The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(8)

Her mother’s brows drew together in that familiar pattern of concern. She had one of those pretty heart-shaped faces. Short, curly auburn hair fringed her forehead, framing bright-blue eyes so disproportionately large she looked like a Bratz doll. “What happened to you?”

Claire placed both hands on Rosie’s ivory handle. “An unfortunate run-in with a gnarly patch of ice.”

Her mom clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Are you hurt? How’s your hip?”

“A snowdrift cushioned the fall. I’d be completely fine if it hadn’t happened in front of Logan.” She started toward the kitchen. “As you might guess, I need chocolate. And maybe some Cheetos.”

To date, her unfortunate stress-eating habit hadn’t been a problem because most days she remained fairly calm, and so far, her body still melted calories like butter in a frying pan. Peyton’s impending arrival, however, might take Claire from a size two to a four.

“Let me go find you some bottoms,” her mom said as she went toward the stairs.

Claire rounded the corner to the kitchen, intending to beeline for the junk-food drawer, and nearly smacked into her dad as he stirred sugar into what she presumed, at this hour, was his third cup of coffee.

“Claire Bear!” He kissed her cheek. “What a nice surprise. Are you having lunch with us?”

She opened the cabinet below the silverware drawer and rummaged around. Oreos, Twizzlers, kettle corn . . . aha! She grabbed two bright-orange bags and tossed them on the counter. “If Reese’s and Cheetos count as lunch, then sure.”

“Uh-oh.” He chortled, taking a seat at the table, where his glasses rested on the open newspaper alongside a pencil. He pushed his glasses back into place and smiled. He wasn’t a handsome man—sort of average looking, with thinning brown hair, smaller brown eyes, and a dimpled chin—but his face radiated the kind of sincerity that instantly put you at ease and made you spill all your secrets. “What happened today, sweetie?”

How lucky to have two parents who not only loved her to pieces but knew her so well. Some adult children might complain about the daily reporting and general nosiness, but Claire didn’t. Her parents’ involvement gave her the deep sense of belonging that kept her grounded. “Logan.”

“I thought you liked Logan?” He scratched his head.

“I did.” She really did, which was part of the problem. She unwrapped three mini Reese’s and popped them into her mouth in quick succession. Milk. She needed ice-cold milk. “But now he’s Peyton’s emissary.”

“Oh.” He nodded, frowning with a slight nod. “Well, he’s in a tough spot.”

“Really, Dad?” she asked, her mouth still pasty from the peanut butter. She poured herself a tumbler of milk and guzzled a bit before speaking. “My relationship with his sister is none of his business. He should just butt out.”

“Who should butt out of what?” her mom asked, dangling pink-and-gray polka-dot drawstring pajama pants in one hand while gesturing with the other. “Give me your wet pants.”

“Logan,” Claire muttered, popping another Reese’s. “And my relationship with Peyton.”

“Oooh.” Her mom grimaced in agreement.

Her dad covered his eyes while Claire wiggled out of her damp corduroys. Her fingers brushed the scars from the bullet wound and her surgeries, which were partly visible despite her undies.

The shot from the high-velocity rifle had punctured the front of her left hip and blown out the back, shattering her acetabulum, the fragments of which caused additional trauma requiring multiple surgeries, leaving her with lifelong damage and sciatic nerve pain. Few people had ever seen the scars, though. She’d had little dating experience prior to Todd—a side effect of having lived at home with her parents for too long. She’d rushed headfirst into that relationship, although it had taken her a while to let him see her naked. The first and only man she’d trusted enough. What a waste . . . and a lesson.

She handed her pants to her mom and slipped on the pj’s. “You can look now, Dad.”

“Pass me some of those.” He gestured to the Reese’s with one hand.

Claire took her milk and the bag of candy to the kitchen table and sat down.

Her mom returned from the laundry room within a minute. She must’ve decided that anything would be a better topic of conversation than Logan, as she suggested, “If you’re not too busy today, we should get a manicure. That always makes me feel better.”

Her mom wasn’t wrong, and a manicure sounded like a little bit of heaven. A bit Claire couldn’t afford at the moment. “Thanks, but I need to conserve every penny so we can afford decent retail space.”

“Why pay rent when you can work from your home office?” Her mom poured herself another small cup of coffee.

“Right now we’re only reaching customers by word of mouth and our website. If I had a storefront, people would drop in, and I could sell services. It’d give us more legitimacy, I think. If I could find something supercheap, I might even dip into my rainy-day fund to make it happen.”

“That’s not wise, honey.” Her dad scratched his chin.

“Tom, why can’t we give the girls a little business loan?” Her mom rubbed his shoulders and kissed the balding spot on his head. Claire had watched her mom maneuver him with this soft touch a thousand times.