The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(63)
The man who’d written with passion and eloquence—with sharp observations—had carried a deep well of love to draw upon. One can’t write fiction that grabs readers’ hearts if he has an empty tank.
Maybe that was why Logan hadn’t yet found the kind of storytelling success he’d been chasing for a decade. His tank was low on deep love, except for his feelings for Peyton, anyway.
“Logan!” she called from the house behind him, holding his cell phone overhead.
He turned and trotted toward her. “What?”
“Claire’s calling.” She extended his phone toward him when he reached the back patio, one brow arched. “Please be careful.”
He followed her inside as he answered the phone. “Claire.”
“Hi.”
He cast a glance at Peyton and then strode into the front parlor and closed the double doors. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “Any chance you’re free now?”
His heart skipped. “What’s up?”
“I completed a few design plans, and I want your opinion before I keep going.”
Work, nothing more. His chest hurt. “That was fast.”
“I had a breakthrough.”
Well, great. He’d put himself to bed because he’d felt shitty; meanwhile, she’d turned their fight into a creative tour de force. “Okay. I’ll be over shortly.”
He opened the doors to find Peyton sitting on a bench in the entry hall. She stood when he crossed to the stairs. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He halted, a sick pit opening in his gut.
“Oh . . . Claire didn’t . . .”
“Claire didn’t what?” He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes.
She sighed, shoulders slumping. “I went to see her while you napped.”
“You did what?” He ran one hand over his hair.
“I had to talk to her about being in Steffi’s wedding party, and then I brought up your little tryst.”
“Tryst?” He pressed his fingers to his temple to keep from throttling her. “Did you actually use that word?”
“No.”
“Thank God.” He let his hands fall to his sides. “I asked you to butt out.”
“If it’s any consolation, so did Claire.”
“Good.” He turned and started up the stairs.
“Logan, she didn’t say it, but I saw how much she cares for you written all over her face. She’s not like Karina and the others.”
“I know that, Peyton.” It was precisely why he liked spending time with her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to shower and go.”
Chapter Fourteen
Claire couldn’t deny that having Logan in her bed last night had been better than any of the tingles she’d gotten from her very best book boyfriends. She stashed her new romance novels in a drawer before taking one last look around her house—newly cleared of empty junk-food wrappers.
Two glasses of pinot noir sat by her laptop, waiting for Logan’s arrival without accompanying candles or anything else. Just a hint of her intentions or, rather, an attempt at a new attitude toward their relationship.
Naomi would be proud.
The phone rang. She glanced at the screen, closed her eyes, and let loose a shallow huff. “Mom, this isn’t a great time. Can I call you later or tomorrow?”
“Sure. I just wanted to warn you that Nora Williams told me that a burglar tried to break into Janie Jones’s house last night. He got away without getting caught, which means he could be on the hunt for a new target. Lock your doors.”
“I always do.” Claire could practically hear her mom making the sign of the cross. “Please don’t worry so much about me.”
“Oh, honey, I can’t help it,” she said on a sigh, but Claire heard the loving smile in her voice, too. “What did you do today?”
“Worked a little. Went to the library.”
“Sounds like a wonderful, relaxing day.” Her bright voice vibrated genuine happiness. If she knew how miserable Claire had actually been, it would crush her.
“Mom, I’m sorry to rush you, but I’m expecting someone.” She stole a glimpse at the door as if it would make Logan appear.
“Who?”
“A client,” Claire covered rather than field yet another of her mom’s complaints about Logan carting her off to New York. If her mom knew about Newport, she might have a stroke. “I’ll swing by tomorrow to see you and Dad. Maybe we can grab dinner.”
“Lovely. I’ll bake a cheesecake!”
“Make it a chocolate one.” If tonight didn’t go well, Claire would need that all to herself. “Bye!”
She muted her phone and tossed it onto a bookshelf, then checked herself in the mirror, frowning at the blonde highlights she shouldn’t have had done. The fact that she’d thought, even for a moment, that her hair color would magically change her life made her embarrassed.
She started at the bang from the brass knocker outside. Tugging at the miniskirt she’d worn over tights, she then took Rosie in hand. She crossed the room on shaky legs and opened the door. Logan stood in the warm glow of the porch lights with his hands tucked into the pockets of his handsome black wool peacoat.