The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(85)

Standing in the dusty, empty space that Steffi had just demolished, Claire forced herself to focus on the project. And, good God, if this decision took so much time, she prayed that Mrs. Brewster didn’t begin to second-guess the choices she’d made about drawer pulls and fixtures. “White is classic and timeless, so if you think you might downsize in five or seven years, this will hold up better for potential buyers. But I think you actually like the elegance of the jade tone, so you might be happier every day surrounded by this one.”

She held the green square at arm’s length. Then she thought of Logan, as she’d done nonstop for the past three days. Not only did the onyx resemble his eyes, but he’d never call it green or even jade—not when it contained cream veins and gold flecks, too.

“They’re both so expensive.” Mrs. Brewster pressed her hand to her mouth. The light coming through the single large window behind her shone through her thinning hair, which she’d teased into a sort of curly crown. “I don’t want to make the wrong decision.”

“There is no wrong decision. Both are pretty.” Claire tipped her head. “The onyx is slightly more feminine and unique. Some men might not like it, but you don’t have to make that compromise.”

“Oh, Harold.” When Mrs. Brewster sighed, her eyes turned misty even though her husband had passed almost two years ago. “Maybe I should get the white because he would’ve liked it better.”

Love like that—pure and eternal—did exist for some. If Claire kept picking men like Todd and Logan, she’d never experience its power or joy.

Sympathy for Mrs. Brewster’s loss smoothed the ruffled feathers of Claire’s impatience. The poor woman probably felt alone in the world without her husband of fifty years. “I’m sure Harold would want you to pick whatever made you happiest.”

Mrs. Brewster touched Claire’s hand with her spindly one and smiled. “You’re right. He would. He was always eager to make me happy. Let’s go with the green one.”

“Perfect.” Claire threw the samples back in her bag before Mrs. Brewster had a chance to reconsider. “I’ll reserve a slab of this. Once the new floors and cabinetry are installed, they’ll come measure and make the template. It’ll take a couple of weeks to manufacture the counters. Steffi will give you plywood counters in the interim.”

“Oh, I know it’ll be a while. Stefanie told me four weeks or more. Hard to believe for this little space, but I know it’ll be worth it in the end.” She smiled, revealing a tooth smeared with a bit of poppy-red lipstick. “I’m using the hall bathroom anyway.”

“I promise, when we’re finished, this will be a wonderful little retreat.” Claire turned and began walking out of the bathroom and down the stairs. “I’ll email you some options for ornamental pieces you might like to place on the vanity or near the soaker tub. You let me know if you like anything.”

“I will.” Mrs. Brewster led her to the front door. “Thank you, dear. I’m so glad we’re doing this. I needed a little project to keep me busy and to have something fun to look forward to.”

“Thank you for hiring us. We’ll make sure you’re happy with the final result.” Claire waved, glad for her first whiff of fresh air in thirty minutes. She half thought Mrs. Brewster’s overly sweet floral perfume had seeped into her pores now, too. “Speak to you soon.”

When Mrs. Brewster closed the door, Claire strode to her car with a sigh, thinking of the mountain of details to sift through to complete Logan’s project. She also needed to design new social media ads with the updated website gallery pages. She’d been putting off these tasks for the past three days because any reminder of Logan physically hurt.

While she dug for her keys, her phone rang. “Hello?”

“Claire,” came Mr. Prescott’s familiar voice. She set her bag aside and gripped the steering wheel. “It’s Harrison Prescott.”

“How are you, Mr. Prescott?”

“Well, thank you. I’m following up on our brief discussion at the gala. You wouldn’t happen to have time now, would you? I find myself with a free hour, thanks to a last-minute cancellation.”

“Oh. Well, I . . .” Her heart kicked at her ribs, but then she scowled at herself. She might have given up on pitching him for this project, but who knew what other good might come of this meeting? If she impressed him, he might make introductions to associates with local projects. “Of course.”

“Great. Come to Arcadia. We can use my home office.”

She gulped. Was Logan at home? Peyton? Closing her eyes, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

She punched off the phone, tipped back her head, and breathed through her nose. A second shot at rummaging through her purse produced her keys. Within the next few minutes, she found herself on the private end of Lilac Lane, her old stomping ground.

She hadn’t been to this house in more than two years. Nothing had changed, from what she could see. The elegant curve of its pea-stone driveway led her to the sprawling shingle-style mansion. She could see remnants of the old tree house that had been the Lilac Lane League clubhouse in a large oak tree near the edge of the lawn, although the ladder once nailed to its trunk no longer existed.

The architect and designers who’d built the imposing home, with its tall flagpole set to the side and handsome balustrades around the patios and porches, had created an American dream by the sea. Of course, apparently, it hadn’t been a dream life or family for Logan or Peyton, both of whom had taken off as soon as possible.