Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,11
They’re sort of yellowish. Beige. And they have a flavor. Vanilla. Better yet, it’s a flavor everybody likes.”
“Well, I’ve decided I don’t want to be beige anymore,” Claire said. “And I don’t want to be universally liked. I want to be . . . interesting.”
Naomi frowned. “You are interesting. And what do you mean you don’t want to be beige. You are not your cupcake flavor, Claire.”
Aren’t I?
The past couple of months flitted by in a sad, drab little montage. Her generic birthday cards. The flavorless cupcakes. Her Pinterest boards and renovation project folder overflowing with whites and beiges. The realization that she apparently didn’t even know what flirting was, much less know how to do it.
“Claire?” Audrey nudged, worry in her voice.
Claire smiled. “Don’t worry. I promise this isn’t some sort of midlife crisis where I’m going to go get a pixie cut that doesn’t suit my face or decide to start collecting tattoos that I’ll regret in a month. I’m just realizing I’m in a tiny rut is all.”
“A vanilla rut?”
“Basically.” Claire let her shoulders rise in a shrug before dropping them again. “I’m just so aware that my only identity these days is widow. And even more alarming, even before Brayden died, my only identity was wife. Before that it was girlfriend. Before that . . . I don’t know. I guess I just have this weird sense that I’ve lost sight of who I am. If I ever even knew.”
Naomi opened her mouth, but before she could reply, the server approached the table. Feeling unexpectedly vulnerable, Claire welcomed the interruption, placing her order before her friends could tell the waiter to come back later. “I’ll have the mixed green salad, and I’ll add the scallops to that, please.”
“Same, but add salmon for me,” Audrey said.
“Croque Madame. With fries,” Naomi ordered.
Claire handed her menu to the server, but when he reached out to take it, Claire’s fingers didn’t release it, realizing she’d just ordered a salad. Of course she had. Because she always ordered the salad.
“Actually, I’ll take the Croque Madame as well,” she told the waiter, finally releasing the menu.
“Fries?” he asked, scribbling the correction in his notebook.
“Why not.”
The server moved away, and both her friends were studying her.
“What was that?” Naomi demanded. “I feel like something just happened.”
“Yes. I changed my food order,” Claire said, sipping her champagne.
“Yes, to fries. You never get fries. And you love salad.”
“Nobody loves salad, but not all of us are running fiends,” Claire said pointedly at the exceptionally fit Naomi.
“Plus, she’s burning all sorts of calories having sex,” Audrey grumbled.
Naomi gave another of those secret, smug smiles as she took a demure sip of her champagne.
Audrey sighed. “And it’s good sex, too. You can tell by her face.”
“Oh, it’s not my face that knows it’s good. Well, actually—”
“Nope,” Claire cut in. “I love you; I love Oliver; I do not want details.”
“I do,” Audrey said morosely.
“You know, I’d feel worse for you if you were even trying to have sex,” Naomi said, giving Audrey’s arm a playful flick. “When was the last time you went on a date? Or you?” She glanced at Claire.
“It’s not that I don’t want to date,” Audrey protested. “I just haven’t felt the spark. I don’t want to date for the sake of dating.”
“Why not?” Naomi asked. “It’s fun.”
“Is it?” Claire interjected.
Naomi gave her a look.
“No, I’m really asking,” Claire said with a laugh. “Other than the awful blind date you sent me on a few months back, I haven’t dated anyone since Brayden. I guess I’ve never understood the point of dating just for the ‘fun’ of it.”
“Is that why you were interrogating Audrey on the nature of flirting?” Naomi asked.
“Sort of. Seeing you with that guy in the hardware store—”
“Good Lord, sweetie, you can’t date that guy,” Naomi interrupted, aghast. “Not only was his breath appalling, but even more prohibitively, someone apparently has managed to look past his egg breath to marry the guy. He was wearing a ring.”
“I don’t want to date that guy,” Claire said in exasperation. “I was just marveling at the way you marched right up to him and effortlessly charmed the pants off him.”
“Huh,” Naomi said. “I can’t figure out if I’ve just been insulted or if there’s a compliment in there.”
“A compliment,” Claire reassured her. “I love the way that you don’t overthink things. Neither of you do,” she added, with a glance at Audrey.
“Well, that’s not always a good thing,” Audrey pointed out. “Maybe had