The Promise of Us

by Beck, Jamie

  “All you want is picture-frame trim on one wall and the whole apartment painted, right?” She tipped her head, looking upward while thinking. “With all the plate glass in that place, it shouldn’t take more than a week or so to do the work and painting. I can start in next week, right after the gala. I want to finish the demo and reframing of Mrs. Brewster’s bathroom, but Rick can take over tiling and stuff the next week while I run into the city to deal with Logan’s place.”

  Old Mrs. Brewster’s master bathroom would be sweet when completed. Claire had been so preoccupied with Logan she hadn’t finished helping her pick the final touches.

  “I’ll tell Logan to clear stuff out before then.”

  Ryan pulled into the bungalow’s driveway, having first stopped to pick up Emmy from his mother’s. Those two got out of the car together, then Emmy ran to Claire’s car and pressed her nose to the window. “Can we make brownies?”

  “Sure,” Steffi said, tapping at the spot where Emmy’s smashed nose was. “Give me a few minutes with Claire.”

  Emmy flashed a quick smile at Claire and then ran to meet her dad at the front door. The domestic scene planted an ache in Claire’s heart. She’d wanted a happy family for so long, but apparently it was another thing that wasn’t meant to be for her.

  Claire grabbed Steffi’s left hand and studied her engagement ring more closely. “It’s so pretty, Stef. I’m sorry I didn’t get to ooh and aah over it when you first showed it to me.”

  Steffi raised a brow. “Well, I think we were all caught a little off guard that morning.”

  “True.”

  “But even more surprising was the call I got from Peyton this week telling me she got your blessing for her to be in the wedding party.”

  A slight chill still swept through Claire whenever Peyton’s name came up. “I wouldn’t be a very good maid of honor if I made any part of your big day about me, would I?”

  “But I know I’ve asked a lot of you, so thank you.” She leaned closer to Claire. “Of course, I half wonder if this change of heart is really for Logan. I couldn’t persuade you to give an inch with Peyton for eighteen months. Logan shows up and”—Steffi snapped her fingers—“you’re moving off center.”

  Claire’s shoulders slumped. She hadn’t the energy to mount a defense of her feelings for Logan. Luckily, a new box of chocolate-covered pretzels awaited her at home. It’d last five minutes—ten, tops. “Did I drill you when you and Ryan were figuring things out?”

  “Not exactly, but you did ask questions, and you did grill me about the whole police-report incident.” Steffi gestured a “just saying” kind of motion with her hands and a tilt of her head.

  Claire frowned, remembering how much confusion and pain Steffi’d been in back then. “I was concerned about you. I wanted you to be well and happy.”

  “I feel the exact same way about you.” She pushed her hair behind her ears and sighed. “Just promise me you aren’t expecting Logan to make the kinds of personal changes for you that you’ve attempted for him this past month. As much as he must like you, he’s a charming wanderer who likes his life as it is.”

  “I’ve no unrealistic expectations, but thanks for caring.” She hugged Steffi, then eased away with a forced smile. “Now go inside and bake brownies while I go home and eat some.”

  Logan wiped his boots on the welcome mat before knocking on Claire’s door. Rain dripped from the edge of the porch roof, its pitter-patter catching his attention because such gentle sounds were rarely noticeable in Manhattan. Senses that had been muted by overstimulation in the city had been reawakening since he’d returned to town.

  When her door opened, his evening improved considerably just at the sight of her.

  “That was quick,” Claire said, stepping back to let him inside.

  He’d called from his car after he’d already started toward her house.

  “I thought you’d be eager to see these.” He held up his laptop after slipping off his boots. “The images came out great, if I say so myself.”

  “Images?” she asked, looking puzzled.

  “The architectural shoots?” He noticed a smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. Cupping her jaw, he planted a kiss on that spot and licked it away. Unlike every night this past week, she didn’t melt into his arms. At best, she seemed distracted, at worst, disinterested. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head and blinked like she was trying to wake herself up. “Nothing. Can I see the pictures?”

