The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(90)

“So do you, Logan.” Her voice echoed in his large, empty apartment.





Chapter Nineteen

“I would’ve come to your house, Claire.” Peyton waved Claire inside Arcadia’s entry.

Claire hoped she hid her surprise to see Peyton without the wig or a head scarf. Short, tufted hair dotted her scalp, but she still looked jarringly bald. The ruddiness had begun to fade from Peyton’s skin. Her shirt hung flat against her chest. Claire didn’t know if Peyton planned to get reconstructive surgery, and wouldn’t ask such a personal question. Not with the way things stood between them.

Cancer had lost this round, but its ravages remained, a fact that elicited Claire’s empathy despite her lingering disappointment in Peyton.

“It’s fine. I need to drop off this information for your father, anyhow, so two birds . . .” After weighing her desire to build a thriving business against her fears, Claire had spoken with Steffi and worked up a bid for the hotel project. If they were hired, the income would enable them to move forward with their retail rental plans as early as this summer. She couldn’t pass up an opportunity to get closer to her dream.

But delivering the bid wasn’t the only reason she’d wanted to meet with Peyton here. With Logan halfway around the world, Arcadia House was a local place where she could feel his presence.

“I’ll put this on my dad’s desk.” Peyton took the envelope from Claire. “Let’s talk at the kitchen table. I made brownies with walnuts.”

One of Claire’s all-time favorite treats. Peyton knew that, and knew her well enough to know that this meeting would require a chocolate binge. Her gesture made Claire want to smile and cry at the same time. “Thank you.”

Peyton headed down the hallway toward her dad’s office. Claire meandered to the kitchen, a place where she’d once spent a lot of time. Darla Prescott had always been proud of the home’s old-world charm: checkerboard flooring, white cabinets with black pulls and hinges, and butcher-block counters. In the 1990s, they’d installed an island with country cabinetry and a soapstone counter, but Claire thought the kitchen could use additional modern conveniences—like soft-close hinges and new-retro appliances.

A pile of freshly baked, still-warm brownies sat on a plate in the center of the table, its aroma filling the kitchen. Claire couldn’t ignore the overture. One of several Peyton had made these past weeks. She told herself to rise above her ego and forgive Peyton in the hope of finally gaining some peace of mind.

Peyton reappeared and poured them each some milk. “I’ve been thinking about what you said—that Steffi probably wouldn’t like a traditional bachelorette party. Since we know her dad and brothers won’t think to throw any kind of family event, your wedding shower idea is probably the more practical way to go.”

“Practical.” Claire sighed, taking a seat while snatching the largest brownie on the plate.

“I didn’t mean that as an insult.” Peyton’s expression stiffened, wary of Claire’s reaction.

“I know.” The tension between them crackled like static electricity—uncomfortable but not actually painful—despite Claire’s vow to set aside their issues so they could plan something special for their friend. “I’m well aware of my own shortcomings.”

“Practicality is hardly a fault. It’s a better way of life than impulsiveness.” A brief smile flickered, then Peyton cast her eyes downward. Her impulsiveness had certainly taken its toll on their friendship.

“Still,” Claire replied. “I don’t want to throw a boring party for Steffi and Ryan, so please, make free with your ideas.”

“Really?” She smiled in that devious way she’d done since adolescence.

Claire’s stomach tightened at the mischievous glee in Peyton’s eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, you know how they both love being on the water. What if we rent a private yacht and cruise around the Sound?”

“A yacht?” Claire’s palms grew clammy. Didn’t some ferry just burn en route in Florida last winter? “That sounds . . . expensive.”

“Richard Warner, my father’s good friend, owns a sixty-some-foot trawler that he keeps at a nearby marina. It’s beautiful. My dad said he’d lend it to us as long as we cover the cost of gas and crew for the day. Steffi and Ryan have a relatively small group of friends and family, so everyone would fit. I thought an intimate dinner cruise would be romantic.”

Perspiration gathered on every surface of Claire’s skin as she struggled to think up reasons to kill the idea. “It would be memorable.”

“You look sick.” Peyton sighed. “I’m sorry. Logan told me that you’d gone to the city and up to Newport, so I assumed . . . well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure we can come up with something nice to do here in town. We can hold it here on the patio to keep expenses down.”

“No, thank you.” Claire frowned. “I told you, I want it to be special.”

A rivulet of sweat slid down her spine. She reminded herself she’d have a couple of months to prepare for a cruise. In fact, she’d be forced to push herself out of her comfort zone if Mr. Prescott hired her soon.

“So is that a yes to the cruise?”

Claire nodded because her mouth was too pasty to say the word. She bit into the brownie to make her inability to speak less obvious. Peyton broke into a bright smile and covered Claire’s hand with her own, then withdrew it as if she’d been burned.