The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(38)

“Your metabolism is a thing of wonder. If I ate like you, I’d easily be twenty pounds overweight.” She paused. “Are you sure nothing else is bothering you?”

“I guess I’d hoped you were calling about a new job.”

“No, although I’ve emailed our former clients and asked them to write a review on our Yelp page and tag us in pictures they post of the work on Facebook and Instagram.”

“Good idea.” Claire sighed and slid back to rest against the headboard. “I’ve put together materials to hit up Mrs. Brewster one last time. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Fingers crossed. Speaking of design plans, how is Logan’s condo design coming along?”

“Fine.” Kind of a lie. She’d never been so stuck on a project in her entire career. Her crush clouded her judgment, making her doubt herself. He claimed to want something cozy, yet the examples he’d pointed out—Steffi’s and her homes—had too much feminine appeal for a bachelor pad.

“I’d expect more enthusiasm given the nice budget you’ve got. You get a full do-over there, although I did like the rug in the living room. Not that I have your eye, of course.”

Claire wouldn’t admit that she couldn’t get a true sense of that rug and its colors from the photographs.

“I just haven’t hit on the perfect design yet.” And perfection had never been more important than with this job, which Logan would associate with her for years to come. They might be different as night and day, but part of her wanted him to think of her as his equal. If not in adventure, than at least in talent. “I’m working on it, though. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried, just curious. In other news, Benny is still wasting time with Melanie. I wish he’d find someone his own age and settle down.”

“I feel sorry for Melanie. She obviously likes him more than he likes her.”

“You should date Ben. Then we could be sisters!”

“Ben is as much my brother as yours.” Claire laughed, although it seemed a shame. If only they were attracted to each other, life could be so perfect. “Talk tomorrow, okay? I’m bushed.”

“All righty. Good night.”

Claire hit “End,” then scrolled through her email. Logan’s name and the subject line “MY BAD” leaped out at her, prompting a sharp intake of breath.

Claire,

I’m sorry I hurt your feelings today, something I’d never intentionally do. I’ve no right to judge you for the things that make you happy, but you’re wrong to say we can’t be friends. We have a lot in common with our history and our creative eye, so I hope you don’t really feel that way. As you pointed out, I don’t have many real friends and I’d hate to miss the chance to find one in you. Please forgive me and let’s start anew.

I’m working on editing the Duvall images tonight, so prepare to be awed.

Good night,

Logan

She reread the note three times, each time the knot in her chest squeezing harder. Closing her eyes, she replayed the look on his face at the Duvalls’ when he’d begged to join her and her mom that afternoon, and then his expression later when they’d argued. She thought about the project he’d coaxed Peyton into, the flash of heat that lit his eyes from time to time when teasing her, and the hint of bitterness whenever the conversation involved his father.

Logan had matured into an intense, complicated, sometimes selfish, yet surprisingly tender man. Her weakness for him—an unsettling, reckless attraction—handed him the power to crush her heart to bits at the same time he made it soar.

Risks. Life and happiness always came down to calculated risks. Until now, she hadn’t been willing to take any. Where does one start when so out of practice?

Could she be his friend, truly, when she’d always yearn for more? When her heart would twist with jealousy of any other woman in his life?

She hit “Reply” and began tapping out a minimal response so he couldn’t read between the lines and learn all the secrets in her heart.

Logan,

I’m sorry for the things I said, too. Let’s call it even. Speak with you soon.

Claire

She went to brush her teeth and change into the red-and-black-plaid pajamas with the elastic waistband. She snapped it against her gut, muttering, “Stupid cake baby.”

When she tossed her jeans in the hamper, she heard her phone ping.

Logan, again.

Even-steven works for me. Of course, brace yourself for when I win our bet, because you’ll be at my mercy, and I never give up the upper hand.

She gulped as the place between her legs ignited. What was he planning, and what foolish, lonely pieces of her heart hoped that he won?



He won. That panicked refrain replayed in Claire’s head even as she returned Mary Wagner’s call to schedule a date and time for a photo shoot. It continued—like a distant siren—while she worked her way through page after page of online sites, searching for inspiration for Logan’s apartment.

When she couldn’t take another minute of quiet, she headed to Stuart’s Market for replenishment. Claire parked in the handicap space near the door and grabbed a full-size cart. A dangerous sign that she might not exercise the best control.

She’d been healthy for two days now to make up for the night of Gram’s birthday, so she hit the candy aisle first, then palmed a family-size box of Fruity Pebbles. Chicken. Store-made clam chowder. Grapefruit seltzer water. Finally, she forced herself to the produce aisle. Bananas. Pears. She even tossed a bag of fresh spinach in her cart to offset the neon cereal and Twizzlers.