Нора Робертс - The Perfect Hope

“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.”

AFTER A LONG, BRUTALLY HOT DAY THAT INCLUDED A go-round with an inspector he’d considered strangling with a bungee cord, a key crew member who had to be rushed to the ER for twelve stitches, and a screwup on a materials delivery, Ryder wondered why he didn’t end the day having a beer and take-out Warrior’s Pizza in his underwear.

But a deal was a deal, so he grabbed a quick shower, and took the time to shave.

He remembered to make the bed, a chore he rarely bothered with. Then, rolling his eyes, muttering curses in a way that had D.A. bellying into his own bed, Ryder unmade the bed by stripping off the sheets.

The least a man could do was provide fresh sheets if he planned on tossing a woman into them.

He knew the rules. And they included clean sheets, fresh bathroom towels, and a scrubbed-out sink. Women were fussy, and a woman like Hope—as he’d spent considerable time at her place and seen for himself—was fussier than most.

Fair enough.

Satisfied the bedroom would pass, he went downstairs, picked up a few things on the way through. He wasn’t a slob, he told himself. And he had Betts, his cleaning lady, in every other week. But between work and his time with Hope, things had gotten a little messy.

He wound through to the kitchen and tossed what he’d picked up into the utility room to be dealt with later. No problem with the kitchen, he mused. He kept that squared away because if his mother dropped by—and she did—she wouldn’t say a word. Oh no. She didn’t have to when she had that look if he had piles of dirty dishes or trash and recyclables around.

He got out the bottle of Cab he’d picked up, dug up a wineglass. Then muttering again, got out another. He didn’t mind wine, and drinking it with her was more sociable.

He knew the damn rules.

He had a clean house, pretty much. He had wine and decent glasses for it. He had a couple of steaks. He didn’t cook. He grilled and he nuked. So he’d grill the steak, nuke the potatoes, and dump the salad mix he’d picked up into a bowl.

If she didn’t like it, she should go to some other guy’s house for dinner.

Why was he acting nervous? He wasn’t nervous. That was ridiculous. He’d had women in his place before. Usually it was after they’d gone out somewhere, but he’d done the grill-and-nuke for women before.

They were fine with it. She’d be fine with it.

He dumped the bag of salad in a bowl and considered it a job well done. He scrubbed a couple of potatoes, opened the wine. He caught himself fiddling—turning on music, letting the dog out, letting the dog in.

Relief flooded when he heard the knock on the front door. He was better at doing than thinking about doing.

She looked amazing. Every time he saw her was another kick in the gut. “You cut your hair.”

“Yeah.” She lifted her hand to the short cap with long, spiky bangs. “I had some time, and it was driving me crazy. What do you think?”

“It looks good on you.” Everything did. It set off those smoky eyes that matched the smoky voice. She wore a dress, the kind that made him wish summer would never end. It bared her shoulders, and a lot of leg, and when she stepped in, he noted it bared a lot of back.

“Here you go.”

He hadn’t even noticed the flowers in her hand, and now just frowned down at them.

“Hasn’t anyone ever brought you flowers?”

“Can’t say they have.”

“Let me be the first. And I picked this up at the bakery. Have you had their brookies?”

“No. What are they?”

“Orgasmic.”

“I figured we’d be taking care of that ourselves.”

“Why stop there? Believe me, you’re in for a treat. I’ll put the flowers in water for you. Do you have a vase?”

“Ah … I don’t think so.”

“I’ll find something. And I didn’t forget you,” she said to D.A. while he rubbed against her legs. She opened her purse, produced a massive rawhide bone.

“What, did you take down a mastodon?”

Laughing, she pointed until D.A. managed to sit on his wagging tail. “It was a bitter battle, but I won.”

D.A. clamped it in his teeth, pranced over into the living room to collapse and gnaw.

Hope smiled up at Ryder. “So?”

“I’ve got some wine in the kitchen.”

“Just what I need after defeating a mastodon.”

She glanced around—discreetly—as she went back to the kitchen with him. She’d been in his home once, but hadn’t seen much more than the bedroom.

She liked his space, his use of color and comfort, and the detailing of the wood. She knew he and his brothers had built it, as they’d built Owen’s and Beckett’s.

If she ever found herself in the market for a house, she’d make sure it was a Montgomery Family Contractors project.

She loved his kitchen, the easy efficiency, the clean lines—dark woods, open shelving, glass-fronted cabinets.

“Is it all right if I look for something to put the flowers in?”

“Sure. I’ve probably got a jug or something.”

He poured the wine while she hunted. “I heard there was a glitch with the inspector at MacT’s.”