“Well then, where is it?” Audrey grumbled, rummaging through the grocery bags. “I’ve unpacked everything.”
“I think we might have bought everything,” Oliver said, taking in the spread on the kitchen table. “Aren’t we just here until Monday?”
“Yep. Which means we have two and a half days to drink wine, eat carbs, and set stuff on fire,” Naomi said.
“But not eat a very delicious cheese,” Audrey said, “thanks to Clarke.”
“Thank you so much, Clarke, for the use of your beach house,” Clarke said in an impressive imitation of Audrey. “Me and my friends are so grateful, Clarke, that you’re letting us set up an enormous bonfire on your beach so we can burn a dead man’s stuff.”
“Hey,” Naomi said, fishing a celery stick out of a veggie tray. “It’s not just burning stuff. It’s therapy.”
“And,” Claire said, joining in on the defense, “we didn’t bring everything. Just the symbolic stuff.”
“And not the Hermès bag,” Naomi cut in, with a panicked look. “Right?”
Claire gave her a thumbs-up as she helped herself to a carrot, realizing that she felt the lightest she had in a while. Audrey’s grand idea from yesterday afternoon had happened quickly. A single phone call to Clarke, followed by orders for them to pack their bags because they were headed to the Hamptons, went down in the span of five minutes.
Manhattan might not have much in the way of fire opportunities, but a beach in September on Long Island certainly did. Even more importantly, it gave Claire a much-needed weekend away with friends.
Now, if only girl time and the bonfire could make a dent in her complicated feelings about Scott. Because she was pretty sure whatever was happening there wasn’t something a bonfire could cure.
“Hello?”
Claire sighed around her carrot stick. Wonderful. Now she was straight up imagining his voice.
“Scott! You made it!”
Claire paused mid-chew, whirling toward the sound of the male voice. Sure enough, there was Scott. Had it been just a month ago that she’d thought boots, jeans, and a flannel layered over a white T-shirt was unattractive? Just a few weeks ago that the sight of a backward cap and scruffy jawline hadn’t made her a little breathless?
She was staring. She knew it, but she couldn’t look away.
He, on the other hand, didn’t glance her way once, instead hoisting two grocery bags onto the counter. “The trunk of someone’s Land Rover was open, and I saw these. Looks like one of them had perishables, so I brought ’em in.”
Audrey stood on her toes to look into the paper bag, her eyes widening in delight. “My cheese!”
Clarke made an irritated noise. “I’ll accept my apology now.”
“I specifically asked if there were any bags left in the car, and you said you got them all,” Audrey accused.
Clarke lifted his palm in high-five pose. “Truce?”
Audrey slapped his palm on her way to the fridge. “Truce.”
Claire smiled in spite of her jittery nerves. If only all relationships could be so easy.
Naomi caught her eye from across the kitchen. “Oliver’s idea,” she mouthed.
Claire nodded in acknowledgment just as Oliver himself came over, lowering his voice so only Claire could hear.
“You know, it’s strange,” Oliver murmured, looking across the room to where his friend talked with Clarke. “I’ve known Scott a long time. Never known him to readily agree to a social anything. I usually have to bribe him just to grab a beer, and yet here he is, spending a weekend with five people. It’s interesting.”
He glanced back at Claire, and she responded with only a slight raise of her eyebrows. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Oliver said pointedly. “It is.”
Scott was gesturing in the direction of the driveway, still talking to Clarke. “Audrey mentioned it was cool if I brought my dog, but since it’s your place, I wanted to check. If there’s a garage or something, I can have her sleep in there . . .”
“Hell no,” Clarke said. “I love dogs. Better yet, this is my family’s house, and my mom hates dogs, so bring her in.”
“Uh . . .”
“Don’t mind Clarke,” Audrey said. “His parents are a bit uptight, and Clarke’s made it his life’s mission to do everything they don’t want him to. But seriously. Bring the dog in, I want to meet her.”
