The Next Always - By Nora Roberts Page 0,41

Hell, go over and talk to her after we knock off. She’s open till six.”

“She’s got to pick up the kids from school. Plus she’s got that book club thing she does tonight.”

“People talk too much anyway, especially when they don’t have anything to say. The woman I went out with last weekend? She never shut up. Great pair of legs, and a mouth that wouldn’t quit.” He ran his hand along the side rail he’d finished. “Nice.”

He looked over at Beckett. “Why don’t you go over and check on the crew at the gift shop? Since it’s next to the bookstore, maybe you can have the conversation you’re yearning for. Plus, it’ll get your lovesick germs away from me.”

“Good idea. Want me to send one of the men out to work with you?”

“No. I like the quiet.”

Beckett went through the building, where quiet it wasn’t, and out the back. They’d be taking the scaffolding down soon, he thought as he walked under it. And before much longer, they’d get rid of the tarp on the front.

He ran through scheduling and time lines in his head as he crossed the street. He met obligations first, going inside the gift shop. His mother had been dead-on about the wall color, he decided, and about opening the wall.

He talked with the painters, and went out the back.

His mother was right about that, too. It needed sprucing up. Maybe they could add a little gate to—

He caught himself. “Don’t start, man. Just don’t give her any more ideas.”

He walked around to the parking lot just as Clare came out the back, moving fast, her phone at her ear.

“No, don’t worry about it. Just tell her to feel better. Okay, sure.” She sent Beckett a distracted wave. “I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

“Problem?”

“Lynn Barney. Called to tell me Mazie came home from school early. Maybe a stomach virus.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“Mazie was on tap to babysit for me—book club night.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’ve got to run, pick up the kids, figure this out.”

“I can watch them,” he heard himself say. Then wondered where the hell that came from.

“What?”

“I can watch them. It’s, what, a couple, three hours, right?”

“Oh, well, thanks, but I’ll figure something out.”

“Hold on.”

Amused at both of them, he took her arm before she could wrench open the door to her van. Besides, now that he actually thought about it, he liked the idea.

“You don’t think I can handle three boys? I was a boy. I was one of three boys.”

“I know, but—”

“What time do you have to leave for the thing?”

“I should be here around five to help set up. We usually start around five thirty. We generally go until about seven, then it takes a while to close up and—”

“So about five to eight. No problem.”

“Yes, but they need to be fed and bathed and—”

“I’ll pick up dinner at Vesta, come down at five.”

“Well . . .”

“It’ll be fun. I like your kids.”

“God, I’m going to be late.”

“So go. See you at five.”

“I just don’t know if—Okay,” she decided. “But not pizza. If you get spaghetti and meatballs, they can split it three ways. And a salad. Just tell whoever’s taking the order it’s for my boys. They all know what they like. I’ll make sure they have their homework done,” she added as she climbed into the van.

“If something comes up—”

“Clare, I’ll be by at five. Go pick up your kids.”

“Right. Thanks.”

It would be fun, he thought again as she drove off. And spaghetti and meatballs sounded just about perfect.

“HOW COME GRANDDAD can’t come play with us?” Liam sulked over his chapter book.

“I told you, he’s got a meeting with his photography group. Now answer the question. What did Mike find when he climbed the tree?”

“A stupid bird’s nest.”

“Write it down.”

He slid his eyes up with the little smirk Clare found both endearing and infuriating, depending on her mood. “I don’t know how to spell ‘stupid.’ ”

“L-I-A-M,” Harry sang out.

“Mom! Harry called me stupid.”

“Harry, knock it off. Liam, write down the answer. Murphy, how many times do I have to tell you not to throw that ball in the house? Take it outside.”

“I don’t wanna go outside. Can I watch TV?”

“Yes, please. Go do that.”

“I wanna watch TV.”

Me, too, she thought when she glanced at Liam. “Then finish your homework.”

“I hate homework.”

“You and me both, pal. Harry—”

“I finished mine. See?”

“Great. Let’s go over your words for your spelling test tomorrow.”

“I know the words.”

It was probably true. Spelling had always been a

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