and air that had so suddenly smelled of wild summer vines. “So.”
“So.” He slid his hands into his pockets.
Safer there, she imagined, or she might jump him again.
“I’ll play around with some ideas for the rooms I’ve seen.”
“That’d be great. Listen, I can let you have the binder. We have a binder with cut sheets and photos of lighting and furniture, bath fixtures, like that. The one here has to stay on-site, but I have one at my place you could borrow for a couple days.”
“Okay.” She took a breath, settled a bit more. “I’d love to look through it.”
“I can drop it off at the bookstore, or by your place sometime.”
“Either’s fine.”
“And you can come back, when you’ve got time, if you want to go through more of the space. If I’m not around, Owen or Ry could take you through.”
“Good, that’s good. Well, I’d better go. My mother’s going to drop the boys off at the store in a little while, and I still have . . . things.”
“I’ll see you.”
“Yeah.”
He watched her go, waited for the door to close behind her with his hands still in his pockets, and balled into fists. “Idiot,” he muttered. “You’re a goddamn idiot.”
He’d scared her so she could barely look at him, so she couldn’t wait to get away from him. All because he’d wanted—just wanted.
His mother liked to say, to him, to his brothers, they were old enough so their wants wouldn’t hurt them.
But they did. This kind of want left a jagged hole in the gut.
He’d stay away from her for a few days, until those jags smoothed out. And until she felt easier around him again. He’d have one of the men run the binder over to her—keep clear.
His wants might hurt, but he was old enough to control them.
He caught the scent of honeysuckle again and, he swore, the faintest whisper of a woman’s laugh.
“Don’t you start on me.”
Annoyed, he clomped upstairs to harass the crew.
NOT READY TO face the bookstore and her staff, Clare bolted to Vesta. Behind the counter, layering cheese on a pie, Franny, Avery’s second in command, shot her a smile.
“Hey, Clare. Where are my boyfriends?”
“With my mom. Is Avery here?”
“In the back. Is something wrong?”
God, how did she look? “No, nothing. Just . . . just want a minute with the boss.”
Striving for casual, Clare strolled around to the closed kitchen area where Avery cut fresh dough into tins for rising. Steve, the dishwasher, rattled around at the big double sink, and one of the waitstaff grabbed glassware from the wire shelves.
“I need to talk to you when you have a minute.”
“Talk. I’m not using my ears for anything right now.” Then Avery glanced over, saw Clare’s face. “Oh. Talk. Give me five. Go grab something cold out of the cooler for both of us. I need to get some supplies from downstairs anyway.”
“I’ll just go down and wait.”
She grabbed a couple of ginger ales and went out the door to the back stairwell. Outside again, and under the building—she could hear people talking and laughing on the porch above—and into the sprawling, low-ceilinged basement with its stacked cases of soft drinks, bottled beer, wine.
Cooler, she thought. Cooler here. And opened the ginger ale to drink long and deep.
Moonlight and honeysuckle, she thought in disgust. Just another fairy tale with her. She was a grown woman, a mother of three. She knew better.
But really, had she ever noticed, really noticed, how strong and wonderfully shaped Beckett’s mouth was? Gorgeous—she knew that, too. All the Montgomerys were, but had she ever noticed how deeply blue his eyes were in the moonlight?
“There wasn’t any moonlight, you idiot. It was an unfinished room crowded with paint cans and lumber and tarps. For God’s sake.”
She’d gotten caught up in the romance of it, that’s all. Buttery leather, blue ceilings, peacock feathers, and cashmere throws.
It was all so fanciful, so outside her own reality of practical, affordable, childproof. And it wasn’t as if she’d actually done anything. Wanting to for a minute wasn’t doing.
She paced, then whipped around when the door opened.
“What’s up?” Avery demanded. “You look like the town cops are hot on your trail.”
“I almost kissed Beckett.”
“They can’t arrest you for that.” Avery took the unopened can of ginger ale. “How, where, and why almost?”
“I went over to see a few more rooms, and we were in Marguerite and Percy—”
“Ooh-la-la.”
“Cut it out, Avery. I’m serious.”
“I can see that, sweetie, but almost kissing a very attractive,