Audrey made a sleepy murmur of acknowledgment from the other side. Claire smiled, guessing that singing most of the Taylor Swift repertoire and drinking a healthy portion of Clarke’s bourbon had taken its toll. Her friend would probably feel it tomorrow, but Claire hoped it was worth it.
She knew it was for her, though she didn’t think she was headed toward a hangover. She’d drunk just enough to celebrate without having so much as to dull the moment.
In fact, she felt as clearheaded as ever. At least about Brayden and being done.
As for Scott, on the other hand, she didn’t have a clue.
Claire wanted to know why he came.
But for now, maybe it was simply enough that he had. Maybe he was working through his emotions just as she was.
Claire had felt the way he’d looked at her. Like he wanted her. And she’d noticed the small gestures. Brushing the hair out of her face. Refilling her water glass when it was empty, almost absently, as though he were instinctively aware of her.
She was at a loss for what any of it meant though.
The house was quiet as she walked toward her room. Naomi and Oliver had claimed the master bedroom with its king bed on the first floor, while the others had taken the four bedrooms on the fourth floor. Claire’s and Audrey’s rooms shared a bath on one side of the house, Clarke’s and Scott’s on the other.
Claire had been a little disappointed when, at the end of the night, Bob had followed Scott to his room, instead of her to hers, but she supposed she should get used to it. The dog would be out of her life as soon as the man was.
She opened the door to her room, then slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the startled shriek.
“Jesus, Scott. You do realize that having a man surprise you in your bedroom at two a.m. is pretty much every woman’s worst nightmare, right?”
He glanced up from where he sat at the foot of her bed, hands clasped between his knees, feet bare beneath plaid pajama pants, a white undershirt hugging what she now knew firsthand was a firm, unyielding torso. “Sorry.”
She dropped her dirty clothes by her suitcase. “Where’s Bob?” she asked, turning to face him.
He stood up. “Snoring in the middle of my bed.”
“Oh.”
She said nothing more, as they seemed to face off, the intimacy of the evening feeling hopelessly tangled with the antagonism of their last encounter at his apartment, as well as his imminent departure from her life.
“I came to see if you were okay,” he said quietly. “But I see that I’ve wasted a trip. You’re more than okay.”
She sucked in a breath, a little surprised he could read her so clearly. “Yeah. I really am.”
“Claire, about that night. When I told you to get rid of his stuff—”
“No.” She held up a hand. “You were right. I mean, yes, it was overstepping. And you sort of delivered it with the delicate touch of a massive earthquake. But it needed to be said, and I’m grateful.”
He gave a half smile. “That’s generous. I was an ass.”
“Well.” She crossed her arms. “Yeah.”
“Forgiven?” he asked, searching her face.
Claire nodded. “Forgiven.”
His smile widened. “Was that a tennis racket I saw get hurled into the fire?”
“Eh. Yeah. I felt a little bad about that one. It was a good racket. But then I remembered that I used to beg Brayden to play doubles, but he never had the time. Turns out he and Audrey played at her club once a week.”
“I think it’s fitting that it went into the fire. Now it’s burning just like he is.”
“You sound like Naomi.”
Scott shrugged. “Smart lady.”
Claire fiddled with her earlobe, needing to confess something to someone and a little surprised that she wanted it to be him. “Scott.”
His head snapped up.
“I didn’t burn everything.”
“No?”
“I kept my wedding ring.”
His gaze dropped to her left hand.
“I’m not wearing it,” she said. “I’m not that messed up. But yesterday morning I took it to get appraised, thinking maybe I’d trade it and get a bracelet or something new, and I . . . just couldn’t. I guess it’s the one part of my marriage I want to keep with me. Even knowing how things worked out, I can’t deny that on my wedding day, I loved Brayden, and I’m pretty sure he loved me. The ring symbolizes all that. Is that lame?”
Scott shook his head.
“The weirdest part is I don’t even like the ring. I’ve never said that out loud. Who doesn’t like their wedding ring? But I never did.”
“Let me guess. Ostentatious as hell?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “That’s just it. When he gave it to me, he made this pretty speech about how he wanted something classic and timeless and elegant, just like me. And it was all those things, but . . .”
Scott gave a crooked smile. “You wanted ostentatious.”
“Maybe.” She burst out with a laugh, grateful she could finally say it. “Okay, yes, I wanted gaudy, damn it. I wanted a guy to put a huge tacky rock on my finger because he wanted everyone to know I was his.” Claire shrugged. “Maybe that’s the problem. I was never his any more than he was mine. Damn, that fire felt good.”
“It was a hell of a thing to watch,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the beach. “All of you were in your element, but you, in particular, you were . . . you were . . .” He swallowed but couldn’t finish the sentence.
“It was euphoric,” she admitted, putting one bare foot on top of the other and looking down. “I knew I was mad, but I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding on to it, letting it fuel me. And my decisions.”
“Anger can be a good distraction from pain.”
Claire looked up again. “Speaking from experience?”
He opened his mouth, and for one hopeful moment she thought he was going to let her in, but instead he shrugged.
