Love on Lexington Avenue(66)

“It was euphoric,” she admitted, putting one bare foot on top of the other and looking down. “I knew I was mad, but I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding on to it, letting it fuel me. And my decisions.”

“Anger can be a good distraction from pain.”

Claire looked up again. “Speaking from experience?”

He opened his mouth, and for one hopeful moment she thought he was going to let her in, but instead he shrugged.

So that’s how it’s going to be. She’d let him in, but obviously it was destined to be a one-way street. And the new Claire, the one she’d just found, deserved better than this. Better than someone who wouldn’t even meet her halfway.

“It’s late,” she said softly.

He nodded, and she saw from the resignation in his eyes that he recognized the dismissal.

Still, his presence here tonight, this weekend, wasn’t nothing. He cared about her, even if he didn’t know what the hell to do with it, or what to call it. On that front at least she understood. She didn’t know what to call what she felt for him, either.

“Thanks for checking on me,” she said. “You’ve become a close friend in a short amount of time, and it really . . . it means a lot.”

“A friend,” he repeated softly.

“Who hooked up that one time,” she said, smiling in an attempt to cut the tension that seemed to increase every time their eyes met.

He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Right. The one time.”

The silence stretched on for another minute, until he finally nodded. “Good night, Claire.”

“Good night.”

He headed toward the door, but stopped when they were shoulder to shoulder and slowly reached down until his fingers brushed hers in a whisper of a touch.

Scott shuddered out a long breath, then taking her hand in his, he lifted it, his other hand unfurling her fingers to expose a palm. He placed his lips to the center of her palm without meeting her eyes before walking away.





Chapter Twenty-Six


TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17

A little more than a week after the weekend at the beach, Claire hit Send on her email, waited impatiently for it to move from her outbox to her sent folder.

The second it did, she closed her laptop and let out a little squeal, hardly believing the moment was real. It was happening! She was in business. Well, sort of. Booking one client did not a career make.

But still, she was intensely proud of herself. Sylvia Zepada had just booked Claire to do the calligraphy on her daughter’s wedding invitations.

With an invite list of over four hundred people, it would be a beast of a task, and though she’d been terrified when she’d stated the rate that Naomi had insisted Claire was worth, Sylvia had written back immediately asking for a contract to make it official.

Biting her lip, even as she grinned, Claire stood and glanced around her tiny office where she’d already begun organizing her ink pots and nibs. She was grateful that Scott had insisted they start the upstairs renovation with her office instead of the bedroom as she’d suggested. Claire had nervously shown him her “dream office” board on Pinterest, and Scott had looked at everything in detail and promptly banned her from the office for two days.

The end result hadn’t just been close to her dream office—it had gone above and beyond. The walls and desk were painted bright white, which, as he reminded her, was different from meh white. And the built-in shelf along one wall had so clearly been designed with calligraphy supplies in mind, there was no doubt that he’d done careful research on what she’d need. Even the lighting was perfect, a dozen tiny bright bulbs carefully positioned to give her the light she’d need to work.

Claire picked up her phone, intending to text Naomi and Audrey the good news, but she put it down without typing the message. Instead, she left her office, walked past the newly renovated second guest room where she was temporarily sleeping, and into the master where Scott was finishing up. Following the sound of a drill, Claire found Scott in the bathroom sitting on the closed toilet seat, drilling something into the wall.

He gave her an exasperated look, the drill going silent as he pulled a screw from between his lips. “Really? You can’t walk in and see me while I’m single-handedly maneuvering the new tub into place or installing an enormous new mirror? It has to be when I’m drilling in the new toilet paper holder? A fix a six-year-old could do?”

“Very manly,” she teased. “And I’m loving that.” She pointed at the holder. “No more stupid spring.”

“No more stupid spring,” he said, standing.

She stood grinning at him, and then, because she wanted to, she flung her arms around his neck. He caught her with one arm and a laugh, just as she tugged his head down for a kiss.

She felt him freeze in surprise, but she kissed him insistently. Things had been friendlier between them since the beach house, even easy, but strictly platonic. And she knew this was foolhardy, knew that if she even had a chance to keep her heart intact when he left, she needed to keep her hands to herself, but she wanted to celebrate the moment the way that she wanted to.

Apparently, that was kissing Scott.

He got over his surprise quickly, kissing her back with gratifying enthusiasm.

He kissed her for a long while, then pulled back slightly. Claire jumped when he swatted her butt and all but shoved her out into the more spacious bedroom. “What are you doing in here? You know I’ve got one rule.”