Scott disappeared, and a minute later Bob came bounding into the kitchen. Claire couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the dog, and then her stupid heart went and melted all over her, because Bob made a beeline straight toward her.
“Hey, Bobsie,” she said, crouching and kissing the side of the dog’s head, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment at the realization that she no longer wanted a dog. She wanted this dog.
But the dog wasn’t hers any more than the man was.
“Claire, I didn’t know you were a dog person,” Audrey said.
“I didn’t know I was, either. In fact, the first time I met this little lady, I thought she was a dinosaur. We’ve come a long way since then.”
She met Scott’s eyes across the room, letting him know with her gaze that she wasn’t just talking about the dog. She and Scott had come a long way, too.
“Scott, it’s so great you were able to join on late notice,” Audrey was saying as she put the rest of the groceries away.
Very late notice, Claire realized. Audrey had had this idea yesterday. She understood why Clarke was here. It was his house. And Oliver, obviously, came as a package deal with Naomi.
But why had Scott come? She understood why Oliver had asked him. But why had he come? Oliver was right in that Scott hardly seemed like the type to willingly spend a weekend with other people. And the two of them had barely spoken since their argument, aside from terse exchanges about the renovation.
So why was he here?
“Okay,” Clarke was saying, as he began unwrapping the foil from a bottle of champagne. “The house is only five bedrooms, so—”
“Only five?” Naomi broke in, gesturing at the lavish home that undoubtedly was worth several million dollars. “It’s practically a shack.”
“Luckily,” Clarke continued as he twisted the champagne cork with a pop, “two of our six-some is making sexy bacon in the bedroom—”
“Wait, what?” Audrey interrupted.
Clarke gave her an exasperated look. “Your friends Oliver and Naomi are having sex, Audrey. Keep up.”
“What’s that have to do with bacon?”
Clarke glanced around at the guys. “Bacon is the only thing that comes close to being as good as sex. Am I right?”
“I can think of at least ten other things,” Naomi mused. “A really good dinner roll dripping with butter, dark chocolate with sea salt. Homemade macaroni and cheese, especially if it has bread crumbs on top. Tacos—”
“Tacos!” Oliver sounded outraged. “You’d choose tacos over sex?”
“Clarke was talking about food almost as good as sex,” Naomi said. “And don’t think I haven’t seen the look on your face when you eat that pizza from Don Antonio’s. It’s awfully close to your sex face.”
Claire raised her hand. “Do I have to be around for this conversation?”
“No kidding,” Clarke said, pouring the champagne into the flutes Audrey had located and was holding up for him one by one. “You two are the only ones getting laid this weekend, so quit rubbing it in.”
“We’d better be the only ones having sex,” Naomi muttered with a dark look in Scott’s direction.
Scott didn’t look back at Naomi.
All of his attention was on Claire.
Chapter Twenty-Four
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 6
Strange, all this time I thought Claire was the quiet one of the group,” Clarke said, lifting the bottle of expensive bourbon he’d brought to the beach and topping off his glass.
“Maybe the wine brings out another side of her?” Oliver said, reaching over and taking the
bourbon from Clarke, topping off his own glass.
Oliver passed the bottle toward Scott who shook his head.
He was already feeling the effects, though he didn’t know if it was from the whisky or from watching Claire.
Sure, there were three women standing around the bonfire, throwing Brayden Hayes’s belongings in one by one.
But he only had eyes for one of them.
The other guys were right about her being exceptionally vocal tonight, but they were wrong about the wine being the cause. Claire hadn’t had a drink since dinner, and that had been hours ago.
It was close to midnight, and the bonfire that had inspired this trip seemed to light up the entire sky. The three men sat a healthy distance away in beach chairs Clarke had dug out of the garage, but the women danced barefoot around it in some sort of feminine bonding ritual that both fascinated and terrified Scott.
“And that,” Claire was shouting, heaving what looked like a tennis racket into the fire, “is for all the times you made me go to freaking Queens for dinner so that Audrey wouldn’t see us together.”
