The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(5)

She remained stiffly seated beside Rosie, the souvenir of a psychopath. That old cane had been a talisman of strength and survival after an unfortunate mass shooting at the Yankee Crossing Outlets killed her promising tennis career. Better the death of that dream than a literal one, though.

Having one of its own become a victim of random violence had shaken their small town, which had then rallied around the McKennas. Although Claire had been fifteen at the time, he’d never once caught her feeling sorry for herself despite being forced to walk away from a top tennis ranking in her division. Never seen her break down or give up while relearning to walk. In her quiet way, she’d shown more mettle than he’d ever been required to muster.

Her bravery had moved him in ways his sixteen-year-old self hadn’t fully understood. To this day, that uneasy awe remained with him, affecting the rhythm of his heart.

“Claire.” He nodded, oddly tongue-tied. He’d hoped to run into her soon, but on his terms, not hers. Not unprepared. He had a plan, after all. One that required careful plotting. He wouldn’t let Peyton down. And if spending time getting reacquainted with Claire was part of the process, well, that would be no hardship.

“Logan.” Claire’s voice squeaked. It did that often when she spoke to him. Sometimes she’d sputter, too. Endearing, frankly. He’d secretly liked her little crush on him. It’d been so authentic—another thing he was unaccustomed to with most.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He gestured around the space. “But since you’re here, let me extend my compliments. You did a beautiful job. I can only imagine what it looked like when old Mrs. Weber lived here.”

“Thank you.” She fidgeted with her hair, which was a couple of inches longer than his. “Steffi and I have similar taste, so it was easy.”

“It’s comfortable, unlike my museum in the city.” He purposely avoided meeting the stony gaze he felt coming from Steffi. “Maybe you could transform my place to better reflect me?”

“But a museum is perfect for you,” came Claire’s brittle reply. “You can display all your photographs to impress all your girlfriends.”

He flinched. When he’d last seen her a few months ago, she’d been harried in her attempt to dodge him. Of all the reasons he’d imagined for her running from him that afternoon, he’d never considered that her feelings toward him had changed because of Peyton.

The loss of her affection deflated him.

Surely she couldn’t disapprove of him supporting his sister. Then again, maybe Peyton had nothing to do with Claire’s change of heart. Throughout the years, he’d enjoyed a different date on his arm for each social event that his family expected him to attend. After Claire’s experience with Todd, she’d probably lost all patience for that kind of thing.

Nonetheless, her prickliness provoked him. “I’m getting older. Who knows, maybe one of these days I’ll follow in Ryan’s footsteps and start a family of my own?”

She snorted a laugh, then covered her nose and mouth with one hand, mumbling, “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” He smiled because she’d unwittingly given him an opening regarding his sister. With a happy sigh, he said, “Gee, that felt good.”

“What did?” Her brows gathered.

“Letting you off the hook.” He tucked his hair behind his ears and nodded at Steffi before returning his gaze to Claire. “Forgiveness is such a win-win, don’t you think?”

Claire’s expression turned as icy as the sidewalks outside. She pushed herself out of her chair, shoved her laptop into its case, and grabbed Rosie. “Steffi, we’ll finish our discussion later. In the meantime, I’ll find a way to tempt Mrs. Brewster.”

Claire limped across the room to the coatrack by the front door, each uneven step leaving an imprint on his gut as if she’d trampled right over him. Needling Claire had been a shitty move—a knee-jerk reaction to her cold shoulder, and in poor form. “Hang on. Let me help you to your car.”

“I can manage.” She rose onto her toes to reach her jacket at the top of the coatrack.

He dashed across the room and reached for her bag. “I insist.”

She yanked her arm away, but he’d clutched her elbow too tightly for her to escape. “Claire, it’s slick out there.”

“And yet I got inside on my own.” Her gaze flitted around the entry like a butterfly looking for a safe place to land.

He tipped up her chin, hungry for her eye contact, which somehow simultaneously calmed and excited him. “But you weren’t upset when you first arrived.”

She stared back at him. A flicker of something—sorrow, regret, surrender—rippled through those azure pools.

Ryan came trotting down the stairs, oblivious to the tension in his entry. “Where are you going?”

Logan slapped Ryan’s shoulder, sparing his old friend a brief smile. “Just helping Claire to her car. I’ll be right back.”

“Maybe we should salt again,” Steffi said to Ryan, although her gaze remained fixed on Claire.

“I’ll take care of it.” Ryan grabbed his coat from the rack and dashed ahead of them, kissing Claire on the cheek on his way out the door. “See you later, Claire.”

Logan followed Claire onto the porch. Ryan’s footprints wound around the house toward the detached garage. His disappearance left Logan alone with Claire for a few minutes. All around them, snow blanketed every shrub, lawn, and branch like a thick coat of icing. He kept hold of her elbow, allowing her to set the pace, somewhat distracted by the play of light and glitter on the snow. If he’d had his camera with him, he’d have caught some intriguing images.