by Beck, Jamie
Thanks to his dad’s choices—sacrifices, even—Logan had had the financial freedom to pursue his passion. Maybe it wasn’t disdain, but resentment, that his father felt toward him now.
“Well, you have a talent for turning around failing businesses, Dad. That’s a kind of creative thinking.”
“I suppose.”
“And you must have a vision for this hotel project. What’s the secret that suddenly will make them profitable?”
His dad steepled his fingers, staring at Logan as if he didn’t trust him. “Why do I feel like there’s more to your question than you’re sharing?”
“I’m just trying to make a connection with you,” he lied. A tiny lie. Yes, he wanted information to share with Claire to help her tailor her pitch, but another part of him did want to prolong the first real adult conversation he could recall having with his father.
“The seller is a third-generation family trust. A classic case of no one being involved in the business.” He paused, and Logan suspected his dad bit back a sarcastic quip about how Logan would fit right in with them. “They all collect checks and put their faith in whomever they’ve hired in each location to manage the property. Big mistake. If anyone had given things a cursory look, they would’ve seen high rates of employee turnover, a little theft, and the general lack of oversight that led to the hotels going downhill. Dingy decor, mediocre food. None of these things are hard to fix when you hire the right team and manage them well. As for the physical space, I’d like to upgrade them, within reason. Can’t go overboard when I need to invest in new employees, new computers and software, and more.”
“You’d mentioned they were along the Atlantic, but where specifically?”
“Why?” His dad polished off his drink.
Logan followed suit and finished his, then set the glass on the small table to his left. “Maybe I’ll go check out one or two.”
“You need a vacation?” Like a boomerang, his father’s sarcasm whipped around on him.
Logan sighed.
“Sorry. Old habits.” His dad made a wry face. “The chain is called the Seaboard Guest Houses, but I want to change that when we take over. One’s up in Blue Hill, Maine. Then Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Up the road in Mystic. Then down in Lewes, Delaware, just north of Bethany Beach. Avalon, New Jersey, and finally Annapolis, Maryland.”
“I’ll try to take a trip up to Mystic before the transformation so I can enjoy a before-and-after reveal. Good luck.”
“Thank you.”
Having accomplished what he’d come for, Logan moved to stand, but his father said, “Wait. Your mom tells me you’re pushing your sister into some kind of charity project that she’s going to regret. I know Darla can . . . exaggerate . . . but what’s she talking about?”
That was a nice way of saying that Logan’s mom had a tendency to encourage drama. Of course, Logan suspected that half the time she resorted to it because she didn’t know how else to get her husband’s full attention.
“I’m not forcing Peyton into anything. I’ve been photographing her at least once a week, sometimes more often, since the night before her first treatment.” As soon as he started to think about the work, the fire lit inside. “She’s been journaling and I’ve been keeping other things, like parking stubs, prescription labels, etcetera. We’ve considered a cool installation at a gallery as a fund-raiser, but now we’re more focused on turning it into a memoir. I’d be happy to show you what we’ve got so far. It’s been a positive outlet—I think Peyton’s proud of turning something terrifying into something courageous.”
His dad rubbed his chin while nodding. “If you can do that for her, then I can’t complain.”
Not exactly praise, but for them, a lack of criticism equaled huge progress. “Thanks. The only hiccup could be my missing a few weeks of photo shoots if I travel to Greece, but I can’t control the timing.” He slid another glance at the Pulitzer. “If I find the right refugee story, I could help change lives for the better.”
His father’s politics were more conservative than his own, so he didn’t expect encouragement. “Your mom worries when you take off on dangerous adventures.”
“Can’t exactly find a great story in these surroundings, can I?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Look at the old Sunny von Bülow story. Or your sister’s project.”
Logan nodded. “Peyton’s message could help some people, but the refugee story has the potential to change the world and influence the way people think about bias and politics and immigration.”
“I guess that’s the biggest difference between us. You want to take pictures and change the world, while I’m content to keep our little world on track.”