Oliver looked at Clarke. “Should we be worried about the neighbors?”
“Nah,” Clarke said, digging bare feet into the sand, looking perfectly relaxed. “It’s off-season; we’re good.”
“And this,” Naomi yelled, throwing in an article of clothing, “is because you were not better than bacon in the sack.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Oliver muttered, taking a sip of bourbon.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m so ready to be done with that guy. I hope this is the end of it,” Clarke said.
Scott glanced over. “You knew him?”
Clarke shrugged, his usual easygoing face a little shadowed as he watched the women—Audrey, specifically, Scott was guessing. “Audrey wanted him and me to be friends, so I tried. And damn. I wish I could say I saw him for what he was, but I didn’t. Still, I knew he wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t good enough for any of them.”
“Agreed,” Oliver said. “Though, do we know why now? What trigged the Ya-Ya Sisterhood moment?”
“Seriously. These women are on a mission.”
“I did,” Scott said, abruptly answering Oliver’s question. “I triggered it.”
Both men looked his way. “How?”
“Claire’s guest bedroom was like a mausoleum dedicated to the asshole. I guess it wasn’t my place to say so, as her contractor, but—”
“Just her contractor?” Oliver interrupted.
Scott gave his friend a look out of the corner of his eye and winced when he saw from Oliver’s expression that his friend already knew about him and Claire.
“I was going to tell you.”
Oliver laughed. “Sure you were. Because you always spill about your personal life.”
“Wait, what am I missing?” Clarke asked.
Oliver tilted his head toward Scott. “He slept with Claire.”
“Holy shit, really?” Clarke said, glancing back toward the fire as the women linked arms, and then sat cross-legged in unison in the sand. “I thought there were some vibes at the fund-raiser thing, but she always seems so—”
“Watch it,” Scott snapped automatically, earning a surprised look from both of them.
“Careful,” Clarke finished. “I was going to say she seems careful, very deliberate about who she gets involved with. Or rather who she doesn’t get involved with, because now that I think about it, didn’t I set her up with Brett?”
“You did, and thanks for that,” Scott said irritably. He felt Oliver studying him. “What?”
“Holy shit,” Oliver said with a slow grin. “It finally happened.”
“What?”
“You’re jealous. You don’t get jealous. Not even with Meredith. Not even when you learned she was sleeping with another guy—then you were just mad.”
“Who’s Meredith?”
“My ex,” Scott growled at Clarke. “And not relevant to this conversation. Seriously, why do people keep thinking a woman from forever ago has any bearing on my current life?”
“People? Who else thought that?” Oliver pressed.
Scott sipped his whisky, rethinking that refill if the conversation kept going in this direction.
“Ah. Let me guess. Claire called you out on your baggage after you told her to throw out her ex’s crap,” Clarke said, settling back into his chair. “This is getting exciting. Real soap opera stuff. I haven’t seen anything this good since I got to watch Oliver and Naomi at a dinner party when he was paired up with Claire.”
“The hell?” Scott swung his gaze around to his friend. “You dated Claire?”
Oliver laughed and shook his head. “No, but Clarke’s right. This is fun.”
“I’m sure as hell not having any fun. Quit acting like Claire and I are a thing. We hooked up. Once. And I told her to get rid of Brayden’s shit because it was interfering with my job. That’s the end of our story.”
“Riiight,” Clarke said. “And when Oliver called and invited you, did you know Claire would be here or . . .”
Hell yes, he knew Claire would be here. It was why he’d come.
Scott had thought about nothing in the two days she’d been icing him out except that he missed her. And when Oliver had told him it was a Brayden send-off, he’d known he had to be here.
For her. With her. To tell her that she could count on him for this, right now, if not for always. He wanted to do that much for her at least.
Of course, that wasn’t exactly going as planned so far. She’d done a bang-up job of avoiding him all afternoon and throughout dinner. Still, he could at least keep an eye on her. For now, that was enough.
