muttered, glancing away from the screen. “Is that the time? Hey, sorry, I have to cut this short tonight. Though I guess Bob already did that, huh?”
Scott loved his dog, but he did not care for one second where Bob was at the moment. It was the woman he was here for.
“Where are you headed?” he asked, sipping his coffee with feigned casualness.
“It’s Clarke’s birthday. He’s rented out a whole cocktail bar for something like two hundred people.”
In that moment, Scott firmly believed that he deserved a gold medal for not asking whether or not Brett would be there. And he deserved a blue ribbon for not asking what she was planning on wearing, and suggesting the ugliest, frumpiest dress in her wardrobe so other men wouldn’t know her shape like he did. And he deserved a round of applause for not begging her to stay on the call with him just a bit longer so he could hear her voice . . .
Oblivious to the ache in Scott’s chest, Claire turned away and shouted for the dog. “Bob! Come say goodbye to your dad! There’s a good girl,” she cooed, as Scott saw the uppermost part of the dog come back into view.
Claire hoisted Bob onto the couch beside her and pointed toward the screen, trying to get the dog to look toward Scott. She was only half successful. Bob was clearly convinced she was pointing to a rogue piece of fried chicken that needed to be eaten.
Claire lifted Bob’s paw and waved at Scott. “Say ‘Bye, Dad! See you tomorrow!’ Scott, your turn,” Claire said, glancing at the camera. “Say bye to your girl.”
He rolled his eyes but played along. “Bye to my girl.”
The second the words were out, Scott’s world tilted on its axis as the truth rolled over him.
The FaceTime window went black as Claire ended the call, off to primp for her party, off to live her life, but Scott didn’t move. Not when his computer stayed inactive for so long the screen went black. Not when his coffee turned cold, the mug still frozen in his hand.
Bye to my girl.
He hadn’t been talking to the dog. He’d been talking to Claire.
Claire was his girl. His woman. And he didn’t want to have to say bye to her. Not ever again.
Chapter Thirty
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11
You’re sure you don’t mind?” Claire asked for the hundredth time, as she watched Bob do a third perimeter sniff of Audrey’s apartment. It was a significant time investment, as Audrey’s apartment was huge.
Claire assuaged some of her guilt, slightly, by reminding herself that Bob would like all the extra space. That she wouldn’t feel ditched, first by Scott, then by Claire.
Granted, Claire’s “ditch” had a one-week expiration date. As far as brownie points went, she was way ahead of Scott.
“I’m positive,” Audrey reassured her. “I love dogs.”
“Yeah, but, and I mean this with love, you’ve got a distinct purse dog vibe about you,” Claire said, miming the size of a tiny little lap dog.
“I like all dogs,” Audrey insisted. “I did my homework. I read a bunch of pet blogs and learned new tricks to teach her. Oh, and I didn’t show you . . .”
She teetered away on her high heels, came back holding something small and aqua.
“See!” Audrey proclaimed, unrolling it slightly. “Tiffany blue poop bags! And look . . .” She unrolled it further. “It says Pooping at Tiffany’s.”
Claire shook her head. “That is the most you thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Right? I even watched a YouTube video on how to use them. You put your hand inside, and then pick up the poop, pull the bag inside out, and knot it. Voilà! Her poops aren’t that big, right?”
“Not at all,” Claire lied, because the truth might result in Claire missing her plane because Audrey had backed out of her offer to watch the dog.
“Okay, I have to ask,” Audrey said as she walked Claire to the front door. “Does Scott know?”
“Not the details, but I told him the truth. That I came across a travel deal I couldn’t resist, that I haven’t gone anywhere since Brayden died and I was overdue a vacation, and that I wouldn’t leave Bob with anyone I didn’t trust with my life.”
“Aww,” Audrey said, giving her a quick hug. “But wait, I feel like you’re avoiding the topic. Is this trip just for kicks or because you’re trying not to think about him?”
Claire winced. “You know.”
“That you’re in love with