  “Of course.” He opened his laptop on the coffee table and patted the cushion beside him, brushing off the slight sting of her indifference. “For each location, I narrowed it down to the best dozen images, but then also grouped my three favorites for each location, for what that’s worth.”

  He started the slideshow he’d put together and turned the computer screen toward her. A bright, elegant image of the Duvall bathroom filled the screen.

  Claire’s lips parted as she flattened her hands on her breastbone. “It’s gorgeous! It almost feels like false advertising.” She clicked through a few more before sparing him a glance. Her expression—a mix of awe and disbelief—filled him up. “I get so lost in the details of a project that I lose sight of the big picture. Is this really what our work looks like to fresh eyes?”

  “Pictures don’t lie.” He caressed her back, immediately soothed by the contact, although her attention remained riveted on the screen. Waiting patiently for her to tire of reviewing the photographs proved a true test. “Well? Do you know which you want to use?”

  “It’s hard to choose, but I think you’re right. Less is more. I trust your eye and like the groupings you put together. They’ll make the most powerful impact.” She smiled broadly before laying her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for doing this for us. I know you might catch some flak because of it.”

  “The benefits have far exceeded any blowback I might get from some peers,” he teased, dipping his head to capture the intriguing view of her ever-changing eyes. “Brace yourself, because this isn’t the only favor I’ve done for you lately.”

  She raised her head. “I’m almost afraid to ask . . .”

  “I got the inside scoop on my dad’s hotel plans.”

  “You spent time with your dad?” She clutched the sofa cushion with both hands.

  “And lived to tell the tale.” A sad joke, but apt.

  “And you did it for me?” Her voice sounded so soft and surprised it actually made his heart hurt. She deserved nice things from him on a regular basis.

  “Yes, for you.” He rubbed her thigh. “Although, honestly, I got more out of it than I expected. We’ve called a truce—at least temporarily. We’ll see how long it lasts.”

  She tucked her chin, her eyes sparkling in every shade of blue, chuckling. “I’m speechless.”

  “Well, I didn’t learn much. I know the name of the hotels and the cities they’re in—from Maine to Maryland—but it sounds like most of his improvement plans are operational. He wants to ‘freshen them up,’ but he’s not planning to take on structural renovations. At least not until the other things are running better.”

  She shrugged, a wan smile where he’d hoped to see a brighter—or at least determined—one. “It’s probably for the best.”

  “What?” He turned fully, his knees bumping her thighs. “I thought you were excited to pitch him. That’s why I spoke to him.”

  “Thank you, and I was. But some things aren’t meant to be.” Her words sank beneath his skin, producing a pit in his stomach. She absently twisted one of her earrings and then stood. “I’m thirsty. Do you want something to drink?”

  He followed her to the kitchen, where he saw an empty box of chocolate-covered pretzels on the counter. “Hang on. What’s really going on? You’re not acting like yourself.”

  An expression he didn’t recognize dashed across her face before she opened the refrigerator to grab a pitcher of iced tea.

  “The thing is, I am. I’m acting exact
ly like myself.” She poured two glasses and handed him one. “It’s these past weeks that I haven’t been myself.”

  These past weeks that she’d spent with him? He shivered, and not because of the cold drink in his hand. “Is this your way of telling me you regret everything?”

  She swallowed the sip she’d started while shaking her head. “I don’t regret any of it, but I got ahead of myself thinking I could handle your father’s project.”

  “I’m not following. Is it the competition? ’Cause you’re talented enough to compete with any designer.”

  “Logan, if my history proves anything, it’s that I’m not afraid of competition.” Her gaze lost focus, and he guessed she was remembering her fierce court presence. She glanced at her feet. “But after today, I have to respect my limits and take things slower.”

  She limped back to the living room and sank onto the sofa.