So that’s how it’s going to be. She’d let him in, but obviously it was destined to be a one-way street. And the new Claire, the one she’d just found, deserved better than this. Better than someone who wouldn’t even meet her halfway.
“It’s late,” she said softly.
He nodded, and she saw from the resignation in his eyes that he recognized the dismissal.
Still, his presence here tonight, this weekend, wasn’t nothing. He cared about her, even if he didn’t know what the hell to do with it, or what to call it. On that front at least she understood. She didn’t know what to call what she felt for him, either.
“Thanks for checking on me,” she said. “You’ve become a close friend in a short amount of time, and it really . . . it means a lot.”
“A friend,” he repeated softly.
“Who hooked up that one time,” she said, smiling in an attempt to cut the tension that seemed to increase every time their eyes met.
He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Right. The one time.”
The silence stretched on for another minute, until he finally nodded. “Good night, Claire.”
“Good night.”
He headed toward the door, but stopped when they were shoulder to shoulder and slowly reached down until his fingers brushed hers in a whisper of a touch.
Scott shuddered out a long breath, then taking her hand in his, he lifted it, his other hand unfurling her fingers to expose a palm. He placed his lips to the center of her palm without meeting her eyes before walking away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17
A little more than a week after the weekend at the beach, Claire hit Send on her email, waited impatiently for it to move from her outbox to her sent folder.
The second it did, she closed her laptop and let out a little squeal, hardly believing the moment was real. It was happening! She was in business. Well, sort of. Booking one client did not a career make.
But still, she was intense
ly proud of herself. Sylvia Zepada had just booked Claire to do the calligraphy on her daughter’s wedding invitations.
With an invite list of over four hundred people, it would be a beast of a task, and though she’d been terrified when she’d stated the rate that Naomi had insisted Claire was worth, Sylvia had written back immediately asking for a contract to make it official.
Biting her lip, even as she grinned, Claire stood and glanced around her tiny office where she’d already begun organizing her ink pots and nibs. She was grateful that Scott had insisted they start the upstairs renovation with her office instead of the bedroom as she’d suggested. Claire had nervously shown him her “dream office” board on Pinterest, and Scott had looked at everything in detail and promptly banned her from the office for two days.
The end result hadn’t just been close to her dream office—it had gone above and beyond. The walls and desk were painted bright white, which, as he reminded her, was different from meh white. And the built-in shelf along one wall had so clearly been designed with calligraphy supplies in mind, there was no doubt that he’d done careful research on what she’d need. Even the lighting was perfect, a dozen tiny bright bulbs carefully positioned to give her the light she’d need to work.
Claire picked up her phone, intending to text Naomi and Audrey the good news, but she put it down without typing the message. Instead, she left her office, walked past the newly renovated second guest room where she was temporarily sleeping, and into the master where Scott was finishing up. Following the sound of a drill, Claire found Scott in the bathroom sitting on the closed toilet seat, drilling something into the wall.
He gave her an exasperated look, the drill going silent as he pulled a screw from between his lips. “Really? You can’t walk in and see me while I’m single-handedly maneuvering the new tub into place or installing an enormous new mirror? It has to be when I’m drilling in the new toilet paper holder? A fix a six-year-old could do?”
“Very manly,” she teased. “And I’m loving that.” She pointed at the holder. “No more stupid spring.”
“No more stupid spring,” he said, standing.
She stood grinning at him, and then, because she wanted to, she flung her arms around his neck. He caught her with one arm and a laugh, just as she tugged his head down for a kiss.
She felt him freeze in surprise, but she kissed him insistently. Things had been friendlier between them since the beach house, even easy, but strictly platonic. And she knew this was foolhardy, knew that if she even had a chance to keep her heart intact when he left, she needed to keep her hands to herself, but she wanted to celebrate the moment the way that she wanted to.
Apparently, that was kissing Scott.
He got over his surprise quickly, kissing her back with gratifying enthusiasm.
He kissed her for a long while, then pulled back slightly. Claire jumped when he swatted her butt and all but shoved her out into the more spacious bedroom. “What are you doing in here? You know I’ve got one rule.”
“I know, I know. I’m supposed to let you finish a room before I see it, but guess what,” she said, tapping his chest excitedly.
“What?” he asked with a smile, as though her enthusiasm was contagious.
“I got a client.”
“Holy shit,” he said with a laugh, setting his drill on the nearby workbench before lifting her in a hug. “Congrats. You do fast work.”
“I know!” she said, her arms going around his neck and squeezing. “It’s a big one, too. I’ll probably get carpal tunnel. But it’s worth it. The client is well-connected. If she likes what I do, I’ve got a good feeling about referrals.”
“She’ll love what she sees,” he said confidently. “When do you start?”
“Tomorrow, probably,” she said. “I mean, I have plenty of time, but I’m new to this. I’m not exactly sure how long each envelope will take or how many breaks I’ll need. You were so right about me needing that office sooner than I expected.”
“Glad it worked out,” he said, his smile warm, revealing that maybe he was a little bit proud of her.
