“Did your heart flutter?”
“No.” Considering, Hope put the kettle on. “But I thought I loved him. I did trust him, admire him, enjoy him. And so, I thought I loved him. He knew that. Knew I trusted him, admired him, felt for him—and he knew I believed we were going to make a future together.”
“Why wouldn’t you believe?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Hope agreed, without the taste of bitterness on her tongue she’d once swallowed too often. “We all but lived together. He said he loved me, he talked about the future with me.”
“I’m sorry, Hope. Does it still hurt?”
“No . . . maybe a little,” she admitted as she set out cups. “More pride than heart though at this point. He used me, and that—that just pisses me off. I don’t believe he intended to in the beginning. But in those last months, he lied to me and used me, and in the end made me feel like a fool. That hurts. Being made to feel like a fool.”
“He’s the fool. I don’t ever want to hurt anyone like that.”
“You couldn’t. You don’t have it in you, Avery.”
She hoped not, but now and again, worrying over it kept her awake at night.
* * *
IN HER QUIET, closed shop, Avery tied on her apron and began the opening process. She switched her ovens on, started coffee. She counted out her cash register, checked the level of her ice machine. Moving from open kitchen to closed and back again, she refilled her toppings trays, made a note to order more delivery boxes, opened a new tub of mozzarella.
After transferring some dough pans to her under-counter cooler, she calculated she’d need to make more by noon. She hauled out her big pots of sauce, set them on low. Deciding she was lower on marinara than she liked, she gathered what she needed to make more.
She paused at the knock on the door, and damn, there was that flutter when she saw Owen through the glass. He held up a key, and at her nod, used it to unlock the front.
“You look busy.”
“Not too. We’re low on marinara.”
“Can I work here at the counter for a while? It’s too noisy at the job site, and they’re into the media tours at the inn.”
“Sure. Want some coffee?”
“I’ll get it in a minute.” He set down his briefcase and a long tube, shed his coat, pulled off his ski cap. Ran his hand through his hair.
Then he walked around the counter, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Smells good.”
“Best marinara in the county.”
“I was talking about you, but the sauce isn’t bad. Do you want coffee?”
“My hands are going to be full until I get this going. Aren’t you supposed to be part of the media stuff?”
“Off and on.” He walked off to get a mug, lifting his voice when she opened a huge can of crushed tomatoes. “We’ve got a nice slate. Hope has contacts down in D.C., up in Philadelphia, so we drew some interest beyond the local. Nice for us.”
“Very.”
“Mom and Carolee are handling most of it with Hope, and the rest of us will do whatever, whenever.”
“Exciting stuff.”
He stood, watching her stir, add her herbs.
“Don’t you have to measure?”
“No,” she said simply.
“I looked over the menu you’ve worked out for the new place. How do you know how to make all that?”
She slanted him a look Hope would’ve termed smug. “I have many skills.”
“I figure you need to test some of those dishes on a willing subject.”
She glanced over. “Do you? And you’d be willing?”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Generous to a fault, that’s you.” But it actually wasn’t a bad idea, she mused. It was like testing out each room in the inn before opening. “I’m off Monday night.”
“Works for me.”
“Place your order.”
“Whatever you want.”
“No, take another look at the proposed menu, place an order—salad, appetizer, entree. The works. When it’s real I’ll have a chef so I won’t do all the cooking, and I’ll have people working the line, but this would be a good indicator. I should try different dishes out on different people, too, make adjustments sooner rather than later.”
“Speaking of adjustments. Are you about done there?”
“I am done.” But she could make dough now, save time in the afternoon.
“I want to show you something.”
“Has to be quick,” she told him as she wiped off her hands. “I should go ahead and make dough while I have the time. And didn’t you have some work?” she added as she crossed to the cooler. Deciding she wanted her caffeine cold, she pulled out a Diet Coke.
“This is part of it.”
He opened the tube, took out a set of blueprints, unrolled them on the counter.
“Is that the bakery building? I never did get a chance to . . .” She trailed off, momentarily speechless as she read the name.
MacT’s Restaurant and Tap Room
“MacT’s. It says MacT’s.”
“That’s the name you said, right? You can always change it. You can change anything right on the blueprints. This is your copy. Beckett is tied up this morning, but he’ll go over them with you. For now, I can answer most questions, if you have any, explain what you don’t get.”
“My blueprints.”
“That’s right.”
“Hold on a minute.” She whirled away, danced around the dining room. Jumped, spun, kicked, reminding him of her cheerleading days at Boonsboro High.
When she did a handspring, he jolted, then laughed. “Jesus Christ, Avery. You can still do that?”
“Apparently.” On a woo-hoo, she launched herself at him.
He caught her, staggered a little as she pumped her fists in the air.
“I was hoping you’d have more enthusiasm.”
“How’s this for enthusiasm?” She locked her arms around him, her legs around him, her mouth to his.
“Not bad.” He turned them in a circle. “Not bad at all.”
“I haven’t even seen them. I have to see them!” Wiggling down, she all but fell on th
e plans.
“I can explain,” he began, but she brushed it away.
“Do you think I can’t read blueprints? I practically slept with the ones for Vesta. It’s good, it’s good,” she muttered. “I’m going to want to move this cooler from here to here. It makes more sense for the flow, plus I’ll need a table here, beside the dishwasher.”
He pulled a pencil out of his briefcase. “Mark it.”
She marked it, made a couple small adjustments. “The opening here, that’s good. Easy pass-through from space to space for servers and customers. Sitting at the bar having a drink with a friend. Hey, why don’t we have dinner? Stroll right on over.”
“It’s a big bar.”
She gave a decisive nod. “Needs to make a statement.”
“You need to tell me what you’re looking for there. The wood, the finish, the style, so I can work up a design for you.”
She shifted her gaze over. “Are you building it?”
“I figured on it. Why?”
“I was going to sex you into it.”
“Now that I think about it, I’m pretty busy.”
On a quick laugh, she turned to wrap her arms around him. The hell with head-clearing breaks. “Owen.”
“Maybe not that busy.”
She held tight, squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not going to let you down.”
“Nobody thinks that. Not for a minute.”
She shook her head, looked up at him. It was more than a building, a business. It was Owen, and that flutter around her heart. “I’m not going to let you down.”
“Okay.”