a hand. “Did Jonathan tell you he loved you?”

“Yes.”

“Did he talk to you about a future, the potential of one?”

“Yes, he did.”

“He’s a lying, scumbag dickhead. Ryder’s not. If he ever tells you he loves you, you can take it to the bank. I told you I know women he’s dated. He’s easy, he doesn’t commit—or hasn’t—but he doesn’t lie, cheat, or evade. My take? He cares about you. He’s being decent, and yeah, sweet. He is decent and sweet. He’s also cranky and abrupt. He has layers. Start peeling them if you want to understand.”

“What she said. And,” Clare added, “he brought you a silly toy because he was thinking about you. He asked you out because he wants to spend time with you, and give you time away from your workplace. If you don’t think about him or want to spend time with him outside sex, make it clear.”

“I would. I’d never do to anyone what Jonathan did to me. I do think about him. I’m just not sure what it means. Maybe I worry about what it could mean. I don’t know. I thought it would all be simple.”

“It’s never simple.” Avery slid an arm around Hope’s waist. “It shouldn’t be. Because being with someone should matter enough to be at least a little bit complicated. Are you going to the movies?”

“Actually, I suggested dinner and a movie at his place. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“Stop second-guessing him and yourself.” Clare pushed to her feet. “Enjoy him, and yourself. Let it happen.”

“I’m lousy at that.”

“Try it. You may be better at it than you think.”

“If I’m lousy at it, I’m blaming you. I need to get back. Avery, I love this place.”

“Me, too. Come on, Clare, I’m walking you to your car, then giving my judgment.”

They parted ways outside. Clare took Avery’s hand as they crossed Main. “She’s falling for him.”

“Oh yeah, she is. We know you can’t resist a Montgomery man for long.”

“He bought her a magic wand, Avery. I’d say the falling’s mutual.”

“It’s going to be fun to watch.”