“Incoming,” Oliver said, nodding as the three women approached.
Clarke had only been able to find four beach chairs, and a laughing Audrey flung herself into the last available one, throwing her legs over Clarke’s lap. “Holy crap. That was the most fun I’ve had all summer. Any summer. We should burn people’s stuff more often!”
Clarke patted her shin. “Let’s maybe not say that outside of this group, hmm? I don’t want to have to go bailing you out of jail.”
Naomi dropped onto Oliver’s lap, wrapping both arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss that was definitely not group appropriate. She pulled back and whispered something in his ear that made Oliver smile and pull her closer. Scott looked away, both to give them privacy and because the person he really wanted to see right now was Claire.
She hovered on the fringe of the chairs, and at first he thought she was embarrassed, maybe feeling left out. But he looked closer, saw he couldn’t be more wrong. She was glowing. She had the same happy confidence as when she’d been talking about her calligraphy, but tenfold.
No doubt about it, Claire Hayes was finally coming out of mourning.
This was the real reason he’d needed to be here, Scott realized. He’d needed to see this. Needed to know that when he moved on, she’d be okay. She’d be more than okay. She’d thrive.
He was a little surprised when she met his gaze head-on, even more so when she walked right to him and dropped down, kneeling beside his chair. For a moment Scott’s entire world tilted with something that felt a lot like joy at being part of a couple. With her. There was Clarke and Audrey affectionately bickering, Oliver and Naomi with the full-on making out, and he and Claire with . . . something. He didn’t need a name for it. For now, it was enough that she’d come to him.
“Here,” he said, starting to stand. “You take the chair.”
Claire put a hand on his knee. “Stay. I’ll sit on the ground. I can’t get any sandier than I already am.”
Before Scott realized what he was doing, he reached out and pulled a strand of hair from where it was stuck to her lips and tucked it behind her ear. Her gaze flickered in confusion for a moment, then she looked away, reaching for his cup. Claire turned her attention toward the rest of the group, lifted his drink. “Cheers, ladies. We d
id it.”
“Hear, hear,” Naomi said, taking Oliver’s glass and lifting it. “To moving on.”
“Hold up.” Oliver pinched Naomi’s side playfully. “Didn’t you already move on?”
She patted his cheek, as Audrey made a wobbly grab for Clarke’s cup and lifted that. “Goodbye, Brayden. May you never ruin another life.”
“Oh, he didn’t ruin us,” Claire said quietly. “Tripped us up for a while. But never ruined.”
The other women nodded, then the three of them drank some bourbon before they all, in some sort of silent female communion, stood up and walked away, chatting about Claire’s calligraphy, the topic of Brayden closed. Scott got the sense maybe forever.
“Did they just take our whisky?” Oliver mused.
“Seriously,” Clarke said, aghast. “What the hell just happened?”
Scott merely smiled. He knew exactly what had happened: Claire Hayes had just taken her life back.
His smile disappeared when he realized he wouldn’t have much of a part in it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 6
The bonfire had left Claire feeling clean and light inside, and she let a long, hot shower do the rest of the work on the outside. By the time she toweled off her hair and pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt, she knew this night would go down as one of the most pivotal in her life.
She looked at herself in the mirror, and though her thirty-something skin wasn’t as smooth as her twenty-something skin, her hair looked closer to muddy brown than blond in its wet state, and her figure was more soft than it was taut, she felt beautiful. More importantly, she felt whole. The beige that she’d thought was simply her personality had really just been a layer of film over who she really was. It was gone now.
This was strawberry lemonade Claire. The cupcake worth looking twice at.
Grinning at her reflection, she brushed her teeth and spit, then bundling up her sandy clothes to be dealt with tomorrow, she headed back to her room.
She knocked softly on Audrey’s door. “Aud?” she whispered. “I’m done in the bathroom.”
Love on Lexington Avenue Page 19
