The Promise of Us

by Beck, Jamie

  “Not necessarily. I’m just making an observation.” He reached his hand across the table but stopped short of clasping hers. “Although those are all great cities. We could take a business trip.”

  We. When he’d said that word, her heart practically flew out of her chest. But then the words “business trip” knocked it back into its cage behind her ribs.

  “You make it all sound very tempting. I just . . .” She shook her head, frustrated with herself for how deeply she’d buried any impulse for adventure.

  “Come on, just tell me which appeals most.” He studied her closely now.

  “All those places sound amazing, but if I were to venture far, I’d choose someplace remote, calm, and relaxing, like the Seychelles.” Her whole body flared with heat when she pictured herself sunbathing on the sugar-sand beaches in a cove of cerulean water, surrounded by palm trees and lush mountains, sipping a pretty cocktail and holding hands with Logan. She skimmed the last bit of whipped cream from her bowl with her finger and sucked on it hard.

  He flashed a sly grin. “A romantic.”

  Embarrassed, she shook her head. “Just practical. Fewer people, less danger.”

  “You can’t fool me. Remember the flowers at the Duvall shoot?” He cocked one brow. “You picked a honeymoon location because you’re a romantic, not because you’re afraid.”

  The waiter set the check on the table, giving her a break from this conversation. Claire grabbed for her purse, but Logan waved her off.

  “My treat. I insist.”

  “Thank you.” She kept her purse clutched against her abdomen while thinking of talk of romance and honeymoons. Was she a romantic? Since Todd, she’d seen love only as another enemy that could hurt her.

  After Logan signed the receipt, he slipped his credit card back into his wallet and polished off the final drops of muscadet. With a quick glance toward the front door, he turned to her wearing a concerned expression. “You ready?”

  She braced for the buzz of traffic and the multitudes of people ambling around in long winter coats that could conceal all kinds of weapons. With Rosie in one hand, she slid out of the booth. “Let’s go.”

  When they reached the front of the restaurant, heavy sleet greeted them.

  “We’re going to get soaked.” Logan looked at Claire, then tugged at the top of her coat, adjusting her scarf to cover her head and hug her neck. “Better.”

  He raised the collar of his coat and opened the door. “After you.”

  She stepped into the weather, almost grateful that it had thinned the pedestrian traffic, although cars now sloshed through icy puddles, spraying gritty water onto the sidewalk.

  “Any chance you can jog?” Logan asked as he wrapped one protective arm around her shoulders and hunched against the sleet, keeping as close to the buildings as possible, hedging toward any cover the various awnings might offer.

  “I can try.” Miraculously, the concentration it took to jog with an aching hip and not trip over Rosie kept her mind from dreaming up scary scenarios until they arrived at his apartment again.

  The doorman let them in, at which point Logan released her shoulders but then clasped her hand and strode toward the elevator.

  She tried not to stumble or make a show of gaping at their hands but—Oh. My. God. He’d intertwined his fingers with hers . . . like a boyfriend. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the sun broke through the clouds behind her. She wiped the stupid grin off her face, but that smile simply burrowed deep inside her chest and hummed.

  Logan didn’t seem to notice anything until the elevator doors closed. His brows quirked when he realized he had her hand in his, as if he was as surprised as she. He flashed a crooked grin and then, with his free hand, brushed back a bit of her wet bangs. “You look pretty with these wet tendrils and colorful scarf. Can I take some pictures before we go?”

  “God no!” She laughed. The elevator doors opened, and she reluctantly withdrew her hand to shake out the wet scarf.

  “Why not?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Please, Logan. I’m not photogenic at the best of times, let alone when I look like a drowned kitten.”

  “You’re crazy. Your face has a fantastic shape and curves, and those eyes.” He opened the door to his unit, then stopped short and caught her by the arm. He tipped up her chin and stared at her, his voice huskier than normal. “There’s such depth and fire in your eyes, Claire. Let me capture that.”

  She swallowed hard, wishing he wasn’t Peyton’s brother. That he wasn’t a documentary photographer who traveled the world on a whim. That he wouldn’t always be chasing his own demons to prove something to himself and the world.

  Reluctantly, she shook her head and glanced at the darkened wall of windows now spattered with icy rain. “We don’t have time. The roads will get worse if this weather keeps up. Can you grab your tux and those rejects so we can go?”

  Logan sighed. “You make me sad.”

  She let that remark settle on her heart while he gathered his things. In the next room was evidence of the kind of woman who wouldn’t deny him much, unlike her, who couldn’t even allow him to take her picture. She didn’t like how that made her feel about herself, yet she couldn’t seem to change.

  “I’m sorry . . .” Every muscle in her chest tensed with discomfort.

  “About what?”

  “Being me. Being”—she motioned around herself with her hands—“so tightly wound. I’m sure you could’ve made better use of your day without me.”

  He set his hands on her shoulders. “Stop it. I’ve enjoyed our day. We’re good for each other, Claire. I pull you out of your shell, and you pull me out of mine.”

  “You’re in a shell?”

  He shrugged. “That of a cynic.”

  “And how do I help?”

