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.
“Thanks for helping with dinner,” she said to defuse the moment. “I’ve never cooked with someone before.”
“I don’t know that my putting the steaks in a pan on the stove counts as cooking, but you’re welcome.”
“It counts. As much as me tossing red potatoes in butter and garlic and sticking them in the oven does.”
When he spoke next, he kept his gaze on Bob, but the words were clearly for her. “Was he a good husband?”
Claire froze, instinctively wanting to ask Who?, but of course there was only one who. Brayden.
“Why do you ask?” Still a stall, but she was also curious.
He looked up at her, his brown eyes a little irritated, though she didn’t think at her. “He wouldn’t let you get fucking pink pillows. Didn’t like your Christmas gifts. Didn’t cook with you.”
“Well, hold on now,” she said softly. “He didn’t outright criticize anything I bought him. And as for the pillows . . . how would you take to a wife or girlfriend decorating all this with pink?” she said, waving at his blatantly masculine living space. The most color was a painting of the High Line on the wall near the front door that had a few shades of green.
“That’s the difference. I don’t have a wife or girlfriend. But if I did, if I had one who cared enough to