They both jolted at the rattle of the doorknob, stared as the door opened.

“Oh, Jesus, Clare! Next time,” Avery suggested, “just shoot us both.”

“Sorry. Kids are asleep. Beckett handed me the key, and told me to get my butt up here for a couple hours. He knew how much I wanted to.” Looking around, she pulled off her gloves. “Oh, you’ve already done so much! It looks—”

“Like Hope,” Avery finished.

“Yes, it does. What can I do?”

“Kitchen’s mine.”

“I just finished in the bathroom,” Hope told her. “I guess I should move to the bedrooms.”

“Then . . .” Clare opened the door again, lifted the painting she’d left propped against the wall.

“My housewarming gift! Oh, I love it.”

“Madeline said you could change your mind,” Avery told her, “if it didn’t suit once you moved in. You can exchange it at Gifts for another painting, or whatever.”

“It’s exactly what I want. It’s gorgeous, and every day’s spring when I look at those cherry blossoms. Thank you. Both of you. I know just where I want it, in the bedroom so I can wake up to spring every morning.”

Taking the painting, Hope held it out at arm’s length. “I’m going to hang it right now.”

In the bedroom Clare made the graceful sleigh bed Hope had chosen, fluffed pillows, smoothed the duvet while Hope—meticulous as Owen—measured and marked and leveled.

“It’s perfect here. Exactly right,” Hope murmured.

“So are you. It feels like you’re perfect here. Exactly right here.”

“I want to be.”

“Kitchen’s done.” Avery came in, turned, smiled at the painting. “You were right about it. It says spring, even on a night like this. Welcome home, Hope.”

*   *   *

Later, when Clare left and Avery dashed home for what she needed for the night, Hope took a solo walk through the building.

It did feel right, she thought. Like home.

As she climbed back to her apartment, she caught the drift of honeysuckle, sweet as summer.

“I’m here,” she said, “and I’ll be staying now. I guess neither of us has to be alone anymore.”

*   *   *

The next morning, Avery came downstairs to find the Montgomery family already on the job, and Hope in the kitchen making breakfast.

“We haven’t organized the kitchen yet,” Avery commented.

“I’m making do. I want to try out a few things, and this is a good chance.”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“No.” To emphasize the point, Hope held up a finger. “No hand. You’re a guest. Go on into The Dining Room.”

“Is there coffee there?”

“There is. Avery? How was J&R?”

“Like a dream. Only missing the madwoman in the attic, which I guess would make it a nightmare anyway. Coffee first, then report.”

She walked through, helped herself at the copper coffee urn and considered. It might be the perfect time, she mused. Everyone was happy, excited. And a major project wrapped—beautifully wrapped. A few more days of work, sure, a few more details, but basically done.

Owen wandered in. “I heard you were the first guest.”

“I have that distinction.”

“But we’re all getting breakfast. Hope texted everybody this morning.” He sat across from her. “How was it?”

“Wonderful. Full report when you’re all in here. You’re in The Lounge?”

“Mom wants another little cabinet, for the front corner. Ry’s hanging a mirror, Beck’s putting some shelves in the closet in there. You look good,” he added.

She eyed him over her coffee. “Is that so?”

“That’s so. Rested, but revved. Are you working today?”

“Not until four. I’m closing.”

“Why are you up so early?”

“Habit. And I must’ve sensed somebody else was cooking.”

Carolee carried in a tray of thick waffles, filled the room with their scent as she put them in one of the chafing dishes. She sent her nephew and Avery a wink before she bustled out. Hope brought in a clear glass bowl of berries, a glass pitcher of juice.

“Hope, I could—”

Hope made a dismissive sound. “Guest,” she said and went out again.

“I really want to try out that stove top,” Avery muttered. “It’s so shiny.”

In came a platter of bacon, another of creamy scrambled eggs.

“We’ve been summoned.” Beckett strolled in, sniffed. “Smells like breakfast.” He lifted the lid of a chafing dish. “Looks like breakfast.” And snagged a slice of bacon. “Oh yeah. Tastes like breakfast. Hey, waffles.”

“Waffles?” Ryder came in, headed straight for the chafing dish. “Those fat, round ones, too.”

“Help yourselves.” Hope nudged Justine into the room. “If you want anything, please ask. And honest feedback, please. It’s better to know if something’s not working now than to find out after we open.”