  “By showing me that there is at least one genuinely selfless person in the world.”

  Before she could react to the compliment, he opened his front door so they could leave.

  She let that conversation sink in as they made their way back outside, slogging past two buildings and down the ramp to the bowels of Chelsea. While waiting for Logan’s car, Claire shivered, partly from wearing wet clothes in near-freezing temperatures, and partly because she’d give anything to teleport to Sanctuary Sound rather than have to drive through Manhattan and on I-95 in this storm.

  Visions of eighteen-wheelers careering into them danced through her head.

  “Uh-oh. You’re turning green again.” Logan looked around. “Should I get a bag in case you throw up?”

  She blinked rapidly so he wouldn’t see her humiliated tears. She wanted to be that strong, brave woman he’d once believed her to be. “I’m good.”

  He leaned close. “You don’t need to lie. I know we’re pushing your limits. Next time it will be easier.”

  Next time. She didn’t know if there would be a next time, even though she did enjoy seeing his apartment and dining with him in an authentic French bistro without being bothered by everyone she knew. But her elevated heart rate couldn’t be healthy. As memorable as the highlights of this day had been, she couldn’t control her anxiety.

  As that thought made her frown, Logan wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. Her cheek pressed against his chest, where the smell of wet wool mingled with his fine cologne. Her breath seemed suspended in this dream state with her as she savored his friendship and understanding. The roar of his car’s engine echoed up the ramp before the attendant parked it beside them.

  Resigned to the end of their quiet moment, she eased out of his embrace, determined to face the inevitable, terrifying journey home without making a scene. He didn’t release her, though. Instead, he lifted her chin. “Claire . . .”

  And then he kissed her.

  Something about the decided sparkle in her eyes had acted like a match that set to boil the simmering interest he’d been holding inside. Her full, firm lips tasted like sugar and wine and everything decadent and sw
eet. Desire pulsed through his groin. He could feed on her mouth for days if they weren’t in a dirty garage with his car idling beside them while the attendant impatiently awaited a tip.

  Logan broke away and stared into her now-dazed expression. As third kisses went, she wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon. He whispered, “We should go.”

  She nodded, frozen in place, so he directed her to the passenger seat, tipped the attendant, and climbed behind the wheel.

  Claire had buckled up, but her fingers weren’t in a white-knuckled death grip on the car’s arm like they’d been earlier that day. Now she stared into space, biting her lip. This could be a good thing, considering the weather and the ugly two-hour drive ahead. Maybe if he kissed her more often, she’d have better things to think about than her fear.

  Yet within five minutes of leaving the parking lot, her fingers began to twist into a knot on her lap.

  She needed another distraction, so he plunged right into uncharted territory. “Are you upset that I kissed you?”

  He hoped not, because he very much wanted to do so again. Next time without an audience.

  “No.” She looked down, mumbling, “What’s another pity kiss between friends?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” She gazed out the passenger window. “It isn’t very flattering to know that you’re always feeling sorry for me for one reason or another and thinking that your kiss is a magic elixir.”

  “That’s not even close to the truth,” he sputtered.

  Okay, maybe that first kiss, eons ago, had been somewhat about making a convalescent girl with a crush on him feel a little bit better. But sympathy had nothing to do with his motivation today.

  “Forget it, Logan. Really. My anxiety is elevated enough without making this into a big conversation.”

  He could feel his eyes bulging. “First, I don’t want to forget it. In fact, I’ll rather enjoy remembering it. I kissed you just now because I wanted to. Because we had a nice day and you looked pretty. Because you soldiered on despite your fear. Today reminded me of all the reasons I admire you and made me want to learn more. To have you look at me like you used to, instead of with suspicion. To like me for who I am, nothing more or less.”

  She turned in her seat to face him. “Forgive me if I find the timing of your interest a bit fishy.” Her voice carried a slight edge. “You wouldn’t even be in Sanctuary Sound if not for Peyton, nor would you have hired me. We’ve known each other for half our lives, Logan, yet you never looked my way before.”

  He stared at the road ahead, turning her words over in his head. He couldn’t lie. He hadn’t been attracted to her until now. He’d liked her. He’d noted interesting things about her. But he hadn’t been stirred before this month. Why not?

  Hell if he knew, and did that even matter? “I can’t say why things have changed, but I promise that kiss had nothing to do with my sister.”

  “Maybe not, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no point in exploring whatever feelings might be there. Even if I could see into the future and know that I would, one day, be able to comfortably sit across the table from Peyton, you’d be long gone by then. Our lives have nothing in common, and I have no more ability to traipse the world than you do to stay still.” She let out a little sigh and touched her lips as a gratified smile popped into place. “But I won’t lie. It was a very nice day . . . and kiss.”

  He would’ve smiled back if he weren’t now upset by her unilateral dismissal of anything more than a temporary working relationship. “What if you’re wrong?”

  “About what?”

  “About everything.”

  “Pfft.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I was a romantic before Todd, but he cured me of any illusions. There’s no fairytale ending here, Logan, and we both know that. Let’s not ruin our friendship out of curiosity about what can never last.”

