Love on Lexington Avenue(48)

“You realize there are delivery options other than Chinese in this city?”

“Nothing that tastes as good. Though, I think I’m turning into a dumpling. How many more sleeps until I get my stove back?” she said, with the hopeful anticipation of a little kid waiting for Christmas Eve.

“A few,” he admitted, making a mental note to haul ass on the final stages of the kitchen.

“Can I see it?”

“Nope.”

“But I’ve seen the rest of the place as you work!”

“Because those are face-lifts. The kitchen is more like open-heart surgery, and I guarantee you don’t want to see what goes on on the operating table. It’s not just you; it’s my rule for all projects, all clients.”

“Fine,” she said glumly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll look into a hotel. When’s this all going down?”

“Up to you. We can do it as soon as today if you want to speed things along.”

“I do,” she said immediately. “I’ll pack. I guess the bonus of a hotel is that at least I can get one of those little room service carts. No more card table for forty-eight hours.” She glanced at him. “Can Bob come with?”

“You do realize she’s my dog.”

“I know,” Claire said, kissing Bob’s head. “But in a couple of weeks you’ll take her away from me. These last few days are all I have.”

She said it lightly in between playful cooing kisses to the top of Bob’s head, but his chest ached anyway at the thought of her being all alone once again.

She’ll get her own dog, he reminded himself. Another man around the house . . .

Nope. He halted his thoughts right there.

Scott sighed. “If you find a hotel that takes big, smelly dogs, sure. You can have her for a couple of nights.”

Claire lifted Bob’s paw and slapped it against her own palm in a high five. “You hear that? Girls’ night! Slumber party! You bring the popcorn.”

Scott smiled and shook his head, hoping the playful mood wasn’t the result of her ending her yearlong celibacy. Though, even if it were, he supposed he was happy for her. It was good to see her without any shadows, even if it was some other dude who had helped banish them.

Actually no, screw that. He hated that it was some other guy.

Scott had already left the bedroom, but he turned back. “My place has a kitchen.”

She looked up from where she was already hauling a suitcase out of the closet. “What?”

“My apartment on the West Side. It’s got a kitchen. The guest room bed has sheets. I think.”

She set her bag on the floor. “I don’t—”

“I won’t be there,” he was quick to interject. “I’ve got the place in Brooklyn, remember? I can stay there. That’ll give you the Manhattan apartment to yourself.”

“I can’t kick you out of your apartment.”

“I’m offering. C’mon,” he added when she hesitated. “A couple of days without takeout? My coffeepot’s top-notch, too. We can bring your nasty creamer.”

“Hey. That coffee creamer is delicious.”

He smiled, knowing he had her, even if he didn’t quite know why it seemed so important that she say yes.

“I can still have Bob?” she asked.

“Yes. You can still have Bob.”

You can have me, too, if you want.

He rejected the thought as quickly as it had popped into his head. He wasn’t available, not in the way she needed. Hadn’t been in a long time.





Chapter Eighteen


TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 3

Claire was expecting Scott’s place to be a stereotypical bachelor pad. She didn’t anticipate a guy who mostly lived in denim and flannel would have much beyond a lumpy sofa and huge flat-screen TV.

But she’d forgotten that she was dealing with one of the world’s most in-demand contractors, not to mention a guy who wore a tux very nicely when he put his mind to it.

“It’s stunning,” Claire said, as Scott wheeled her suitcase through the front door. Bob was already running circles around the place, seeming adorably excited to have Claire in her space for once.

“Thanks,” he said, not bothering to deny that his apartment was a work of art.

“No, I mean . . .” She spun around, taking in the high ceilings, the entire wall of windows. “Wow. I guess I should have known what to expect when you punched the button for the penthouse.”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t like having neighbors. The penthouse means I don’t have to share walls, just a floor with someone else’s ceiling.”

“Your apartment takes up the whole floor?” she asked, going to the windows and taking in the unobstructed view of the Hudson.

“Yeah. The building’s one of Oliver’s.”

She spun around. “Really?”

“Yup. He designed it a couple of years ago. The management company mostly does high-rises, but they’d bought this building before the neighborhood was cool. It’s only eighteen floors, which, anywhere else on the island would have you staring in your neighbor’s windows, but this is far enough west that it works.”

“I’d say it more than works.” Claire turned away from the windows and headed to the enormous open kitchen. “If my kitchen turns out even half as fabulous as this, I’ll be one indebted lady.”