Peyton had been right when she’d said Logan hadn’t appreciated what his father had done well. What he’d provided for them. “Thank you for finding a way to keep this house in our family. I know I don’t come home often, but I do love this property and everything it commemorates.”
“You’re welcome.” His dad cleared his throat. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to what I was doing before you showed up.”
“Sure.” Logan raised himself from the chair, taking his glass with him.
He left the office feeling as if he’d shed ten pounds. When he reached the kitchen, he ran into his mother again.
“You survived without bruises or a black eye. How’s your father?” She grinned.
“Also unscathed.” Logan set the glass in the sink. “Mom, make an extra seat at our table. I think I’m bringing a date.”
“Who?” A smile lit up her face.
“I’ll let you know if she says yes.” Before he became the subject of an inquisition, he turned on his heel and went in search of his sister.
Chapter Fifteen
Claire signed the last purchase order and handed it to Ellen Westwood, a young decorator at the Design Outlet in Hartford. The massive warehouse space housed hundreds of floor samples, from seating to case goods to lighting and accessories, which were what she’d need if she had any hope of pulling Logan’s apartment together in the quick time frame he’d requested.
Luckily, the store kept Sunday-afternoon hours. She’d never been here before, but she had known about it from her days at Ethan Allen. Her new attitude and recent outings with Logan had emboldened her, allowing her to attempt a drive to Hartford today—a first, and a true feat. She’d proven something to herself by coming, and Logan would be pleased, too. The items she’d found had also made the trip worthwhile.
With Ellen’s help, she’d ordered two leather chairs—similar to what she’d shown Logan in her virtual plan—that could be delivered immediately. She didn’t want them that soon, though. First, Steffi needed to install the trim work on the living room wall and repaint the entire unit.
She’d also selected a round ebony dining table, which perfectly fit the space. The white-and-gray dining chairs she’d bought would complement the other furnishings.
Thankfully, all of those items had been on sale, which enabled her to splurge on a several-thousand-dollar Tibetan carpet for the dining room. Its rampant floral-and-ivy pattern, with bits of gold and blue, was splashed across a black field. “Magnificent” was the only word for the gorgeous woven work of art.
“I’ll get back to you this week once I have an estimated delivery date on the Century Del Mar sofa in the green velvet.” Ellen collected the papers while handing Claire copies. “We’ll hold the rest of these items for you for a few weeks.”
“I’ll have a better idea of the timing on my end in a few days.” Claire needed to speak with Steffi about how soon she could have the unit ready to accept the furniture.
“Perfect.” Ellen smiled at Claire, pushing her frameless glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. “I’d love to see pictures when the project is done. Your drawings are fabulous.”
“Thank you.” Claire stood with her tear sheets, fabric samples, and receipts in hand, and grabbed Rosie. “Have a great evening.”
> Her shopping-spree high plummeted when she walked outside into an unexpected end-of-March snowfall.
Today’s forecast had called for a chance of rain along the coast, but when she’d left home under a pale-gray sky free of storm clouds, she’d figured the weatherman had been wrong. Unfortunately, he was, just not in the way that she’d thought.
A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin once she slid into the driver’s seat. She flexed her hands on the steering wheel a few times and licked her lips before turning over the ignition.
You can do this.
Snowflakes melted on the pavement, making the roads slick. Her wipers squeaked against the windshield, each swipe leaving a streaky trail. She performed deep-breathing exercises as she eased onto I-91 southbound.
When she’d driven up to Hartford, the Sunday-morning traffic had been light, as she’d expected. Now, she found herself in the middle of a multilane snake of taillights moving at warp speed. Ski racks and Thules topped half the cars. Obviously, everyone who’d gone to Vermont this weekend for spring skiing had decided to drive home at the same time.
