By ten, ready for a break, Beckett walked over to the bookstore.

He found Clare at Laurie’s station. “Hey. Where’s your crew?”

“Laurie had a dentist appointment. She’ll be in later. Cassie’s due in any minute, and Charlene’s coming at one. I said I’d open today anyway so I wouldn’t sit home and brood.”

“Brood?”

“First day of school.” She walked behind the counter to make his coffee without being asked.

He supposed that made him predictable.

“Did they get off okay?”

“Oh yeah. They were raring to go—that’ll last about a week. They’re excited about seeing all their friends, using their new supplies. I’m the one having problems,” she admitted. “I didn’t even go back to the house after I dropped them off because I knew the quiet would kill me. That’ll probably last about a week, too, then I’ll be annoyed when they have one of those professional days, and the kids have off.”

He dug back in his memory, felt a little glow. “I loved those.”

“I bet your mother didn’t. I’ve been watching all the activity this morning. It feels like the whole town’s buzzing with it.”

“We’re scattered everywhere. Mom wants to open the gift shop in about six weeks. You knew,” he said when she cleared her throat.

“She may have mentioned it. It’s great Hope will be here for the opening.” Clare handed him the coffee. “She’ll be able to meet some people.”

“Opening? We’re having an opening? I should’ve figured.”

“Your mother will take care of it. I imagine you’ll just have to show up.” Obviously amused by the worry on his face, she gave his hand a pat. “Consider it a trial run for the opening for the inn.”

“I guess I’ll need a date. How about—sorry.” He pulled out his phone. “Yeah. No, I drew that up. I showed you. Yes, I—no, I didn’t. I left them at home. I’ll get them and be right there. Gotta go,” he said as he shoved his phone away.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said when he reached for his wallet. “First cup, first customer. No charge on back-to-school day.”

“Thanks. Why don’t we—” His phone rang again, and the bookstore line jingled along with it. “Later,” he said and headed out with his phone to his ear. “What now?”

It was a week of fits and starts, progress and delays, with plenty of frustration mixed in. Beckett found now that he didn’t feel as obliged to come up with an excuse to see Clare, he didn’t have time. And when he did, she didn’t.

“You’d think two people who live and work in the same town could manage more than a five-minute conversation.” Beckett installed yet another picket on the third-floor porch.

“You’ve got it bad. I’ve got it bad,” Ryder decided, “when I know who you’re whining about even when you don’t use names.”

“I’m not whining, I’m just saying.”

“Aren’t you going out tomorrow night?”

No point in admitting he still felt the need to sort of work up to that. “Yeah.”

“Talk then. Hell, go over and talk to her after we knock off. She’s open till six.”

“She’s got to pick up the kids from school. Plus she’s got that book club thing she does tonight.”

“People talk too much anyway, especially when they don’t have anything to say. The woman I went out with last weekend? She never shut up. Great pair of legs, and a mouth that wouldn’t quit.” He ran his hand along the side rail he’d finished. “Nice.”

He looked over at Beckett. “Why don’t you go over and check on the crew at the gift shop? Since it’s next to the bookstore, maybe you can have the conversation you’re yearning for. Plus, it’ll get your lovesick germs away from me.”

“Good idea. Want me to send one of the men out to work with you?”

“No. I like the quiet.”

Beckett went through the building, where quiet it wasn’t, and out the back. They’d be taking the scaffolding down soon, he thought as he walked under it. And before much longer, they’d get rid of the tarp on the front.

He ran through scheduling and time lines in his head as he crossed the street. He met obligations first, going inside the gift shop. His mother had been dead-on about the wall color, he decided, and about opening the wall.

He talked with the painters, and went out the back.

His mother was right about that, too. It needed sprucing up. Maybe they could add a little gate to—

He caught himself. “Don’t start, man. Just don’t give her any more ideas.”

He walked around to the parking lot just as Clare came out the back, moving fast, her phone at her ear.

“No, don’t worry about it. Just tell her to feel better. Okay, sure.” She sent Beckett a distracted wave. “I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

“Problem?”

“Lynn Barney. Called to tell me Mazie came home from school early. Maybe a stomach virus.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“Mazie was on tap to babysit for me—book club night.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’ve got to run, pick up the kids, figure this out.”

“I can watch them,” he heard himself say. Then wondered where the hell that came from.

“What?”

“I can watch them. It’s, what, a couple, three hours, right?”

“Oh, well, thanks, but I’ll figure something out.”

“Hold on.”

Amused at both of them, he took her arm before she could wrench open the door to her van. Besides, now that he actually thought about it, he liked the idea.

“You don’t think I can handle three boys? I was a boy. I was one of three boys.”

“I know, but—”

“What time do you have to leave for the thing?”

“I should be here around five to help set up. We usually start around five thirty. We generally go until about seven, then it takes a while to close up and—”

“So about five to eight. No problem.”

“Yes, but they need to be fed and bathed and—”

“I’ll pick up dinner at Vesta, come down at five.”

“Well . . .”

“It’ll be fun. I like your kids.”

“God, I’m going to be late.”

“So go. See you at five.”

“I just don’t know if—Okay,” she decided. “But not pizza. If you get spaghetti and meatballs, they can split it three ways. And a salad. Just tell whoever’s taking the order it’s for my boys. They all know what they like. I’ll make sure they have their homework done,” she added as she climbed into the van.

“If something comes up—”

“Clare, I’ll be by at five. Go pick up your kids.”

“Right. Thanks.”

It would be fun, he thought again as she drove off. And spaghetti and meatballs sounded just about perfect.

“How come granddad can’t come play with us?” Liam sulked over his chapter book.