“I’m just lucky you do such fast work. Speaking of.” Claire pulled back and looked around, taking in the freshly painted walls—she’d decided to go with dove gray, which she’d read was soothing for bedrooms—as well as the newly finished floor. “Oh my gosh. You’re almost done in here.”
“Told you the upstairs would be easy, especially since we opted not to tear the wall down.”
“How much longer?” she asked, unabashedly looking around, poking her head into the bathroom, since she’d already violated his no peeking rule.
“Another day or two. Then it’s just getting the fridge into the kitchen, a day of cleaning up all the construction mess, and you’ve got yourself a brand-new house.”
Claire was checking out the bathroom, her back to him as he spoke, and she was glad for it. Another day or two. Plus one for cleanup.
And then . . . done.
He was done with her house. And done with her?
When she turned back around, he didn’t quite meet her eyes, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Thinking that for all their talk about figuring it out later, later was just about here. But they weren’t ready. Or at least she wasn’t.
“Does that mean I finally get to see my kitchen?” she asked, fighting for levity.
His smile, too, was a little forced. “Thursday. Let’s make it a date.”
“Thursday,” she agreed with a nod.
Their eyes locked, and without saying a word, they came together, his mouth crashing over hers, her lips hungry under his.
Later, the kiss said. We’ll figure it out later.
Even as Claire knew they were running out of laters. And she suspected Scott knew it, too. It was evident in the searing nature of the kiss, the greediness of his hands. Claire’s hands fumbled with his buckle, and his fingers trembled a little as they found the hook of her bra. “Other bedroom has the bed,” he murmured against her lips.
Claire shook her head, winding her arms around his neck as she kissed him with everything she had. Here. She wanted him here in her bedroom, just once. She wanted the most recent man in her bedroom not to be a ghost from her past life, but the memory of a man from this life. Not just a man. This man.
He backed her up against the wall, and she knew he understood.
It was enough, Claire told herself, as their clothes fell to the floor. Enough, she thought, when he slid into her with a groan. Enough, she thought, as they coaxed each other over the edge with practiced touches and heated words.
But after, when he held her as their heart rates slowed, she knew there was no more running from the truth, no more pretending she could let him go easily. She knew that whenever later came, she’d be left wanting so much more.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18
Scott opened the door, a little surprised to find an irritated-looking Oliver standing there. “Hey, man. Come in.”
Oliver hesitated. “Claire here?”
“No, one of her college friends is in town; they went out to dinner. What’s up?”
Oliver stepped inside, giving an absent pet to Bob. “Thought I’d stop by, see if perchance you wanted to run by the Apple Store, since apparently you’ve lost your phone.”
Scott winced with guilt at the sarcasm, knowing he deserved his friend’s ire. “I should have texted back.”
“Or called. Emailed. Sent a telegram. I’d have taken any of the above,” Oliver said, shrugging out of his suit jacket and helping himself to a beer from the fridge. That his usually polite friend didn’t offer one to Scott spoke volumes about Oliver’s mood. Pissed.
“It’s been busy,” Scott said truthfully. He’d been hauling ass on Claire’s house, wanting to see her face when it was done, wanting to give her the perfect canvas for her fresh start.
He realized yesterday, when he’d all but devoured her against the wall of her bedroom,
that it had been a shortsighted plan. Because finishing her house meant he’d be out of a reason to see her every day.
And finishing her house left him without a reason why he couldn’t start on any of the other projects waiting in the wings, and there were several.
He knew that was why Oliver was here. For the first time in their friendship, Scott hated that their careers were so closely aligned, that Oliver, having an architecture firm that was in-demand in its own right, would know exactly just how in-demand Scott was.
“Ellis called you,” Scott said. Not a question.
Oliver nodded.
Ellis Burke was one of the top real estate investors in the country—in the world. Every architect took his or her project to Burke first, because he had the biggest budget, the biggest vision. And every contractor hoped he or she was on Burke’s short list. Not only because of the money, but because of the sheer challenge of the projects he took on.
“The project’s not one of yours.”
“Nope.” Oliver took a sip of beer. “It’s Marshall Briggs’s out of Dogma.”
Scott grimaced, even though he already knew that. “Prick.”
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “He’s also one of the best, and yes, that pains me to say as a competitor. A Burke/Briggs collaboration’s a damn good opportunity.”
A month and a half ago, Scott wouldn’t have hesitated. A month and a half ago, Scott would already be on his way to China, eager to dive in.
A month and a half ago, Scott didn’t have anyone to leave behind except Bob.
“Why’d he call you?” Scott asked.
“Because he couldn’t get ahold of you,” Oliver said bluntly. “You want to give Burke the runaround, have at it. I know these are big decisions. But why cut me out?”
“I’m sorry,” Scott said, looking Oliver straight in the eye even though he hated to see the hurt and frustration there.
Oliver stared back, then sighed. “It’s fine. I guess. You’ve disappeared on me before. It’s just not usually when you’re still in town.”
Scott knew the other man was simply speaking plainly and didn’t intend to guilt-trip him, but Scott felt the guilt all the same. He was realizing, embarrassingly for the first time, that his fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants lifestyle had made him a pretty shitty friend.
Love on Lexington Avenue Page 20