  They drove a mile or two in subdued silence. With each rotation of the tires, he grew more and more frustrated.

  “I remember, years ago, you telling me about your first tournament. How, in second grade, you showed up in regular shorts and a single racket and had to play a girl with three Hammer rackets and a matching tennis outfit. She intimidated you and you lost, but you came back fighting and beat her the next time. Where’s that Claire? Or is giving up your new norm? Does settling for less than you want because it’s safe feel good?” He felt the scowl seize his entire face. If she could be frank, he would be, too.

  “Those questions assume that I want more than friendship. That’s pretty arrogant.”

  Not arrogant. Honest, based on years of experience with women, and with Claire in particular. “Are you really going to sit there and pretend that you have no interest in me?”

  She flushed and looked at her hands. “No, I’m not a coward or a liar, just a realist. I’d rather us be friends forever than former lovers who don’t speak.”

  The velvety sound of her voice saying “lovers” ricocheted through him. Unlike her, he couldn’t dismiss this interest so easily. He wanted a taste of more, even if it didn’t last forever. Nothing lasted forever. “Who says it has to be either-or? Life is remarkably fluid if you don’t get hung up on labels, or grudges.”

  “Says the man who’s held a grudge against his own father for as long as I can remember.” With a little huff, she tugged at her coat and pants, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. “Why are we talking about this, anyway? Let’s not spoil our day.”

  He let the dig about his dad go because the last thing he wanted now—or ever—was to think about that relationship.

  “We’re talking about this because I want to understand what’s changed you into someone who’s afraid of taking chances.”

  “Life!” She shook with frustration now.

  “Life?”

  She nodded. “Anytime I pour my heart into something—dreaming of it, working toward it, planning for it—I lose it. Tennis. Todd. Not to mention how the bullet that shattered my hip left me with lifelong pain and nerve damage. Maybe I just don’t have it in me to throw my heart against a wall again, Logan.”

  He couldn’t argue with her suffering and loss, but her perspective was off.

  “Maybe your problem is that you’re too focused on an end goal instead of simply enjoying the ride. What if, instead of making tennis or Todd or anything else the focus of your future, you lived in the moment and savored each one, wherever it led? If you’d only let yourself enjoy life as it happened without expectations or judgments, you’d be happier. When you ditch expectations, nothing is a risk. Everything simply becomes another new experience for however long it lasts. That’s what life is all about.”

  She stared at him, wearing the strangest sad expression. “Is it so easy for you to say goodbye to things and people?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “When you boil it down, that is what you’re saying. And it’s just not who I am.”

  “You’re so sure of yourself. Convinced your way is the way. Convinced you can’t venture beyond Sanctuary Sound. But, Claire, have you noticed anything about this ride home?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “We’ve already crossed into Connecticut, yet you haven’t been gripping your stomach, sweating buckets, or chewing your nails.” He glanced at her in time to see the surprise on her face.

  “Have we?” Her eyes went wide. “Where are we now?”

  “Westport.”

  “Seriously?” She looked around as if she might recognize something on the highway, which was hilarious considering the fact that she never drove on the damned thing.

  “Seriously.” Of course, now that he’d called her attention to the road, he noticed her fingers digging into the leather console. Thankfully, the sleet had stopped.

  “Well, that’s good.” She settled a hand on her stomach, her voice flatter than before. “We’re more than halfway home.”

  “That’s not my point.”

  “Wha
t is your point?”

  “Yesterday you believed you couldn’t leave town safely. Today you did, and you enjoyed it. You got absorbed by what was happening, so anxiety didn’t control your behavior. Don’t you think, with practice, you could do it again? And the more you practice, the farther you can go? And if you’re wrong about those limitations, maybe—just maybe—you’re wrong about other things, like me. Like us.”

  Chapter Ten

  As Logan pulled up to the curb by Claire’s house, her stomach turned over. Not from the drive, per se, but from second-guessing herself and her choices.

  She had gone to and from the city today without incident. Then that kiss and ensuing conversation had distracted her so much that she hadn’t paid attention to the drive home—or most of it, anyway. The painful silence of the past twenty minutes had made her more aware of the cars whizzing past like bullets. But here she was, home again, safe and sound.

  Maybe Logan had raised a fair point. But the only thing she knew with certainty was that getting her hopes up where he—a man who’d never kept a girlfriend for long—was concerned would be a one-way ticket to heartache.

  She gathered her things before steeling herself to look into those green eyes of his. “Thanks for lunch. Now that I’ve seen your home, I swear I’ll get a plan to you in the next few days.”

  He reached for her hand as she went to exit his car. “Claire, do me a favor.”

  “What?” She hated to ask because she didn’t feel strong enough to resist.

  “Think about painting outside the lines a little with me. Whether for a day, a week, a month, or a year, it could be an extraordinary adventure for both of us.”

  Painting outside the lines with Logan sounded like heaven, and that was exactly the problem. She swallowed a sigh when her mother knocked on the window, startling them both.

  Claire opened the door and got out of the car. “Mom? What’re you doing here?”

  “Looking for you, honey. I’ve been calling all day. You never answered, so I got worried, especially when I found your car here but no one home.”