  “What happened today?” He crouched in front of her, setting his glass on the coffee table so he could rest his hands on her knees.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She sipped more tea, rubbing her hip. He’d noticed it bothered her more often on rainy days.

  “It does to me.” When he saw the misty sheen in her eyes, he took her glass and set it aside, then clasped her hands. “Don’t cry, Claire. Tell me what’s happened.”

  “I don’t want to tell you.” She wrested her hands free and buried her face in them.

  “Why not?” He waited. “Is it Peyton?”

  She shook her head, refusing to look at him. “It’s all me, and it’s more humiliating than when you found my scrapbook.”

  He’d botched handling his feelings about that fixation. Today he’d do better so she could confide in him.

  “Tell me, please. I promise, I won’t think less of you.”

  She splayed her fingers and peeked at him.

  “Come on.” He pried her hands from her face and kissed her knuckles. “Trust me.”

  “Fine.” She heaved a sigh. “I drove to a design center in Hartford to search for things for your condo. I got up there on my own and bought some great pieces. In fact, the purchase orders are in my bag, and Steffi will be starting to trim out the living room and paint after the gala, so you need to clear out whatever you aren’t keeping right away. She’ll cover everything else.”

  “That’s great news.” He nearly leaped into the air from the fact that she’d driven herself to Hartford. But he didn’t want to get sidetracked by discussing that at the moment. “So why are you so upset?”

  “Because . . .” She twined her fingers together in her lap and stared at them, tears forming again. “I couldn’t make it home. It started snowing when I left, and the traffic was three times as heavy. Cars were honking at me, my wipers made a streaky mess, and there was a big pileup right in front of me. I panicked so bad I thought I was having a heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry. That sounds awful.” He sat beside her and dragged her into a hug. “You should’ve called me.”

  When she harrumphed against his chest, he asked, “How’d you finally get home?”

  “Steffi and Ryan picked me up in Meriden,” she mumbled. “I was mortified. She drove my car back for me.”

  “This is my fault.” He tipped up her chin and kissed her with tenderness that came from the farthest reaches of his heart. “I’ve been pushing you too hard, too fast.”

  “Don’t.” She glowered. “Don’t say that like I’m a lapdog with no choice in what happens to me. I thought at least I could count on you not to coddle me like everyone else does.”

  “Sorry.” He held up his hands, uncertain of how to comfort her without making her feel worse. “I didn’t mean to upset you more.”

  She punched the seat cushion. “I’m upset with myself for letting things get to this point.” Those blue eyes flickered with self-loathing, which bothered him to see. “This weak, scared woman isn’t who I ever wanted to be. It isn’t who I thought I was or even realized I’d become. Not until you . . .”

  His chest took the blow. “Pointed it out . . .”

  “You didn’t let me finish.” She held his gaze. “Not until you challenged me. You pushed me, but I don’t regret going to New York or Newport, or painting outside the lines. I’ll cherish those memories.”

  “So you forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” She took his face in her gentle hands. “Your bluntness punched through everything. Got me to take a couple chances. I honestly don’t know when—if—I’ll try again, but today did feel great when I started out.”

  He yanked her onto his lap, her petite frame fitting perfectly against his larger one. “If that’s true, don’t let one small setback stop you. Push harder. Let’s ride up to Mystic and check out a prospective Prescott Inn. I’ll get us a room.” He brushed her hair away and nuzzled her neck. “I’ll be your muse.”

  She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, making a breathy sound of approval before killing his plan. “If I can’t get there on my own, I can’t take on the project.”

  “Then you drive. If you get uncomfortable, I’ll take over.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, but no.”

  Her exhausted expression made him ease up. “You don’t have to decide today. He’s not closing on the projects for several weeks, and he’s not making design a priority item.”

  She craned her neck and kissed him. “Thank you for trying to help, but Steffi also has reservations about trying to manage a project of that scale. For now, we’ll stay focused on growing locally.”

