Love on Lexington Avenue(50)

He said it as though it were no big deal, and maybe it wasn’t. The bottle only cost a few bucks. But that he’d thought of it said . . . plenty.

He’s just a nice guy, she reminded herself. Naomi had told her as much. Thoughtful gestures did not a grand statement make, at least as far as Scott was concerned.

“Okay, so then I guess it’s just dinner stuff I need,” she said. “I was thinking of maybe doing a steak on the stove. With a potato. Or pasta. Just basic stuff.”

“Get the steak at Esposito’s. It’s a longer walk, but you won’t regret it.” He named another store for the rest of the shopping list, then pointed at a built-in wine rack. “Help yourself to that. I’m more of a beer/whisky guy, but I’ve collected some decent bottles of red over the years if you’re interested.”

She was, although she realized for a painful moment she longed to share it with someone. For all her determination not to get her heart broken again, she was starting to realize that her decision meant a lot of nights alone in the future.

“You think of anything else, I’m a text away.”

“Thanks,” she said, walking with him to the front door, feeling awkward that she was the one staying behind in his house, with his dog, drinking his wine. But grateful all the same.

“Anytime.” He opened the door, then shut it again when Bob made a huffing noise. “Sorry, girl.” He bent down to scratch the dog’s neck. Claire smiled, noting the way he pet Bob was entirely different than the way she did. She gently rubbed Bob’s ears and softly scratched her belly. And though Bob seemed to like it well enough, it was obvious the dog relished Scott’s firmer no-nonsense rubs.

“Take her with you,” Claire said, noting the distraught look on Bob’s face when she sensed she wouldn’t be going with Scott. “I refuse to be responsible for those sad eyes.”

“She’ll be fine,” Scott said with one last scratch of his dog’s neck, standing once more. “She’s overdue for a little . . . what did you call it, ‘girls’ night’?”

“Right, our slumber party,” Claire said, smiling. “We’ll probably play Truth or Dare. And you might get a prank call.”

“Can’t wait.” He opened the door once more, looking at her as though he wanted to say something, then shook his head and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

The silence in the apartment suddenly seemed deafening. She looked down to see Bob watching her with a baleful expression. Claire told herself she did it for the dog. Knew that was a lie.

Claire jerked the door open again. “Scott!”

She caught him just as he stepped onto the elevator. He stuck out an arm to stop the closing doors, and looked at her expectantly.

She swallowed and took the leap. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”





Chapter Nineteen


TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 3

Okay, if you could go back to only one of the cities you’ve lived in, which one would it be?” Claire asked, dragging a red potato through a little pool of butter with no regrets.

“To visit? Or live?”

“Either. Both.”

He took a sip of his wine. “Tokyo to visit, Paris to live.”

“Paris. Really!” she said in surprise. “Is that because it’s where you met Ivet?” she said coyly, waggling her eyebrows.

He smirked. “I refuse to feel guilty that one of the hottest supermodels on the planet came on to me in a hotel bar in the city of love.”

He said the last word with a touch of exaggeration, and she laughed. “Okay, but really. Why Paris?”

“The Eiffel Tower.”

She started to roll her eyes, then blinked when she realized he wasn’t being ironic. “Seriously?”

“It’s impressive. The design, the structure, the longevity, the location. I never get sick of it.”

“I’ve only seen it once,” she admitted. “I traveled through western Europe after my junior year of college, but I was more or less checking everything off my list. Venice canals, the Vatican, the Colosseum, the Mona Lisa, and so on. The Eiffel Tower was, of course, on the list, but I sort of just did the cursory picture and called it a day.”

“Well, to be fair, not everyone gets off on it like architects and builders. But if you ever go back, do yourself a favor and get a bottle of that pink wine you like, a baguette, and some stinky cheese, and camp out at the base of the tower and just look at it.”

“That sounds like a dream,” she said. “With an old-fashioned picnic basket. Ooh, and a blanket. Some fresh flowers . . .”

“Flowers? You’re ruining my vision.” He tossed a piece of steak to the patiently waiting Bob.

“I’m enhancing the vision. You can’t just sit on the wet grass, and fresh flowers add ambiance.”

“Fine. Yes to the blanket, okay on the picnic basket, lose the flowers. You’ll look like a dork.”

“Deal.” She lifted her glass, and they smiled at each other.

Claire looked away after a moment, her smile falling a little as she reminded herself that she wasn’t actually going to Paris. And that if she did, it would be alone. There’d be no sipping French rosé on a picnic blanket with Scott Turner.