Love on Lexington Avenue(32)

“Oh, you’ve booked something else?”

“No. But I will, and it won’t be local, so I won’t be around to tinker with any of your last-minute whims on this house.”

Okay. Enough was enough.

Claire picked her phone off the counter. “I’m ordering you a bagel sandwich and a Gatorade. Carbs and electrolytes can only help that rotten mood of yours.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” His hand dropped. “You know most of my jobs are abroad, right? That I have a place here, but I’m not local.”

“Sure. Why?”

“Nothing. Oliver just . . . nothing.”

Huh. There was something there, but she sensed pushing would get her nowhere. Instead, she held up her phone, danced it at him. “You’re sure on the bagel?”

“Sure. Just keep the coffeepot full, and I’ll be good.”

Claire nodded agreeably. “So, are you going to bite my head off if I ask how long I’ll be without a kitchen?”

“Couple of weeks.”

She couldn’t help the sigh. “I’m not much of a cook, but I’m also not looking forward to eating nothing but takeout for the next month.”

“Don’t worry. You get used to it.”

“You don’t cook?”

“Toast. Cereal. Frozen dinners.”

“So, that’s a no.” Claire went to refill her coffee, but he beat her to it, topping off her cup and his own.

“Okay, what do you need from me to get started?” she asked. “Clearing out the cabinets?”

“No, I can do that. You’re on your own with cleaning out the fridge though. I don’t want to be responsible for throwing away some million-dollar truffles or something.”

“Yeah, because that’s what I keep in there. Million-dollar truffles right next to my caviar. What about essentials? I can’t be totally without a fridge for two weeks. I have to eat.”

“You mean you need a place to store the sugar-cream goop you put in your coffee.”

She batted her eyelashes. “You know me.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. “I’ve got a couple of guys coming over to take out the wall today. I’ll have one of them pick up a mini fridge; you can keep it in another room.”

“Dean?” she asked, fanning herself.

Scott gave her a dark look over the top of his phone, never pausing in his typing.

“Kidding, jeez.”

Scott put his phone back in his pocket and took another swallow of coffee. “So. How’d it go?”

“How’d what go?”

He gave his first smile of the day. “Things with Brah.”

“Oh.” She laughed, remembering Saturday night’s out-of-character adventure. “Not much to tell, I’m afraid.”

“You left together.”

“Yeah.” She fiddled with her earring. “I was feeling reckless and a little . . .”

She opted not to finish the sentence since the only thing that came to mind was hot and bothered, and Scott wasn’t one of her girlfriends. More than ever, Claire was realizing she missed the physical closeness with someone. It was intriguing to think she could have that with someone without risking her heart in the process.

Alas, Jesse had not been that guy.

“Your place or his?” Scott asked.

“His. At least that was the plan. It was around the corner, and I don’t know that I’m ready to have someone in my space yet.”

He nodded. “Smart.”

“In theory. In reality, we didn’t make it there.”

Scott’s eyebrows rose.

Claire laughed. “Not like that. We were headed back to his building, and I had second thoughts. Decided to test the waters with a kiss—wait, why am I telling you this?”

He leaned back against the counter, crossing his boots at the ankle. “As your wingman, I must know all.”

She shrugged, realizing that she didn’t feel as embarrassed as she’d expected. “Okay, so I stopped him and kissed him.”

He was watching her carefully. “No good?”

“It was very . . . wet.”

Scott winced.

“I made a polite excuse, and he let me go without much more than a vacant, drunk grin. I’m not sure he’ll remember the details of the evening all that clearly.”

“Idiot.”

“Eh,” she said with a wave of her hand, “we’ve all been there. And I’m glad my first attempt was with someone who was too far gone for me to embarrass myself.”

Still, she’d be lying if she wasn’t a little disappointed that her first kiss after being widowed was so . . . blah. She hadn’t wanted it to be epic—she didn’t want that kind of entanglement. But she’d at least wanted it to be hot, and Jesse’s slobber all over her face definitely hadn’t qualified.

Claire took another gulp of coffee, glanced at the clock, then blinked. “Crap, is that the time?”

“Yeah. Hot date?”

“Actually, sort of,” she replied, putting the mug on the counter. “I mean not hot, but I have a coffee . . . thing.”