Love on Lexington Avenue(15)

“Nope. I’m good with Bob.”

“Bob?”

“My dog.”

“Oh right. Where is he? I thought you were going to bring him with you.”

“Already had the pet sitter booked for today. Bob’ll tag along tomorrow, if that’s still cool.”

“Sure, of course.”

To be honest, Claire wasn’t entirely sure how cool it was. She’d never had a dog. Her dad had been allergic, or so he’d claimed when Claire had gone through the typical I want a puppy for Christmas phase between the ages of six and eight. After high school, she’d moved straight from her parents’ house to college, from college to living with Brayden, and her husband had most assuredly not been a dog person.

“What kind of dog?” she asked.

Scott shrugged. “A mix. Lab mostly, the vet thinks maybe some beagle in there. Funny looking dog, but loyal as they come.”

It was a telling statement, and there was something extra in his tone when he said the word loyal that Claire recognized on a gut level. Claire would have bet a million dollars in that instant that she knew exactly what had gone down with that former fiancée of his. Cheating.

When their gazes caught, almost on accident, Claire was even more sure. She may have only met the guy yesterday, and she definitely didn’t like him. But in that single moment, she knew him as well as she knew anyone, and she knew exactly what he’d meant.

Dogs were loyal in a way that people weren’t.





Chapter Five


FRIDAY, AUGUST 9

Be cool, okay?” Scott said to his dog as he stepped onto Claire’s porch and pushed open the front door.

It was a pointless request. Scott’s dog was as extroverted as Scott was introverted. The second the door opened, Bob shot forward, sensing a new friend to be won over. Shaking his head in resignation, Scott followed the mutt inside, hoping Claire was true to her word and that she was cool with dogs.

A second later, he got a verbal cue on just how cool she was.

At Claire’s startled shriek, Scott stepped into the small sitting room off the foyer, watching as Claire frantically tried to keep an upholstered yellow chair between herself and Bob. She gave him a panicked look. “What is that, a dinosaur?”

“Yes, Claire, it’s a dinosaur,” Scott said, grabbing Bob’s collar just as the dog lunged at the frightened woman. He knew the pup just wanted to say hi. Claire apparently did not.

“Bob. Sit.”

The dog did so reluctantly, and Scott rubbed Bob’s head as he gave Claire an exasperated look. “I thought you said you were cool with dogs.”

She continued to study the dog with apprehension. “I wasn’t expecting him to be so huge.”

Bob actually was huge in a disproportionate, clumsy kind of way. The long skinny legs didn’t quite look like they should support the enormous barrel-shaped body, and the slightly too small head did make Bob look a bit like, well . . . maybe she wasn’t that far off on the dinosaur thing.

“Her,” Scott corrected. “Bob’s a girl.”

“You named a girl dog Bob?”

Scott hadn’t named the dog at all. The people at the shelter had said that was her name, bestowed by the former asshole owner who’d given her up and apparently hadn’t bothered to check the sex. But he had better things to do with his time than correct a snobby Manhattan widow’s misassumptions.

“If you were scared of big dogs, you should have told me. I’d have left her at home.”

“No, she’s fine. We’ll be fine.” She gave Bob a pointed look. “Won’t we?”

Bob wagged her tail happily, having the good sense to look charming. Or at least, Bob’s version of charming.

Scott frowned, noticing the chair she was still hiding behind was in the center of the room, not next to the window beside its ugly twin. “Rearranging?”

“What? Oh.” She pointed at the painting on the wall. “You said you were starting on this room today. I was going to take that down so it wouldn’t be in the way.”

“Where’s your stepladder?”

“A stepladder! Why didn’t I think of that?” she said in a singsong, pretending to twirl her hair.

“Sarcasm noted. You don’t have a stepladder.”

“I do not.”

“What did your husband use to do things around the house?”

She snorted. “You obviously never met Brayden. Or anyone who lives on this street.”

Scott gave a disdainful grunt. He knew work came in all kinds. Some wore suits and used their brains; others wore a tool belt and used their hands. But he had a hell of a time respecting a man who, he was betting, didn’t know a Phillips from a flathead.

He was also having a hard time reconciling the idea of Claire with someone so . . . useless. Much less someone who had screwed around on her. From what he’d seen of her over the past few days, she was efficient, self-reliant, and had minimal BS tolerance. He’d offered to help her open a pickle jar she was wrestling with and gotten a near snarl in response.

Then again, Scott supposed he wasn’t one to judge based on the choice of one’s romantic partner. A much younger, dumber version of himself had invested his emotions in a woman who hadn’t deserved them. Since then, he’d learned that life was simpler if you didn’t get attached to any thing, any place, and certainly not any person. He made an exception for Bob.