Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,70

a fitting goodbye,” Audrey amended.

“Nope, I do not mean that.” Naomi took a sip of her cocktail. “I want his stuff to burn the way he is burning.” She pointed dramatically at the floor.

Claire pressed her lips together to keep from chuckling and looked around the room. “This is one of the very few times I’ve regretted we all live in Manhattan. It’s not exactly firepit friendly.”

“No,” Audrey said slowly. “It’s not.” She gave a small, slow smile. “I think I have the beginnings of an epic idea.”

“Ooh. Does it involve fire?” Naomi asked hopefully.

“Actually, it does,” Audrey said, pulling out her iPhone. “I just need to make one quick phone call . . .”

Chapter Twenty-Three

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 6

I know you ate my cheese, Clarke. So put your dimples away,” Audrey said accusingly as the group filed into the enormous Southampton kitchen.

“What exactly do you think happened, Dree?” Clarke asked, setting a box of wine and other booze bottles on the counter. “That in the five-minute drive between the store and here, I unwrapped a wedge of Saint-André and took a big bite, without anyone noticing I was eating stinky cheese straight from the plastic wrap?”

“Well then, where is it?” Audrey grumbled, rummaging through the grocery bags. “I’ve unpacked everything.”

“I think we might have bought everything,” Oliver said, taking in the spread on the kitchen table. “Aren’t we just here until Monday?”

“Yep. Which means we have two and a half days to drink wine, eat carbs, and set stuff on fire,” Naomi said.

“But not eat a very delicious cheese,” Audrey said, “thanks to Clarke.”

“Thank you so much, Clarke, for the use of your beach house,” Clarke said in an impressive imitation of Audrey. “Me and my friends are so grateful, Clarke, that you’re letting us set up an enormous bonfire on your beach so we can burn a dead man’s stuff.”

“Hey,” Naomi said, fishing a celery stick out of a veggie tray. “It’s not just burning stuff. It’s therapy.”

“And,” Claire said, joining in on the defense, “we didn’t bring everything. Just the symbolic stuff.”

“And not the Hermès bag,” Naomi cut in, with a panicked look. “Right?”

Claire gave her a thumbs-up as she helped herself to a carrot, realizing that she felt the lightest she had in a while. Audrey’s grand idea from yesterday afternoon had happened quickly. A single phone call to Clarke, followed by orders for them to pack their bags because they were headed to the Hamptons, went down in the span of five minutes.

Manhattan might not have much in the way of fire opportunities, but a beach in September on Long Island certainly did. Even more importantly, it gave Claire a much-needed weekend away with friends.

Now, if only girl time and the bonfire could make a dent in her complicated feelings about Scott. Because she was pretty sure whatever was happening there wasn’t something a bonfire could cure.

“Hello?”

Claire sighed around her carrot stick. Wonderful. Now she was straight up imagining his voice.

“Scott! You made it!”

Claire paused mid-chew, whirling toward the sound of the male voice. Sure enough, there was Scott. Had it been just a month ago that she’d thought boots, jeans, and a flannel layered over a white T-shirt was unattractive? Just a few weeks ago that the sight of a backward cap and scruffy jawline hadn’t made her a little breathless?

She was staring. She knew it, but she couldn’t look away.

He, on the other hand, didn’t glance her way once, instead hoisting two grocery bags onto the counter. “The trunk of someone’s Land Rover was open, and I saw these. Looks like one of them had perishables, so I brought ’em in.”

Audrey stood on her toes to look into the paper bag, her eyes widening in delight. “My cheese!”

Clarke made an irritated noise. “I’ll accept my apology now.”

“I specifically asked if there were any bags left in the car, and you said you got them all,” Audrey accused.

Clarke lifted his palm in high-five pose. “Truce?”

Audrey slapped his palm on her way to the fridge. “Truce.”

Claire smiled in spite of her jittery nerves. If only all relationships could be so easy.

Naomi caught her eye from across the kitchen. “Oliver’s idea,” she mouthed.

Claire nodded in acknowledgment just as Oliver himself came over, lowering his voice so only Claire could hear.

“You know, it’s strange,” Oliver murmured, looking across the room to where his friend talked with Clarke. “I’ve known Scott a long time. Never known him to readily agree to a social anything. I usually have to bribe him