Oh! She’d book the Titania and Oberon room for her parents’ anniversary next spring. Or maybe Elizabeth and Darcy. A perfect gift, romantic and special. The Montgomerys ought to push that, subtly, in their brochure.

She should make some notes.

She took out her phone to do just that, then tucked it away again when one of her regulars came in with her toddler in tow.

“Hi, Lindsay, hi there, Zoe.”

“Need book!”

“Who doesn’t?” Charmed, as always, Clare plucked Zoe up, set her on her hip.

“I was a block away,” Lindsay said, “and I wasn’t going to stop in. But she got so excited, bouncing in the car seat.”

“I swear, I’m going to hire her the minute the law allows.” Clare kissed Zoe’s dark curls as she carried her back to the children’s section.

By the time they left—two books for Zoe, one for Mommy, and a pretty plush kitty purse for a niece’s birthday—Clare had been filled in on celebrity gossip, town gossip, the niece’s mother’s recent weight gain, and Mommy’s newest diet.

When the door jingled closed, Laurie peeked up from the annex. “I deserted the field.”

“I noticed.”

“You handle her better than I do. She gives me an earache.”

“I don’t mind. She just needs to talk to an adult now and again. Plus she spent more than fifty dollars. Did you take your lunch yet? I can handle things if you want to get out for a bit.”

“I brought mine with me. Lindsay’s not the only one on a diet. I’m going to eat my measly salad in the back. Cassie just got in. She’s getting some net orders together for shipping.”

“I’ll take the front. I need to go back out about two, but I’ll be back before you leave for the day.”

“Give a shout if we get busy. One of us’ll come out.”

She could only hope. The store hadn’t exactly bustled with business today. She could use a few more Lindsays before closing, she thought as she got herself a cold drink from the refrigerator.

She carried it into the children’s section, tidied up the toys Zoe had played with while her mother had her visit. And thought of Zoe’s soft, dark curls.

Clare wouldn’t trade her boys for anything in heaven or on earth, but she’d always secretly hoped for a little girl. Pretty dresses, ribbons and bows, Barbies and ballerinas.

And if she’d had a girl, her daughter would probably have turned out to be a tomboy, as into action figures and dirt fights as her brothers.

Maybe Avery would fall in love and end up having a baby girl. Then she could be the doting honorary aunt and finally get to buy all the fuss and flounces.

Now that would be fun, she decided while she tidied books, rearranged stuffed animals. Watching Avery fall in love—the real thing—helping her plan a wedding and on to sharing the excitement of a new baby. Their kids could grow up together. Well, her boys had ahead start, but still. Then, years from now, Avery’s daughter and . . . probably Murphy, considering the ages . . . would fall in love, get married, and give them both gorgeous grandchildren.

Clare laughed to herself, running her finger down the cover of a children’s book.

Fairy tales, she mused. She’d always been a sucker for them. And for a happy ending where everything wrapped up as pretty as a bow in a little girl’s hair.

Maybe more of a sucker than ever now, she admitted. Now that she’d known real loss. Maybe that’s why she just needed to believe in that bright, shiny ribbon tied in a bow around happy ever after.

“Daydreaming about me?”

She jumped at the voice behind her, turned and tried not to wince when she saw Sam Freemont in the doorway.

“Just restoring order.” She spoke pleasantly, reminding herself he sometimes actually bought something rather than just pestering her for a date. “I didn’t hear the bell.”

“I came in the back. You should put some security up, Clare. I worry about you working in this place.”

She caught the condescending tone in this place, struggled to remain pleasant. “Laurie and Cassie are in the back room—and there’s a monitor. In fact,” she said deliberately, “they can see us right now. What can I do for you, Sam?”

“It’s what I can do for you.” He leaned against the framework of the opening. Posing, she noted, in his putty-colored suit—the bold blue tie, she imagined, chosen to play up his eyes. “Got a nice, fat bonus check in my pocket.” He patted it, added a wink. “I’ll take you to dinner at my club. We can celebrate.”

Since he worked—when he chose—for his father’s car dealership, and his mother came from old money, she imagined he often had fat checks.

He certainly bragged about money often enough.

“Congratulations, and thanks for the offer. But dinner at the club doesn’t work for me.”

“You’ll love it. I’ve got the best table in the house.”

