Love on Lexington Avenue(49)
“It will be. Smaller. But it’s coming along.”
“It’s so bright in here,” she said, turning in a full circle. “You must think I’m nuts to be living in that little house with almost zero natural light and nosy neighbors on all sides.”
Scott shook his head. “Not really. I get the appeal of those old brownstones. You’ve just got to get ’em right, and we will.”
She nodded, as she ran a finger over the granite countertop, which was completely clear of any clutter, dirty dishes, or a stack of mail. “You’re tidy.”
“I am. Though I had my cleaning lady come by to make sure about those guest sheets I promised.”
“Right. Point me toward the right room. Where should I put my bag?”
Scott gestured down the hall. “Either door. Both have beds, though I recommend the one on the right. Better view, and the bathroom’s connected.”
She frowned. “Is that the master bedroom?”
“Nope, that’s that way.” He pointed to the left. “Though you’re welcome to it—”
“No,” she said quickly. She absolutely did not want to sleep in Scott’s bed without him in it. Not that she wanted to sleep in his bed with him in it. She just . . .
“Your place has three bedrooms?” she blurted out, trying to steer her thoughts elsewhere.
“Four. One’s an office,” he said, going to the fridge and pulling out a glass carafe of water that was surprisingly fancy for a guy living alone. Or maybe not. Maybe she should learn to stop being surprised where Scott was concerned.
Per his suggestion, Claire took the guest room to the right. It was decorated simply, but definitely decorated. At first glance, the white bedspread and basic platform bed looked sparse, the no-nonsense nightstands like they’d been ordered online, sight unseen. But having spent a lot of time looking at home details these past few months, Claire saw beyond that to the industrial-chic lamps on the nightstand, the plush gray area rug beneath the bed, the sketches of bridges on the wall hung just so to look unintentional and yet as though they belonged there.
She stuck her head out into the main room. “You hire a decorator?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s really good,” Claire said, joining him in the kitchen.
“He. Sean went to school with Oliver and me. Unlike me, he graduated. Unlike Oliver, he didn’t actually go into architecture. He and his partner, also Shawn but spelled differently, started their own interior design company last year.”
“I imagine they’re doing well. Your apartment could be in a catalog.”
“It was.”
“Really?” She perked up. “Which catalog? I subscribe to all of them.”
“No idea. They asked if they could do my place for free as a showpiece, and since I’m hardly ever here, I told them to go for it.”
“How much are they?” she asked, taking in every single detail, and finding fault with nothing. “Probably more than I could afford.”
“Thought you were more of a do-it-yourselfer on the decorating front?”
“Well, I thought so, too, until I saw your place. My style is amateur hour compared to this. Don’t worry, I promise to clean up all my drool before I leave on Thursday. The kitchen, specifically. I cannot wait to eat real food again. I’m going to work that stove over so hard . . .”
Scott had started to refill his water glass, paused a moment, then put the glass back down without drinking it. “You need anything else? I’ll get out of your hair if not.”
“Oh.” She was a little surprised at the abrupt announcement, and maybe a little disappointed. Things had just been finally getting back to normal between them, as though the kiss had never happened, as though she hadn’t come very close to breaking down on him last Thursday night before her date with Brett.
She didn’t regret any of the things she’d said though. She’d needed to voice it, needed to admit that she hadn’t yet healed from Brayden. And going out with Brett had been the right decision. He’d been a perfect gentleman. They’d talked about movies over dinner, debated whose pasta dish was the more decadent, even shared a dessert at the end. It had been all perfectly lovely first-date stuff, and when he’d casually asked her back to his place at the end of the night, she’d said . . .
No.
She hadn’t been ready for that, but one day she would be.
Brett had smiled, thanked her for a lovely evening, and kissed her cheek before hailing her a cab. He said he’d call her again, and maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. Claire wasn’t entirely sure she cared either way, but she did know that it had been an important first step toward moving on with her life.
“Grocery store,” she said, realizing she hadn’t responded to his question if she needed anything. “You have one nearby you’d recommend? If not, I can check Maps on my phone.”
“What are you shopping for? Basics? Meat?”
“Well, coffee creamer, for starters,” she said with a smile. “I forgot to grab mine from the mini fridge at home.”
Scott opened his full-size fridge. It was mostly empty, but there was the unmistakable label of her favorite coffee flavoring on the shelf.
She looked at him in surprise, and he just shrugged. “The housekeeper also keeps me stocked with a few basics, so I at least have eggs and stuff when I’m here. I asked her to pick some up.”
Lauren Layne's Books
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