Love on Lexington Avenue(65)

She knew it was for her, though she didn’t think she was headed toward a hangover. She’d drunk just enough to celebrate without having so much as to dull the moment.

In fact, she felt as clearheaded as ever. At least about Brayden and being done.

As for Scott, on the other hand, she didn’t have a clue.

Claire wanted to know why he came.

But for now, maybe it was simply enough that he had. Maybe he was working through his emotions just as she was.

Claire had felt the way he’d looked at her. Like he wanted her. And she’d noticed the small gestures. Brushing the hair out of her face. Refilling her water glass when it was empty, almost absently, as though he were instinctively aware of her.

She was at a loss for what any of it meant though.

The house was quiet as she walked toward her room. Naomi and Oliver had claimed the master bedroom with its king bed on the first floor, while the others had taken the four bedrooms on the fourth floor. Claire’s and Audrey’s rooms shared a bath on one side of the house, Clarke’s and Scott’s on the other.

Claire had been a little disappointed when, at the end of the night, Bob had followed Scott to his room, instead of her to hers, but she supposed she should get used to it. The dog would be out of her life as soon as the man was.

She opened the door to her room, then slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the startled shriek.

“Jesus, Scott. You do realize that having a man surprise you in your bedroom at two a.m. is pretty much every woman’s worst nightmare, right?”

He glanced up from where he sat at the foot of her bed, hands clasped between his knees, feet bare beneath plaid pajama pants, a white undershirt hugging what she now knew firsthand was a firm, unyielding torso. “Sorry.”

She dropped her dirty clothes by her suitcase. “Where’s Bob?” she asked, turning to face him.

He stood up. “Snoring in the middle of my bed.”

“Oh.”

She said nothing more, as they seemed to face off, the intimacy of the evening feeling hopelessly tangled with the antagonism of their last encounter at his apartment, as well as his imminent departure from her life.

“I came to see if you were okay,” he said quietly. “But I see that I’ve wasted a trip. You’re more than okay.”

She sucked in a breath, a little surprised he could read her so clearly. “Yeah. I really am.”

“Claire, about that night. When I told you to get rid of his stuff—”

“No.” She held up a hand. “You were right. I mean, yes, it was overstepping. And you sort of delivered it with the delicate touch of a massive earthquake. But it needed to be said, and I’m grateful.”

He gave a half smile. “That’s generous. I was an ass.”

“Well.” She crossed her arms. “Yeah.”

“Forgiven?” he asked, searching her face.

Claire nodded. “Forgiven.”

His smile widened. “Was that a tennis racket I saw get hurled into the fire?”

“Eh. Yeah. I felt a little bad about that one. It was a good racket. But then I remembered that I used to beg Brayden to play doubles, but he never had the time. Turns out he and Audrey played at her club once a week.”

“I think it’s fitting that it went into the fire. Now it’s burning just like he is.”

“You sound like Naomi.”

Scott shrugged. “Smart lady.”

Claire fiddled with her earlobe, needing to confess something to someone and a little surprised that she wanted it to be him. “Scott.”

His head snapped up.

“I didn’t burn everything.”

“No?”

“I kept my wedding ring.”

His gaze dropped to her left hand.

“I’m not wearing it,” she said. “I’m not that messed up. But yesterday morning I took it to get appraised, thinking maybe I’d trade it and get a bracelet or something new, and I . . . just couldn’t. I guess it’s the one part of my marriage I want to keep with me. Even knowing how things worked out, I can’t deny that on my wedding day, I loved Brayden, and I’m pretty sure he loved me. The ring symbolizes all that. Is that lame?”

Scott shook his head.

“The weirdest part is I don’t even like the ring. I’ve never said that out loud. Who doesn’t like their wedding ring? But I never did.”

“Let me guess. Ostentatious as hell?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “That’s just it. When he gave it to me, he made this pretty speech about how he wanted something classic and timeless and elegant, just like me. And it was all those things, but . . .”

Scott gave a crooked smile. “You wanted ostentatious.”

“Maybe.” She burst out with a laugh, grateful she could finally say it. “Okay, yes, I wanted gaudy, damn it. I wanted a guy to put a huge tacky rock on my finger because he wanted everyone to know I was his.” Claire shrugged. “Maybe that’s the problem. I was never his any more than he was mine. Damn, that fire felt good.”

“It was a hell of a thing to watch,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the beach. “All of you were in your element, but you, in particular, you were . . . you were . . .” He swallowed but couldn’t finish the sentence.