For fifteen minutes, she crept along in the far right lane, wincing with each flashing light and honking horn coming from angry drivers eager to pass her in their rush to wherever they were going. She strained to see through grimy windows littered with the gritty spray kicked up by other tires. Tears streamed down her face, and her fingers ached from their tight grip on the wheel.
Ahead, red taillights lit up one by one like a fall of dominoes. She slammed the brakes, her heart racing. Traffic slowed to a crawl, thanks to a three-car pileup that forced everyone to move over two lanes.
The entire hood of the middle car in that accident had crumpled like an accordion, with steam billowing into the cold air. Its driver appeared to be checking on someone in the passenger seat. The other two cars had sustained moderate damage, and both their drivers stood outside making phone calls. No ambulances or police had arrived on the scene, which meant it had just happened. If she’d left the Design Outlet a few minutes earlier, she might’ve been hit.
The sickening thought soured her stomach. When her phone rang, she saw Steffi’s number on the dashboard.
“Hello?” she choked.
“Hey,” Steffi began brightly, but quickly changed her tune. “Are you crying?”
Claire sniffled again, too terrified to think. “Yes.”
“What happened? Did Logan do something?” Steffi’s anger rang through the line.
“No. I drove to Hartford today, but now there’s so much traffic. It’s snowing up here, and I just barely missed being in an accident. I’m afraid. I don’t think I can make it all the way home.”
“Where are you?”
Claire looked ahead to the next green road sign. “Coming up on Meriden.”
“Pull off the highway and park somewhere safe. Text me your location and I’ll come get you.”
Her chin wobbled, but she fought against crying. “I can’t leave my car in Meriden, Steffi.”
“Ryan will come with me so he can drive our car back while I drive yours.”
Claire groaned. “I can’t ask you guys to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. Just text me and I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Steffi hung up without giving Claire a choice.
A wave of relief from being rescued preceded the bigger one that came when she pulled off the highway. She drove into a Red Roof Inn parking lot near the exit, texted Steffi her location, and then let her head fall back against her seat. Periodically, she swept warm tears from her cheeks. Failure had never been something she’d handled well.
Logan wouldn’t be too impressed, either. Rosie lay in the passenger seat, taking the place of her mom, who’d be sure to spout a “What were you thinking” lecture.
By the time Steffi and Ryan arrived, the temperature had warmed enough to transform the snow to a steady drizzle. Steffi knocked on her window. “Switch seats.”
Claire opened the door and waved at Ryan, whose compassionate expression only heightened her shame. She lumbered around her car and sank onto the passenger seat, picking at her damp skirt and looking anywhere but at her friend.
Before putting the car in reverse, Steffi said, “It’s okay, Claire. Everything is just fine.”
“It’s not okay.” Claire pulled a tissue from the glove compartment and blew her nose, then pushed the heels of her palms against her eyes. “I’m nearly thirty-one, and today is the first time I’ve ever driven alone on a major highway. It wasn’t easy, but I was so proud of myself when I got to Hartford.” A bitter laugh emerged. “Pitiful, right? Like something every sixteen-year-old can do is a flippin’ big deal. But it was a huge step for me until you and Ryan had to drag yourself out to rescue me.”
“We won’t go broadcasting it if that’s what you’re worried about.” Steffi shot her a reassuring smile.
“Thanks, but that’s hardly the point. I wanted to do this for myself, and I failed.” She frowned, twisting the hem of her sweater in her fingers. Her throat ached from the strain of holding back a sob.
“You didn’t fail. You got to Hartford.” Steffi stared ahead, giving one sharp nod. “Considering where you started, that’s a win.”
Claire released a gentle huff. “Perhaps, but we both know most people would roll their eyes.”
All this time, she’d been irritated by people treating her like a baby, yet how could they see her as anything less than fragile when she’d let fear dictate her choices since the earliest days of her recovery?
Claire’s thoughts spun while she stared out the passenger window. Meanwhile, Steffi confidently maneuvered the car along the highway, undaunted by the weather or traffic.
