Нора Робертс - The Next Always

“You’re welcome.”

“Now I really have to go.”

“I want to see you this weekend.”

“I want you to see me this weekend.” She moved into his arms, just held for a moment. “Let me check the schedule.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.” She went to the door, opened it. “Oh, one more thing. Thanks for the tip.”

He walked to the window, waited so he could watch her cross the street. She did it at a run, skirts flying, legs flashing. When she reached the opposite corner, she looked back, saw him there and waved before hurrying to the back of the building.

He thought about her, about love. What it cost, what it offered. Then he took his take-out box to his office microwave to heat up his very cold calzone.

It was near the end of the workday by the time he made it back to the inn. His mind on other things, he smelled the paint before he saw it.

They’d need another coat, but the quiet straw color already picked up the light, played with the tones in the tile. He heard the grind of the tile saw, the thump of hammers. When he got to the base of the stairs, his mother’s voice carried down to him.

Perfect, he’d get them all at once.

He found his mother and Carolee on two in the Eve and Roarke room.

“Hey. I was hoping I’d catch you.” He crossed back to the bath.

“Look at this!” His mother thrust a cut sheet at him. “It’s the perfect towel warmer for this room.”

“You already—”

“I didn’t order the other one because I wasn’t a hundred percent. This is a hundred percent. Heated glass.”

“It’s kind of—”

“Pricey, I know, but it’s exactly right. It looks futuristic.”

“It is pretty cool.” Studying it, he brought the rest of the room’s features into his head. “It works with the lights, the fixtures we’re putting in here.”

“Good, because I already ordered it. But that’s not the big news.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

She slapped his arm. “Carolee—”

“Carolee’s pregnant?”

“Aren’t you in a good mood? No, and it’s a good thing she’s not, because Carolee is going to be our assistant innkeeper.”

“That is big.” Surprised, he looked at his aunt. “I didn’t know you wanted to work here.”

“I’m dying to.” Carolee’s eyes sparkled with the thought of it. “I love this place, and giving up my part-time job at the outlet won’t hurt my feelings a bit. I’m good with people, and you know how I love to entertain. I wrote up a resume.”

“As if.” Justine bumped her sister with her elbow.

“It’s business, Justine. Family business, but still business.”

“My vote is you’re hired,” Beckett said. “You’ll be terrific.”

“See? That makes it unanimous.”

“I’m so excited! I really love this place. I’ll be able to walk to work instead of driving all the way to—” She stopped, shook her head. “But we have to see how Hope and I get along.” Carolee held up her fingers, crossed them. “Then we’ll make it official.”

“Well, this news blows my news out of the water.”

“Clare’s pregnant.”

Beckett’s mouth dropped open. “Jesus, Mom.”

“Tit for tat, my baby boy. What’s the news?”

“Where’s the rest of us?”

“Upstairs in Hope’s apartment. They went ahead and laid the tile in her kitchen and bath since it’s simple.”

“Let’s get them down here, so we can all do this together.”

He went out, yelled up. “Family meeting, ASAP. Eve and Roarke.”

“What’s this about, Beckett?” Justine asked.

“Something I finished up today. Oh, I need to use the shop for a while, just FYI. I have to build some coffins.”

Not much surprised Justine Montgomery, especially when it came to her boys, but this one had her blinking. “Coffins?”

“For the kids, for action figures who’ve fallen in battle. I’m probably going to head over there when—Okay, here they come.”

“What’s up?” Owen demanded. “We’re just knocking off.”

“And I want a beer,” Ryder added.

D.A. moseyed in behind him, circled the room to sniff everyone hello.

“You can buy me one.” Beckett opened his folder, took out the mock-up of the sign. “This is it. Anybody doesn’t like it, I’ll kill them with a sledgehammer. I’ll feel bad if it’s Mom or Carolee, but I’ll still do it.”

Ryder studied it, said, “Huh.”

“What font is that?”

“The one I picked,” Beckett told Owen. “I can kill you. I have a spare brother.”

“Justine, look at the colors.” Carolee laid a hand on Beckett’s arm as she leaned in.

“They’re exactly what I wanted, that rich brown on creamy, beigy tan.”

“It’s to scale. Plenty of room for the website and the phone numbers without crowding the name.”

“Not bad.” Ryder nodded, scratching D.A.’s ears while he shot Beckett a grin. “Not bad at all.”

“I still need the font. If we’re sticking with this—”

“We’re sticking with it,” Beckett insisted.

“I need it for the stationery, business cards, room plaques, key fob—”

“Okay, shut up.” Beckett took a disk out of the file, handed it to Owen. “Everything’s on here.”

“It’s like the towel warmer.” Justine wrapped her arm around Beckett’s waist. “It’s a hundred percent.”

“I made one up for the gift shop, figured we’d go vertical there, hang it out on a bracket, print on both sides.”

“I love it!” Justine took it. “Carolee, let’s go see if Madeline’s still over there. She’ll want to see this. Good job.” She gave Beckett a squeeze. “Really good.”

“I guess I’ll buy you a beer,” Ryder decided.

“I guess you will.”

“Meet you there. I need to clean up since I wasn’t riding a desk all day.”

“Did you give me the point size on the—”

“It’s all there, Owen,” Beckett assured him.

“I’ll check it out. After Ry buys me a beer.”

“Why am I buying your beer?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Bullshit.”

They argued about it on the way out.

Clare barely had the coffee started and the computer booted on her preopening routine when the bookstore doorknob rattled. She glanced over, saw Sam Freemont through the glass panel. Too late to hide, she decided as he’d spotted her, gave her that sly wink and smile.

She considered just shaking her head, but he’d only knock, wink, smile. She’d never been able to figure out why Sam thought he was so charming.

Unlocking the door, she angled herself in the narrow opening. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m not open yet.”

“I smell coffee.”

“Yes, I just started it, but I’m not open for an hour. I really need to—”

“I could sure use a cup. You can spare a cup for a friend now, can’t you?”

He didn’t exactly muscle his way in, but she found herself backing up. Easier to just pour the damn coffee, she thought, and slipped behind the counter.

Sam had given her the mild creeps since middle school.

“How do you want it?”

“Hot and sweet. Why don’t you just tip your finger in it. That’s all the sugar I need.”

Maybe more than mild these days, she decided.

“I saw your car in the back, and thought, Clare’s getting an early start today. Honey, you work too hard.”

“Can’t run a business without working.” Unless your daddy owned the car dealership where you put in time when it suited you. She set the go-cup on the counter. “Sugar’s on the shelf right over there.”

He only leaned on the counter. “How are things going with you, sweetheart?”

“Busy. In fact, I’ve really got to get to work. So—”

“You’ve got to take time for yourself. Isn’t that what I always tell you?”

“Yes, you do. But right now—”

“Did you see the demo I’m driving? She’s one sweet ride.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Come take a look. In fact, let me take you for a spin.” He gave her that wink again.

“I have work to do.” She slapped the top on the cup since he’d made no move to doctor it. “Coffee’s on the house.”

“Now you can’t buy yourself pretty things if you give it away.” With that sly look on his face he reached in the inside jacket pocket of his gray pinstripe suit, flashed gold cuff links and monogrammed French cuffs.