The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(61)

Claire crossed her arms and tried to remove the scowl from her face. “If Logan were hooking up with Steffi, would you be concerned? Assuming Steffi wasn’t with Ryan, of course.”

“Probably not, but Steffi’s never been as quick to give her heart.”

“Well, I’m a grown-up, just like her and you and the rest of the old gang. I’m no different from anyone else who’s been hurt in the past, so I’d appreciate it if people would stop treating me special, whether I’m walking on ice or wading into a relationship. For almost sixteen years I’ve lived with extra scrutiny and pampering. For once, I want to be normal.” Claire flung her arms out from her sides. “Whatever is or isn’t happening with Logan is between him and me, and I will handle the fallout on my own. I don’t need kid gloves. Got it?”

Of course, she was being a hypocrite, because if she really meant everything she’d just said, then she needn’t have sent Logan packing so soon.

“Loud and clear. I’m sorry I overstepped. I was trying to be a friend.” Peyton looked down at the ground. She didn’t say it, but Claire heard the unspoken sentiment—that she wanted to be the friend she hadn’t been a year ago.

Claire wanted to reject the idea that Peyton actually cared. That she’d come here with good intentions in her ongoing campaign to mend fences. Then a memory of Peyton pranking Beau Miller junior year surged forward. She’d signed him up for a bunch of weird Craigslist stuff after he called Claire gimpy.

Before Peyton reached for the door to leave, Claire asked, “If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve been a homebody, would you still think I’m a bad fit for your brother?”

Peyton stared at Claire, neither smiling nor frowning. “Does my opinion matter to you?”

“I’m not sure.” She hugged herself. “You do know Logan better than anyone else.”

Peyton flashed a sad smile. “But I don’t know you as well anymore.”

“True.” An ocean of conflicted emotions rolled through the living room like a tidal wave.

“I shouldn’t have butted in, especially since there aren’t any guarantees when it comes to love . . . or life, for that matter.”

Cancer. Whenever Claire thought about what Peyton was facing, she felt not only weak for her attitude about risk but also petty for her inability to be more forgiving. “Logan said the same thing.”

Peyton smiled. “Well, we are a lot alike.”

That’s exactly what scared Claire, but it was also probably why it seemed like she knew Logan better than she otherwise would based solely on the time they’d spent together.

Peyton must’ve read Claire’s mind because she quipped, “Don’t hold that against him, though.”

Under other circumstances, Claire might’ve chuckled at her friend’s sarcasm. But she had been holding it against Logan, even if subconsciously.

“You look a little better than you did the other week.” Claire’s abrupt change of subject caught Peyton by surprise, judging from the way she quickly opened and closed her mouth.

“I suppose a backhanded compliment is better than none at all.” She winked and then sucked her lips inward as if remembering that they were no longer on joking terms. “I am stronger today. More rested. Maybe the sea air is working.”

“Well . . .” She wanted to say that she was glad to hear it, but that would sound phony given the resentment she’d clung to for so long. “Steffi and Logan will be happy to hear it.”

“Steffi and Logan . . . ,” Peyton repeated quietly. “Yes, I think so.”

Claire nodded, a hard lump forming in her throat. “Thanks for considering my feelings about the wedding stuff. I’ll call you in a couple of days to talk about party ideas, although Steffi’s always hated bachelorette parties. Maybe we need to think up some other way to celebrate.”

“I’ll give it more thought.” Peyton tightened her scarf and stepped outside, glancing over her shoulder. “Good luck, Claire.”

Claire closed the door but then went to the living room window and watched Peyton drive away. Her empty, quiet house closed in from all sides. She tugged at the collar of her turtleneck in search of oxygen.

No one was there to upset her, but no one was there to comfort her, either. The African violets, though living, were hardly a substitute for a confidante. She was alone, as usual. The difference today was that she knew she didn’t have to be if she could only follow Logan’s advice and let go . . . of it all.

By four o’clock, she was suffocating. After pulling her hair into a short ponytail, she slipped on shoes, grabbed her keys, and headed to the library. A new book or two would give her the perfect escape hatch.



Naomi was at the checkout desk wearing a T-shirt that read “Me? Weird? Always.” She looked up when she heard Rosie thumping along the carpet. “Hey, you. Loading up or unloading?”

“Loading up.” Claire set down three new novels. Two dukes and one rogue earl—historical-romance nirvana.

Naomi flipped open the first cover and scanned the code. “Guess you already read next month’s discussion book?”

“I did.” The memoir Educated had reminded her, in some ways, of The Glass Castle.

“What did you think?” Naomi scanned the second book.