The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(95)

Continuing his tour, he admired his new round dining table and chairs, although he’d need more friends to make good use of them. His gaze bounced around the entire space, taking everything in while he walked toward the bedroom.

It looked strikingly similar to the images Claire’d shown him, so he wasn’t surprised until he took a closer look at the set of shadow boxes hung above the headboard. With the needlepoint pillow still tucked under one arm, he crawled across the mattress for a closer inspection of the two enlarged, beautifully matted images.

The first was of him and Duck sitting on the sandy shore near that old hammock; in the second, a family photo he didn’t recall, he straddled his father’s shoulders and Peyton was in their mother’s arms. He had no memory of that kind of family life. They all looked so happy in that photo it almost hurt to see. Family. Connection. Love.

For all the ways he’d criticized Claire for letting fear stop her from trying new things, he’d let fear stop him from grasping on to love.

He squeezed the pillow against his chest as if it could soften the blows of his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. This had all begun as a way to manage a happy ending for his sister, but his manipulations had led to highs and lows—and endings—he’d never imagined.

Still, Claire had thought of everything—mementos, family photographs, plants, and the handmade pillow—in an attempt to infuse his cold apartment with life and love and family. To make it a real home. Yet he saw the illusion for what it was. This apartment would never be a home without love.

His phone pinged with a text from Peyton.

Are you home yet?

Rather than text her, he dialed. “Hey, just walked in.”

“I know you must be exhausted, so I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to welcome you home. Maybe we can grab lunch in the next day or two. I’ve been revising the manuscript for our book while you’ve been away. We should start taking steps toward publication.”

The memoir. Another worthy venture, although Aya and the other children in Moria wouldn’t fade from his thoughts soon. “I need a couple days to decompress and to edit the last photos I took in Greece. Later this week?”

“Sure.” She paused. “Must’ve been tough to jump back into such a big assignment after so much time off.”

He glanced once more at the images of his family. “Let’s just say it’s good to be home.”

“Speaking of home, how do you like your place? I got a peek yesterday when I did the nice-sister thing and stocked your refrigerator with some fresh food.”

“You’re awesome.” He smiled, lowering himself from his knees. He could use a snack, although he was so tired he needed an afternoon nap more. “And I love the place. It’s nicer than I deserve.”

“Claire was very particular about it. I think she outdid herself.”

“Agreed.” He slouched against the pillows and headboard, cradling the needlepoint pillow on his lap.

“Have you called and thanked her?”

“I literally just walked in. Plus, we haven’t spoken since the gala. I’m not sure what to say.” He hesitated, having spent many nights trying to compose a note in his head. “Have you seen her?”

“We met to discuss a bridal shower, and we’ve spoken twice since then. Things between us are slowly improving. We even shared a laugh, sort of.”

“That’s big news.” A bubble of joy stretched his heart. He’d helped Peyton, as he’d vowed he would. Maybe that was worth this bit of heartache.

“There’s more. Dad hired her to revamp his inns. She and Steffi actually went up to Mystic early this morning.”

He let his head fall back against the headboard, thinking maybe he’d helped make that possible, too. “No shit.”

The time he’d spent in Sanctuary Sound had not been in vain if the two women he loved were better off for it. Loved. There. He’d admitted it, even if not to Claire. “When does she return?”

“I don’t know. We still aren’t confidantes.” Peyton fell silent. “We did talk about you, though.”

“Did you?” He sat up straighter.

“She was worried about your safety.”

Of course she was. “That’s it?”

“Pretty much, but I’m sure you’re still very much on her mind, and in her heart.”

“Mm.” Could there be a thread tying them together that she hadn’t yet cut?

When he didn’t say more, Peyton said, “Call me tomorrow.”

“Sure. Bye.” Logan punched off the phone and brushed his palm across the needlepoint pillow in his lap. Closing his eyes, he pictured his last conversation with Claire. Heard her logic. Saw her pleading look. Remembered his inability to tell her what she’d needed to hear—what she deserved to hear.

His own cowardice made his thoughts turn again to the brave refugees who’d overcome hurdles and risked their lives in order to build a better home life for the people they loved. They’d sacrificed and suffered for something he took for granted, which made him wince.

He rolled off the bed and dug his laptop and the kombolói from his bag, then scrolled through the photographs he’d taken of Claire at the Breakers, picking one of his favorites. The one where the corner of her mouth tipped upward, like her eyes, as she caught notice of the billiard room’s ceiling mural.