Love on Lexington Avenue(14)

Not that he was likely to tell her what she wanted to know. Despite his assertion that he wanted to “figure her out,” he seemed the type of man to use as few words as possible, and she doubted he’d waste them on her.

Still, she was curious enough that she made a mental note to ask Naomi later. If Oliver and Scott went way back, Naomi was likely to at least know something about the mysterious fiancée.

“What’re those?” Scott asked, nodding at her paint swatches, the topic of their personal lives apparently finished alongside his sandwich.

Claire gave him a sweet smile. “My color choices.”

He grunted. “You’re still on that banana cream pie thing?”

“It’s strawberry lemonade cupcake, and if anything, my vision’s becoming clearer.” For now.

“My vision’s becoming clearer, too.” He jerked his head to the right. “That needs to go.”

She glanced in the general direction, having no idea what he was talking about. “Are your other clients mind readers? Because I lack that skill.”

“The wall,” he snapped. “We need to tear it down.”

“Don’t we sort of need it?”

He walked toward it, knocked on the portion closest to the arched entryway to the kitchen. “Beam’s right here, and that’s the only load-bearing part. The rest is just a throwback to when galley kitchens were in style. We can turn the support beam into a pillar, open the whole thing up.”

“Can we paint the pillar hot pink? Ooh, we could add glitter!”

Scott’s incredulous look was far too delicious for Claire to tell him she was kidding. It was surprisingly fun to try and goad a reaction out of her stubbornly implacable contractor. Claire deliberately picked up the brightest, most awful bubble gum shade of pink she could find among her swatches.

She held it up in the general direction he’d indicated, squinting as though she were pretending to imagine the pink as a pillar.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Do not be surprised if that paint swatch goes missing. For good.”

She smiled and, having had her fun, set the ugly paint color back on the table and got down to business. “Okay, lay it on me. How bad does the upstairs look?”

“Depends,” he said with a shrug. “You’ve got some options based on what you’re looking for. The two guest rooms are small and share a wall. It’d be easy to tear it down, make a bigger space. But most people would probably opt to leave it as is. Two small rooms, and the bigger master.”

“Really?” She was surprised. She’d been toying with the idea of making it one big room herself. The two guest rooms as they were now were barely large enough to fit a double bed and a dresser.

Scott was looking at her ceiling, distracted by—and apparently displeased with—the overhead lighting. “Yeah,” he finally replied, looking back at her. “This part of town especially, people like to keep their extra bedrooms open. You know. Nursery. Kids’ rooms.”

“Oh jeez,” she said, sitting back. “Not you and my mother.”

He stared at her. “Did you just compare me to your mother?”

“Why is it,” she continued, “that every woman of childbearing age is expected to be beholden to her uterus?”

“Whoa. Hey.” He held up his hands, looking slightly panicked. “I have absolutely zero interest in your uterus.”

“Me neither,” Claire said firmly. “And I’ve got no use for a nursery.”

He shifted, looking a little uncomfortable. “You don’t have to decide right now. I can start with other stuff, figure out what to do with the guest rooms later.”

“I don’t care what order you do things in, but I’m not going to change my mind about wanting a nursery.”

He looked at her for a while. “What if husband number two has a different opinion? Once I’m done with this project, I’m not going to come build a baby room for you when you get married again.”

“Gosh, you mean you and I will have to part ways at the end of this? Devastating. And there’s not going to be a husband number two. I’m not getting married again.”

“Fine by me. But women opt to have kids without husbands all the time.”

She made an exasperated sound. “What is it with you and my reproductive system?”

He winced. “Right. Sorry.”

Claire nodded, relieved to drop the subject, even though she should be used to it. Up until a couple of years ago, Claire had automatically tensed when she’d said that she didn’t want to have children, and braced for the usual responses.

Oh, but you’d make such a great mom!

You’ll change your mind.

It’s different when they’re your own.

You may think that now when you’re young and healthy, but who’s going to take care of you when you’re old?

For a long time, she’d told herself those people were well-meaning, but in recent years she found the assumptions downright insulting. She wasn’t a clueless kid who didn’t know her own mind; she was an adult woman who’d always known that kids weren’t part of the picture.

“Do you want kids?” she asked, half curious, half wanting to steer the conversation away from her ovaries.