Minutes passed before Steffi asked, “Is there a reason why you decided to do this today?”
Claire stared at her hands, which were knotted on her lap, and thought about Logan. “Logan wants his apartment done as soon as possible. I’ve known about the Design Outlet’s floor samples for years and thought I could pick up a bunch of things right away.”
“So Logan’s behind this?” Steffi sounded perturbed.
“No. I mean, indirectly, I guess so. Our recent trips to New York and Newport gave me courage.”
“Newport?” Steffi’s jaw fell open. “When was that?”
“Last Saturday. At the time, I hadn’t realized he’d planned the outing to help Ryan carry out his proposal. He took me to see the Breakers. We had a lovely dinner overlooking the sea.” Even she heard the lilt in her voice as she recollected the day they’d first made love.
“How is it that he can get you to go out of town when Peyton and I never could?” Steffi’s voice sounded more hurt than angry.
Claire shrugged, unwilling to admit that lifelong lust proved to be a far more powerful motivator than she would’ve believed.
“I guess the important point is that you’ve pushed through some of that fear. That’s a good thing, so I won’t pout.” Steffi slid a quizzical glance Claire’s way. “Is Logan also behind your interest in pitching Mr. Prescott about his hotels?”
“He mentioned it a while ago. I was coming off the success of my Newport trip and how well Logan liked my designs when I suggested it to you.”
“A big commercial project would be a great credential, but we’re not a national company. With me planning a wedding and being a new stepmom, I’m not sure how I’d manage overseeing work in multiple locations.” She wrinkled her nose. “And maybe you’re not ready to travel as far as you thought, either.”
“Gee, you think?” Claire’s sarcasm brought the conversation to a halt. Neither said a word as they exited the highway onto the feeder road that led to Sanctuary Sound. The familiar surroundings prompted a relieved sigh. “At least now I won’t have to figure out how to approach him at the gala.”
“The gala.” Steffi tsk-tsked. “Are you going with Logan?”
“No.”
“Really?” Her brows shot up. “He’ll sleep with you,
but he won’t take you to his family’s fund-raiser?”
Claire turned to Steffi, crushed by her friend’s assumption. “He asked, but I said no.”
“Why?”
Claire could list several reasons, but the one Steffi would most understand came first. “I didn’t want to spend the whole night at a table with Peyton.”
Steffi nodded thoughtfully. “It sounds like you might regret that decision now.”
Perhaps a little.
“It’s not like I won’t see him there.” Claire shrugged. “I’ll be more relaxed eating with all of you.”
“Oh, Claire. Is a ‘relaxed’ time all you want? You’ve always had a thing for Logan, so why let Peyton or anyone else stand in the way?”
“Because we’re not in a relationship. Not a real one, anyway.” Although each night they spent together made that harder to remember.
“What’s that mean?” Steffi wrinkled her nose.
“You know that Logan’s only here temporarily. Once he leaves, I’ll be a blip in his rearview mirror.” She thrust her index finger at Steffi to cut off any sympathetic nonsense. She’d been proud of herself for attempting so-called fluidity. Although her heart and head were not fully aligned, she’d made her bed and would deal with the consequences. “But I can handle that, Steffi. I know what I’m doing. I chose a fling with Logan rather than having none at all. When he leaves, I’ll be okay. Better than okay because, at the very least, he got me to take a few risks again.”
Steffi stared ahead, but Claire could read her mind. Her friend worried that Claire’s taking a risk with her heart would end much like the risk she’d taken today with this drive—in tears.
When they pulled up to Steffi’s house, Claire said, “Thank you for wasting an hour of your day off to help me.”
“That’s what friends are for.” Steffi turned off the engine.
Maybe so, but not everyone went to such lengths.
“Just so you know, I bought some great things for Logan’s apartment,” Claire said, hoping that the productivity of her adventure helped make up for its disastrous end. “Can you get started on the trim and paint soon? And if so, how long will it take to finish that part? I need to schedule deliveries.”