  “Okay.” He stroked her jaw and then trailed his fingers down her neck and over her breast. “But do I deserve a reward for my good intentions?”

  She smiled, reaching out to unbutton his shirt. “I think I can come up with something to make you happy.”

  “I’m certain of it.” He’d been damn happy all week. Quiet dinners followed by tender nights. The warmth of her body beside his, and the gentle smile that greeted him each morning and had him making up reasons to stick around town longer than planned.

  He kissed her deeply. She still tasted like chocolate, which was no shock given her rough day. He started undressing her in the living room.

  When she didn’t protest, liquid lightning shot through him. She worked quickly to shed his clothes, too, until they fell back onto the sofa in a tangle of arms and legs and hot, wet kisses.

  “Claire,” he whispered.

  They locked gazes as he moved inside her. Breaths mingling, hearts thumping, darkness settling around them until the only thing he could see was the soul in her eyes staring back at his.

  His composure slipped until she reached up and joined her lips with his in an intense kiss that simultaneously bent and stopped time.

  He rolled over so she could sit astride him. Her hair bounced, her cheeks flushed, and her well-kissed lips turned crimson as she rode the swell of emotion building inside him until it crested and broke apart, leaving him shuddering beneath her.

  For a few quiet minutes, he held her. She shivered, so he pulled a throw blanket over her shoulders and then ran his fingers through her damp hair.

  “Claire?”

  “Hm?” she asked, her head still plastered against his chest.

  He kissed her head while stroking her back. “Come with me to the gala.”

  She traced his collarbone without answering at first. “I thought we were an ‘in the moment’ thing.”

  He frowned at the characterization, although he’d been the one to label it so. “Dates, by their nature, are ‘in the moment.’”

  “A public date—here in our hometown—will imply more to others, who will then have all kinds of opinions.”

  He stilled his hands. “Are you embarrassed by us?”

  She propped her chin on her hands, which were now folded across his chest. “No. But when you leave, people will whisper and feel sorry for my being left behind. I don’t need that after what happened with Todd.”

  Damn Todd and
Peyton. Their affair continued to interfere with his life. “Who cares what people say? This is between you and me. Come with me. We can play footsie,” he teased. “It’ll be fun.”

  She giggled, nestling her feet between his. “You’ll be with your family. You don’t need me.”

  “I prefer you.” He slid his hands down her back and squeezed her ass.

  Her eyes widened at first, then turned somber. “I’ve been cordial to Peyton, but sitting with her for hours at your family event . . .”

  He stared at the ceiling, thinking about family and friends, past and present, passion and love. Complications and expectations formed sticky webs. But his heart filtered those out in its focus on Claire just like a large aperture blurs a noisy background from a frame’s real object. No one was more surprised by that than he. “It’s too bad we didn’t meet elsewhere . . . without all the baggage.”

  “If we’d met elsewhere, you wouldn’t have given me a second look. It’s our past that linked us.”

  “So in a way, we owe Peyton for this.”

  Claire remained quiet.

  He squeezed her tightly. “I’ll tell you this much. You’re one of my few truly fond childhood memories. It’s been strange being home now, reconciling the good and bad ones.”

  “You’re being a bit melodramatic, aren’t you? My memories of you are of a happy-go-lucky boy with a big imagination. Don’t let a few unhappy memories color everything about your past.”

  “Fair enough. I do have an odd affection for that museum I grew up in, mostly because of Duck. I actually remembered something of him the other day—of how he used to read aloud to me in his hammock by the shore.”

  “That’s sweet.” She kissed his chest. “I wish I’d met him.”

  “He was kind. Driven without trying to prove anything to anyone. He just had things he wanted to say.” A messenger of a sort, he thought. “When I was in my dad’s office, I stared at his Pulitzer. Wanting one of my own—unlikely as that is—keeps me up nights. I know that fact shouldn’t make me feel like a failure, but it does.”