Love on Lexington Avenue(57)

“You’re sweet to think I could pick that up in a day,” she replied. “I actually started back when I was in high school. I hated sports, but my parents insisted I cultivate some sort of hobby, and for whatever reason, I got fixated on this. They put me in classes.”

“They have handwriting classes?” Scott asked skeptically.

“Calligraphy classes,” Claire corrected. “Anyway, I fell away from it after college, but I dabbled a little in my mid-twenties, even contemplated doing it professionally. You’d be shocked at how much people will pay for a good calligrapher.”

“When’s the last time you did it?” he asked, watching the way she lit up as she talked about this.

“Last year, I guess? I did some invitations for a friend of Audrey’s. Then Audrey signed Naomi and me up for some wine and lettering party in her apartment building. That’s where the brush lettering comes in, it’s sort of a faux-calligraphy style that newbies can pick up a little easier.”

“Which do you like better?”

“Traditional calligraphy will always have my heart,” she said with a grin. “It’s been around for centuries. But I see the benefits of knowing both. A formal black-tie wedding, I’d stick with the classic for the invitations. But place cards at a bridal shower? I might do the brush lettering with a nice bounce script.”

“A bounce what?”

“A slightly more casual, friendly lettering style.” She sighed happily and took another sip of her wine. “Anyway, thanks for letting me talk it out.”

“What inspired this?”

“Well, actually, it was Audrey’s idea. But boredom, mostly. Or rather, the expectation of impending boredom,” she said. “I realized once the house is done, I won’t have much to fill my days. Plus, while I don’t miss my corporate days, I do miss the satisfaction of good, old-fashioned work, you know? Of putting in the time, getting good at something, and getting paid for it.”

“I can understand that.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t even know if I can build a business out of this,” she said, gesturing with her glass at the table. “And if I do, it certainly won’t bring in the gazillions that you make building skyscrapers. But it’d be a start. Actually, before I forget, I’m having second thoughts about making the two spare rooms at my place one big room. I might want to keep one as an office after all.”

Scott tensed a little, the mention of her upstairs bedrooms causing a feeling of dread he’d been warding off for a few days, but she kept talking before he could put his finger on why.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about websites?” she mused.

“Zero,” he admitted.

“That’s all right. Naomi’s plugged in to the whole entrepreneur network; I’ll hit her up for some guidance. Audrey, too, for that matter.”

“Yeah, what is it exactly that Audrey does?” Scott asked curiously. “Clarke mentioned something about Instagram at the gala.”

“She’s an influencer,” Claire said. “It’s sort of . . . How to explain? Basically, she has a couple of hundred thousand people who follow her on Instagram just to see what she wears, how she styles her home, what makeup she’s wearing. She gets paid to promote some of it, but mostly I just think she likes sharing a part of herself with the world.”

“Sounds awful.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I can’t say I’d be much for it, either, but she loves it, and she’s good at it. In fact, I think she has just as much business acumen as Naomi; it just comes in a different format.”

“The Instagram model, the jewelry queen, and the calligraphy ninja,” he said. “You ladies make a hell of a trio.”

“Will make,” Claire corrected. “I haven’t earned my stripes yet. But maybe . . .”

“You will,” Scott said with confidence. And not just to make her feel better. He suspected Claire was a lot more driven than anyone gave her credit for. And granted, he didn’t know much about calligraphy, but he knew that what he was seeing on his dining table wasn’t run-of-the-mill cursive. There was obviously some skill involved, and Claire had it.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I didn’t even ask,” she said, turning toward him. “How was work?”

Scott rolled his shoulders, her question giving him the same sense of unease as her welcome had.

Welcome home! How was work? Next it would be, What do you want for dinner?

All domestic questions signaled a lifestyle he didn’t want. He liked Claire, a lot. But the last thing he wanted was for her to think this would become some sort of routine.

Needing to remind her—and himself—that he was not that kind of guy, his response was deliberately terse. “It was fine.”

“Oh. Well. Good,” she said, clearly taken aback at his shortness. “Are you hungry? I can clear the table.”

The hurt in her voice rubbed him wrong, even as he knew his behavior was irrational. He’d asked about her day; she was just being polite and returning the favor. And yet he hated that there was a part of him that wished tonight wasn’t just a one-time thing. That a part of him wished sharing a drink and talking about his day with someone he cared about could be something he could count on.