Always the best, she thought. The biggest, the most expensive. He never changed. “And I’ll be at my kitchen table, convincing my three boys to eat their broccoli.”

“What you need is an au pair. My mother could help you with that.”

“I imagine she could, if I were interested, which I’m not. Now, I need to—”

“I’ve got some time now. We’ll go have a champagne lunch.”

“I don’t—” The bell jangled on the front door. “Have time. Obviously. Excuse me.”

Rather than moving past him, she went out the other doorway to the main room, ready to kiss whoever had interrupted Sam’s annoying campaign.

“Justine! I was just over at the inn this morning. Carolee. It’s so nice to see you both.”

Justine pulled off her red-framed sunglasses, waved a hand in front of her face. “We walked up from Bast. God, the heat! And you look cool and fresh as ice cream—no, lime sherbet—in that dress.”

Carolee dropped into one of the chairs at the little table by the windows. “God, I could use some lime sherbet. We’re going to treat ourselves to one of your fancy iced coffees.”

“Our special this week is Cookie Dough Jo—it’s sinful.”

“Make it two.” Justine dumped her purse on the table, then swung toward the stack. “I didn’t know this was out yet.” She grabbed a book. “Is this as good as the last one she did?”

“Actually, I think it’s even better.”

“Well, this stop-by’s going to cost me more than the price of sinful coffee.” Justine arched her brows at the sound of the back door slamming.

“Sam Freemont, expressing his annoyance. And the coffee’s on the house, in gratitude for you bringing the end to his pestering me to go to dinner at the club.”

“Sam Freemont’s a little prick who grew up to be a bigger one.” Carolee’s pretty hazel eyes turned hard. “Remember, Justine, how he spread rumors about my Darla? He was after her to go to the prom, and when ‘no’ didn’t work, she finally told him to get lost.”

“Or words to that effect,” Justine added, and made her sister smile fiercely.

“That’s my girl. So, he spread it around she was pregnant, and didn’t know who the father was.”

“And Ryder kicked his ass. Not that he’d ever admit it,” Justine continued, “and my other boys kept the brothers’ vow of silence. But I knew, and I bought him this CD player he’d been saving up for. So he knew I knew.”

“They’ve got Riley blood, and Rileys take care of their own. Montgomerys, too.” Carolee jabbed a finger in the air. “It’s how that Freemont boy was raised. Spoiled rotten. His mother’s the worst—never could stand that woman—but his father’s just as bad for going along. Anything he wanted, anytime he wanted. And he just lorded it over everybody.”

“She got what she deserved, didn’t she?” Justine shrugged. “A big prick for a son.”

Clare smiled as she started the grinder. Justine Montgomery was exactly what Clare wanted to be when she grew up. Smart, strong, self-aware, an excellent and beloved mother to her sons. An attractive woman with her dark hair scooped up in a sassy tail, the body she kept in excellent shape clad in casual but stylish capris and a thin white shirt.

Carolee, who had stood up to browse with her sister, was pale gold, nearly as tall, delicate in build.

They were bonded like glue, Clare knew.

Justine walked over, set two books on the counter. “You know, honey, Ryder—any of them—would warn Sam off if you said the word.”

“Thanks, really, but I can handle him.”

“Just keep that in your back pocket. So Owen tells me you and Avery may have a prospect for innkeeper now that Karen’s buying baby booties.”

“Hope would be amazing. I think the place deserves someone as talented as she is. I only really got the sense of one room—Beckett filled us in on Titania and Oberon this morning. But oh, I’m in love. I can really picture it.”

“You and Avery both have good heads on your shoulders, so your recommendation’s something I take seriously. That place.” She stepped over to look out the glass in the front door. “It’s got my heart now. Ours—doesn’t it, Carolee?”

“I’ve never had so much fun in my life. Helping to pick out everything from four-poster beds to soap dishes. We’re going to have a smell contest next week.”

Clare paused as she added whipped cream to the iced coffee. “Sorry?”

“Scents,” Justine explained with a laugh. “You put us on to Joanie—Cedar Ridge Soaps.”

“Oh, she’s great, isn’t she? She did tell me she was going to do your amenities, all locally made. I think that’s such a wonderful idea.”

“With each room having its own signature scent.”

“Now that’s a fabulous idea. Soaps, shampoos, lotion. Have you thought of doing diffusers?”

Justine narrowed her eyes. “Not until right this minute. Can she do those?”