Love on Lexington Avenue(56)

Audrey jumped to her feet. “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing we live in a city where you can literally buy just about anything. Come on. Let’s go find a craft store, or wherever they sell all that crap.”

“What about your pictures?” Claire asked, standing.

Audrey waved her hand. “Please. We can do that later. This is way more important.”

“Not really,” Claire said, even as she let Audrey link arms with her and drag her toward the park’s entrance. “Having your picture taken is your life. This is just a hobby.”

“Instagram started as just a hobby for me, too, babe. Who knows? Maybe this will be the start of something amazing.”

Claire felt something swell in her chest and realized it was joy. Audrey was right. This could be something amazing.

A small part of Claire had come back alive in Scott’s arms last night.

Now it was time for the rest of Claire to start learning how to live again as well.





Chapter Twenty-One


WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

Wouldn’t it just figure that when, for one of the first times in his life, Scott was actually excited about something other than work, work would demand more than usual of him.

Normally Scott didn’t mind long hours or late nights, and he’d been prepared for a longer-than-normal workday given the demanding task of refinishing hardwoods, but he usually didn’t have a woman waiting for him at home. A woman that he was very much looking forward to seeing naked again.

It was nearly eight thirty by the time Scott pulled his truck into the parking lot of his apartment building, and he was whistling.

Whistling. Jesus. He barely recognized himself.

Scott opened the door and was greeted immediately, first by Bob’s bark, then by Claire’s happy exclamation. “Hey! You’re home!”

The first sound was welcome. The second even more so.

His hand tightened on the doorknob just for a minute as he closed the door. He gave himself a firm reminder not to get used to it.

In fact, the joy he felt at coming home to Claire was the reason he hadn’t let women into his house—or his life—in the first place. He didn’t want to get attached to happy times that wouldn’t last.

Bob, a wiggling eighty pounds of excited energy, greeted Scott at the door. He didn’t have the heart to remind her that she wasn’t supposed to jump up on people. Realizing that the time was rapidly approaching where he’d once more have to leave her with a pet sitter, or load the poor girl into cargo for a long flight, he hunched down and gave the dog some extra love, even as he scanned the apartment for Claire. She was sitting at his kitchen table, her back to him, head hunched over whatever she was working on.

“Just give me one second,” she said, more to herself than to him.

Curious, he wandered to the table, looking over her shoulder. His kitchen table wasn’t small, but nearly every inch of the wood was covered in . . . stuff.

“What am I looking at here?” he asked curiously.

Her right hand finished what it was doing with a flourish, and she turned toward him. Scott blinked a little in surprise at the expression on her face. She looked happy. No, that wasn’t it. Claire was elated.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen her look so full of life, though his masculine pride liked to think that had the lights been on last night, she’d have looked the same when he’d had his hands and mouth all over her. At the memory, Scott’s body tightened, every fiber of his being wanting her again. It wasn’t a familiar sensation. He was accustomed to sex being more of a means to an end—a release he could get just as easily from one woman as the next. But he didn’t want any other woman. Just her.

The sentiment was new. And it was annoying.

“What are these, wedding invitations?” he asked to distract himself, gingerly picking up the white card on the table.

“Oh, no. Just practice cards. I’m rustier than I’d realized.”

“At . . . handwriting?”

“Calligraphy,” she said. “Well, that one is. This one here’s more modern calligraphy, with a brush-tip marker rather than a traditional nib, see?”

She held up two cards side by side. Both looked like fancy handwriting to him. “Okay.”

Claire laughed. “They’re different, I promise.”

She set the cards back on the table and absently massaged her right hand with her left as she perused the mess on his table. “I’d forgotten how gratifying this can be.”

“Yeah?” He went to the fridge and pulled out a beer, held one up in silent invitation. Claire shook her head, but then stood and went to the wine bottle sitting on the counter from last night. She pulled a wineglass out of his cabinet—also courtesy of Sean and Shawn’s influence—and poured herself a glass as he popped the top on his beer.

The easy intimacy of the moment left his mouth a little dry. He took a sip of beer before gesturing with the bottle toward the table. “Tell me about this.”

“Well, for starters, I spent far too much on supplies,” she said a little guiltily. “I forgot how much damage I can do in a craft store.”

“So, not a new hobby?”

She smiled as she sipped the wine. She was dressed in tight black pants and an oversize black shirt, fuzzy socks pulled up to her calves. She looked comfortable. She looked at home. He took a gulp of the beer.