Love on Lexington Avenue(18)

“Yup, as of this week it’s officially begun. So far so good, though your contractor buddy and I aren’t getting along nearly so well.”

He grinned. “That’s what I want to hear about.”

“Ah, so you did know what you were getting me into,” she teased with a smile, stepping forward to retrieve her drink as the barista called her name.

“That is one pink beverage,” Oliver marveled as she returned to his side. “Is it good?”

“I’ve never had it before,” she said, as she pushed the green straw into the frothy Frappuccino and took a sip. “Oh! It is good!”

Better, perhaps, than her trusty vanilla. Or maybe it was merely the change that tasted good.

“Table opening up by the window,” she said, gesturing with her drink.

“Go. I’ll be along with my boring brown beverage as soon as it’s up.”

Claire swooped in on the table and was just using a couple of napkins to clear off cranberry scone crumbs when Oliver joined her. He swiped her drink from the table and took a sip.

“It’s good, right?” she asked, sitting across from him.

“It’s something. I’d offer you my double espresso, but I’m afraid you’d find it a bit dull.”

“I never did understand people who don’t put sweetener, or at least cream, in their coffee. Isn’t that the whole point?”

“You and Naomi. I swear her coffee to creamer ratio is nearly one-to-one these days. And I think us black coffee drinkers would argue that it is you who misses the point of, um, coffee?”

She sighed and shook her head. “You and Scott.”

“Ah yes,” he said, leaning back, and his presence was as commanding in a small wooden chair at a bustling Starbucks as it was in a boardroom. Oliver was an architect who’d started his own firm, but she could have just as easily seen him at the head of a conference room table if he’d followed in the footsteps of his well-known businessman father.

“Is he really that bad?” he asked.

“No,” she said on a sigh. “I can handle him. It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t going to be practically living at my house for the next month or so. If we kill each other, it’s on your head.”

Oliver laughed. “Scott does know how to alienate people when he’s on a project. Though I thought you were made of stronger stuff, Hayes.” His smile slipped slightly. “I’m sorry. I’ve never really asked. Did you . . . Are you . . . Did you change back to your maiden name?”

“I thought about it,” she admitted. “I asked myself if I really wanted to continue sharing the name of a man who apparently forgot to mention we were in an open marriage. But I don’t feel like Claire Burchett anymore. For better or worse, and there was admittedly a lot of worse, I’m Claire Hayes now.”

“Perhaps one day you’ll be Claire something else,” Oliver said softly. “Or is that too old-fashioned of me?”

She gave a rueful smile. “You mean if I got married again? It’s not the name-changing part I’d be averse to so much as the marriage itself.”

“Ah.” He took a sip of his drink.

Claire leaned forward. “I’m an Upper East Sider, too. I know a noncommittal disagreement when I hear one.”

“I don’t disagree,” he said carefully. “But Naomi felt that way, too. You saw how hard I had to work to win over that woman.”

“I did,” Claire said with a smile. “It was better than any movie. But I don’t have an Oliver desperately in love with me.”

“And if you did?”

She shook her head. “Still not on the marriage track.”

“Fair enough,” he said easily. “What about the dating track?”

“I’m thirty-five. The men who want to date me are either looking for marriage or a fling.”

“And?”

“And, I don’t want to get married,” she said, puzzled that the usually sharp Oliver wasn’t following.

“And?” he pressed again, eyebrows lifting.

“Oooh.” Claire laughed as she realized it was she who hadn’t been following. “Oliver Cunningham, are you suggesting I date men with the intention of using them for a booty call?”

“As a gentleman, I couldn’t possibly,” he said with a boyish grin. “As a friend, I will point out that just because you’re not looking for anything long-term doesn’t mean you have to cut yourself off from male companionship.”

“Does Naomi know you offer this sort of advice?”

“Absolutely not,” Oliver said, looking slightly panicked. “And I doubt she’d be thrilled. I know you three women have that pact.”

“You say it like it’s a dirty word.”

He hesitated for a moment, taking a sip of coffee. “I think it’s good that you three made that pact. I’m glad it brought you together, and I’m certainly glad that you’re looking out for each other. I wouldn’t want to see any of you be hurt by someone like Brayden again.”

“But?”

“But, I worry that the pact could potentially backfire—end up being too restrictive. There’s being careful with your heart, and then there’s becoming jaded.”