The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(102)
“Thank you.” She raised his hand to her cheek and held tight. For most of their lives, he’d been her hero, but she deflected from a deeper conversation. “But clearly you need higher standards.”
He’d stood by her always, even when she’d made terrible decisions, like when she’d hurt her childhood friend Claire over that idiot Todd. Logan had also moved her into his home and taken months off work to be there, day and night, so that she wouldn’t be alone during chemo. And without him she would’ve been utterly alone after having alienated her friends for the love of a man who’d made off like the Road Runner when she shared her diagnosis.
Logan tugged at her earlobe. “Are you sure I can’t take you to JFK tomorrow?”
“No thanks.” She hugged the book to her stomach, which fluttered every time she thought of taking off on the weeks-long European promotional tour that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. “At least a car service gets paid for sitting in hours’ worth of traffic. I’m already too indebted to you. Besides, I’ll need some downtime before I meet Mitchell and take off for Rome.”
She’d looked Mitchell up on LinkedIn and then banged her forehead on her desk a few times. Just her luck to be hitched to a guy who was not only great at his job but also good-looking. Like, wow-level handsome, with gobs of gorgeous hair. Ever since she’d lost all hers, she noticed other people’s hair before any other feature.
She missed her prechemo hair—a beautifully blonde, long, silky curtain she’d used to flirt or hide or distract. Baldness had been a special kind of hell and, in some ways, made her a stranger to herself. Vanity was another of her flaws; she knew this. But having been born with her father’s high cheekbones and blue eyes and her mother’s lean figure, she’d been turning heads since puberty.
Her looks had defined her as much as anything else. Now she still carried a few unwanted pounds of postchemo bloat, and her still-too-short, newly wavy hair didn’t fit her, somehow. It wasn’t terrible, just wrong. And there was no hiding . . . or flirting. But, hey, she was still breathing, and that mattered most.
On the other hand, Mitchell’s hair fit him perfectly. A rich chestnut mane that had to have a natural wave or cowlick in order to achieve that kind of high flow in his bangs. And those eyes, also brown, with an elongated shape and apparent alertness. She couldn’t imagine how they’d affect her in person. His brows were thick like his hair—his lips, full yet firm looking. The serious expression in his profile photo matched her all-business impression of him, which she’d based on what little email communication they’d had to date.
Hallelujah for that, though. The absence of friendly banter was the only thing that made her willing to take this trip with him. At this early point in her recovery, she couldn’t cope with, much less encourage, the tingly feelings of desire.
Not that Mitch would be interested in her. Chemo hair aside, even if she were ready to dip her toes back in the dating world, Mitch Mathis would have far better options than someone with her particular scars. After reading her memoir—with her erratic mental state and all the images of her double mastectomy filling its pages—he couldn’t possibly find her attractive.
“If I weren’t going to Peru next week to photograph Inti Raymi, I’d come with you.” Logan sighed.
“It’s fine.” She stroked the book jacket. “I know this is our collaboration, but it’s my story. I’m the one that has to sell it. The only one who can answer reader questions. I’ll be fine.”
“Still, you know I’d come along for emotional support if I could.” He pulled his foot up over his knee.
He would, but she couldn’t keep relying on him. He’d already rearranged his life for her and played an important role in helping her begin to mend fences with Claire. She trusted him implicitly, which was why she’d agreed to the crazy project in the first place.
From the beginning, their far-flung venture had seemed more of an impossible dream than anything else, until the arrival of the author copies sealed her fate.
“Spend your free time with your new fiancée.” She pushed at his foot. “You’re officially fired from this babysitting job.”
He smiled again, a content kind of smile, particular to his feelings for Claire. Peyton wouldn’t have bet on that opposites-attract relationship, but her brother had fallen hard. Proof that dreams can come true, though, given Claire’s long-standing crush on him.
“You’ll be back for the engagement party, right?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” These days Peyton was grateful for every breath she drew and every celebration she could share with any of the people she loved, including some of her mom’s tedious parties. “I’ll be back a week ahead.”
He winked. “I’m relieved things with you and Claire are getting better.”
Peyton nodded, although her insides still recoiled at the memory of how she’d betrayed her childhood friend. “She still doesn’t confide in me, but things are comfortable now rather than merely polite.”
“I’m just glad not to be caught in the middle of two women I love anymore.” Logan then craned his neck in the direction of their father’s crystal carafe of bourbon. “Shall we break into Dad’s stash and toast to our success?”