The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(25)

“You sounded excited to catch up.”

“Honestly, I’ve stepped away from big projects these past few months while caring for Peyton and taking her to chemo, so I’m ready to do something for myself again. But the timing isn’t perfect . . .” They’d have to agree on an idea and conduct research before he’d know if any project called to him in that important way he needed.

Claire fell quiet. Her jaw looked tight, her body stiff, as if bracing for an attack. He’d momentarily forgotten about her aversion to all things Peyton or he wouldn’t have brought her up.

Rosie sat propped up against a chair, serving as a reminder of Ben Lockwood’s lecture. Logan had promised not to push her toward forgiveness, but she couldn’t expect him to never mention Peyton’s name in any context. “You’re mad that I mentioned my sister.”

“No.”

“What, then?”

“I was just thinking that she’s very lucky to have you.” Claire glanced at his hair. “You’ve sacrificed a lot to help her. I hope she appreciates it.”

He ran his hand over his head, which still felt so strange. “Looks weird, huh?”

“Not weird. Different. You haven’t had short hair since you were thirteen. Even then, it wasn’t this short.” She reached out, but drew her hand back. “Sorry.”

He tipped his head toward her, wanting to feel her hands on his scalp. “Go ahead. It feels like a brush.”

She stroked her palm across his head twice, softly playing with the short strands. Goose bumps raced down his neck and spine. If she were any other woman, he’d grab her wrist and pull her in for a kiss. If she were any other woman, she’d want him to, too.

She teased, “You’re right. Thick and bristly. Maybe you should use this to paint another wall in your room.”

He scanned her eyes but saw no clear invitation in them. He couldn’t afford to make a misstep now, no matter how strongly the sudden sexual impulse struck.

“It’ll be a year or more before I look normal again.” He smirked. Truthfully, he missed his hair a lot more than he would’ve anticipated. It had been part of his armor as well as a tool of seduction.

“Eighteen months at least.” She smiled. “Of course, your dad must think this is the first time you’ve looked ‘normal’ in years.”

Logan laughed. “You’re right about that.”

“How are your parents?”

He could never answer that question without feeling a slight twist in his stomach. He supposed his parents were happy together. They didn’t argue much. They seemed to value the same kinds of things—appearances, ambition, power. They weren’t bad parents; they just weren’t warm or nurturing.

They had visited Peyton weekly during chemo but hadn’t doted on her as many other parents might’ve under the circumstances. Even now, with Peyton under the same roof, his parents hadn’t rearranged their schedules much to assist her.

“Distant” would be the best word to describe them. He’d never really known them—and probably never would. He didn’t care so much at this point, although, in a sense, even that fact made him sad.

“The same,” he finally answered her question. “He’s buying hotels. Mom’s planning the fund-raiser.”

“Hotels? I thought your dad’s company focused on residential developments and apartments.”

“It does, mostly. Not sure why the sudden change. Actually, I take that back. Ego. He couldn’t resist sticking the Prescott name on seaside hotels. Now we can profit off people’s vacations, too.” Logan didn’t like the sneer in his voice. He could even admit to the hypocrisy of enjoying his trust fund while deriding the company that contributed to its account. “It’s a string of boutique inns. I suspect they’re on the shabby side, so he’ll need to renovate them.”

Claire’s eyes lit even as she sighed. “Fun project.”

Another potential hook. “You should pitch him for that job. It’d make my fee seem meager.”

She shook her head. “I won’t be asking your dad for a job in this lifetime.”

“Just because he and I don’t get along doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use him to grow your company.”

“It’s not that, although I’ve never liked the way he’s always tried to change you.”

He hid behind another gulp of wine. “It’s embarrassing to know that you picked up on that.”

She shrugged apologetically. “I’m observant, and Peyton shared stuff with us. Don’t forget, we were in your house a lot.”

“I remember. Three hellions with ponytails.” He recalled a young Claire, fresh from tennis practice, racing in to join Peyton and Steffi in the sunroom for their scrapbooking, or whatever the hell they were doing with that big quilted binder they’d lugged around. “You’re probably wise to steer clear of my dad. He’s a ballbuster.”

She bristled. “I can take whatever he dishes out.”

“I know exactly how tough you are. I spent plenty of time at your house while you recovered.” Claire’s parents had been the opposite of his. Warm, welcoming, full of smiles and affection. Maybe if he’d grown up in that type of environment, he wouldn’t have been as eager to escape home.