She stood back, waited as plates were filled, seats taken.

Ryder took the first syrup-loaded bite of waffle. “You’re not fired,” he told her.

“High praise.”

“It’s wonderful, Hope.” Justine scooped up a little egg. “And the tables look cheerful, just as we wanted. Sit down.”

“I still have a few things to see to, but I’d really like to hear what Avery thought about her night in J&R.”

“Like I’d won a grand prize. The grand prize,” she corrected. “I’m really clean because I tried out the tub last night, and the shower this morning. Both are incredible. And the amenities are just delicious.” She held out an arm to Owen. “Smell me.”

He did. “Nice.”

“Yeah, it is. The towels are soft and thick—and God, let me say the heated tile floors, the heated towel rack? Inspired. Everything about the bathroom makes you feel pampered, relaxed, indulged.”

“That was the goal.” Justine beamed at her. “On the nose.”

“Also, I want one of the robes for my own. The fireplace is such a great feature, especially when you’re in that amazing bed. And let me add it’s the most comfortable bed I’ve had the pleasure of sleeping on. It’s great having all those pillows, the different densities. I tried out the TV, the clock radio thingie, read a couple chapters of Jane Eyre, picked it up on the DVD.

“If I had ten thumbs, they’d all go up. It was absolutely fabulous. I really appreciate having the chance to test the room.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. I’ll check back in a few minutes,” Hope said as she went back to the kitchen.

“No questions, complaints, suggestions?” Justine asked Avery.

“I have a suggestion. Don’t change a thing in that room. There’s nothing about it I didn’t love.”

“All right.” With a satisfied nod, Justine sat back. “One down.”

“While you’re all here, there is something I’d like to talk to you about. Something that has to do with the inn, indirectly,” Avery added.

“Talk,” Ryder invited as he rose. “Want more waffles. Wait, where’s Dumbass?”

“He’s in Reception, by the fire. We can’t have a dog in here with the food, Ryder,” his mother told him.

“But—”

“You’re not to feed him from the table. Hope gave him a couple of dog biscuits, and he’s perfectly happy out there. Now, Avery, what’s this about?”

Her heart thudded, but she told herself it was time.

“I expect when you have guests at the inn, some will come over to Vesta for lunch, for dinner, maybe a beer. Others may want something other than a family restaurant and drive over to South Mountain, or into Shepherdstown. It’s too bad the restaurant on the other corner didn’t work out.”

“Don’t get me started,” Owen muttered.

“We all agree about that,” Avery continued, “but the point is, we could use another restaurant in town, one a few clicks up from family Italian and pizza.”

Nerves tickled along her skin. She hated being nervous, focused on keeping her voice brisk. “And people often come into my place, ask where they could get a glass of wine. Sure I serve it, but it’s not the kind of place you go for a quiet drink or a romantic meal.”

“We want to get the bakery project going first,” Owen told her. “We’re going to look for another tenant for the restaurant. We’re just going to have to be more careful in the selection process this time around, find somebody with a sensible business plan, and an understanding of the location.”

“I agree.” Avery cleared her throat. “You bought the connecting building.” To keep her hands busy, she toyed with her eggs. “I know you’ve considered going retail there, but it used to be one building, and if you opened it back up, there could be a lounge on one side, a restaurant on the other—connected. People could go have a drink, or come in for dinner. Or both. And there’s room in the second part for a little stage. Live music’s a draw. There’s nothing like that in town. A good restaurant with an attached lounge or pub. Good food, nice wine and beer and cocktails, some music.”

“It’s a good idea,” Justine began.

“Don’t get her started,” Ryder warned.

“It would add to the inn,” Avery went on. “Guests would have more choices, and could walk right across St. Paul, have a bottle of wine, and not worry about driving. You could arrange for room service from there, just like we’re going to do for you from Vesta. Don’t want to go out? Have some pizza in The Lounge, or a nice, quiet dinner in The Dining Room. And you’re doing packages. Adding a package with a dinner for two at a nice restaurant, right next door—or again, brought to them here—would be a draw.”

“No question.” Beckett nodded at her. “And we’ve tossed it around, some. The sticking point is finding someone who not only wants to run a place like that but can do it, and do it right.”