by Beck, Jamie
“You’re not a failure. You’re working at what you love. You’re a good brother and a good son, despite difficult parents. You’re also a good friend.”
“With great benefits.” He smiled.
“Yes.” She laid her head back on his chest. “But think about what you just said about your great-grandfather. He wasn’t writing to win a prize. The writing itself was his reward. If you want to emulate him, then focus only on stories that mean something to you, regardless of what they mean to others or to some awards committee.”
“Okay, oh wise one.” He held her more tightly, if that was possible, because she had a way of shifting his perspective and making him feel better about himself. He wanted to give her that same feeling, but didn’t know how.
“Go ahead and tease, but if I could play tennis now, even down the road at the public courts, I would and I’d be overjoyed. I loved it that much. I’m lucky I found something else that I really care about. Something that lets me leave beauty and comfort in other people’s lives. Maybe that sounds silly, but it makes me happy.”
“It’s not silly. It’s lovely, Claire. And you do it remarkably well.” He turned over so that she was beneath him, then kissed her. “But just to be clear, you do those things just by being you.”
Her eyes glittered. “Thank you.”
They stared at each other, blanketed by the weight of unspoken sentiment.
“I don’t often beg, but, please, come with me to the gala. Take this small risk . . .” He kissed her. “I promise, nothing bad will happen.”
Chapter Sixteen
Claire adjusted the strap of the new backless cobalt-blue gown she’d bought for the gala. Her gaze homed in on the pale bit of cleavage visible through the keyhole neckline halter.
Daring. Potentially a mistake. But one that made her feel alive.
Anyone who knew her—which, in this town, would be everyone—might either gawk or laugh at her first-ever attempt at dressing sexy. And they’d know why she’d done it. Logan. She couldn’t escape speculation now that she’d agreed to be his date. His date! Another thing that sparked all kinds of dangerous hope.
She glanced at the modest black dress hanging in her closet and then smiled at her reflection. Tonight she’d be as glamorous as a woman who couldn’t wear high heels could be, and she’d enjoy it. At the very least, this marked another step in her quest to be seen as less helpless and lonely.
After she crossed to her dresser to retrieve the new rhinestone–and–faux sapphire earrings she’d purchased, she fastened them in place and smoothed her hair one last time. Once she stepped back, she took in the full view of herself, trying to pretend she was looking at a stranger. A pretty stranger. Someone who looked like she might even belong with the elegant Logan Prescott.
When she grabbed Rosie, the illusion was shattered.
She hoped Logan wouldn’t regret asking her to be his date. Her hip would ache if she tried to dance more than two or three songs. Peyton’s presence would keep her hyperaware. People would be whispering all around them. Oh God, the whole evening could turn into a gigantic disaster.
After using a tissue to blot the sweat forming on her hairline, she turned away from the imagined catastrophes and went downstairs to wait for Logan.
When she hit the bottom of the stairwell, her phone rang. “Hi, Mom.”
“Dad and I are on our way. Are you sure you don’t need a ride?”
“I told you, Logan is bringing me. We’ll be there soon.”
“I missed our tradition of getting ready together with mimosas. You know I can’t do my makeup as well as when you do it, either.”
Claire smiled. Her mother’s gorgeous eyes didn’t need makeup to shine. “I’m sure you look pretty, Mom.”
“Thanks, honey. See you soon. Be careful.”
“Bye.” Claire shook her head, all too aware that they’d never had a conversation that didn’t end with some version of “be safe.”
The sound of her doorbell caused her to go cold. There’d be no turning back now. She’d face it all—the gossip, the discomfort, and the scrutiny. All to be a princess for a night with the town’s very own Prince Charming.
When she opened the door, the sight of Logan in his tux—the one with the snowy-white dinner jacket—made her giddy. He’d paired the jacket with a black kerchief in its breast pocket and a starched tuxedo shirt with black buttons. She refrained from pinching herself, although, honestly, this moment exceeded all of her fantasies.
“Claire, you’re stunning.” He stepped forward and kissed her cheek. “Don’t want to smear the lipstick this early.”
“So do you,” she babbled before she realized she should’ve thanked him.
“I knew I’d have to keep up with you.” He winked.
“Thank you,” she managed, despite the sense she was playing a role in a movie rather than living her real life.
“Shall we go? Mustn’t keep Darla waiting . . .” He held out his elbow.
She grabbed her purse and Rosie, took his arm, and headed into the unknown.
Within minutes, they arrived at the Granby House—the stately stone mansion situated near the town green that had been donated to the town decades ago by the Granby family. Its second floor now housed town government offices. The first floor and patio, however, could be rented for private affairs, like weddings or fund-raisers like this annual literacy gala.
A valet attendant opened Claire’s door and helped her out of the car before Logan handed over the keys.
“Ready?” Logan asked, taking her by the arm.
“Yes.” On Logan’s arm, Claire felt more assured. She could do this. She had to take another step and show others that she hadn’t lost everything when the bullet, or Peyton, had struck. “I hope there will be chocolate.”
“Never fear. I come prepared.” Logan opened his jacket to reveal a Hershey’s almond bar in its inside pocket. “If you need this, give me a signal and I’ll help you sneak off to the restroom.”
The small yet thoughtful gesture made everything inside flutter. He obviously knew her well and wasn’t annoyed by her bad habit. In fact, his grin suggested he even enjoyed her quirk.
All at once, she felt more certain that this night would be okay. Better than okay. It might even be magical. She broke into a smile. “You’re awesome.”
“Claire, your bar is far too low, but I’m glad you haven’t realized that yet.” He kissed her hand and led her up the stairs.
Inside, the celebration was underway. No fewer than three hundred people milled around, while thousands of twinkling white lights entwined with gorgeous floral centerpieces sat high on clear stands. Crisp white-and-gold linens draped the tables topped with fine china, crystal, and gold chargers.
She’d attended this event many times in her life. Every other time, she’d watched from the sidelines as other couples danced and laughed. Just as often, she’d stewed with envy of whatever woman Logan had brought with him or flirted with, yet had savored any attention he’d thrown her way.
Tonight she would be at the receiving end of most of his attention. All for the admission price of eating at the same table as Peyton and enduring cockeyed glances from the people they both knew.
She stole another glance at Logan, who couldn’t look more handsome or make her feel more beautiful. The sacrifice was well worth it.
“How do you like your pain?” he asked.
“What?”
“Pain.” He raised a brow. “Do you like it quick, or would you rather delay the inevitable?”
Her scalp prickled with concern. “What are you talking about?”
He huffed a sigh. “Should we go say hello to my family now, or would you rather wait until we must see them at dinner?”
His family—the de facto hosts. People she’d once considered beloved neighbors and friends before a sea of discomfort had separated the past and the present. “Let’s say hello now, and then I need to find my parents.”
Her mom would be an
xiously awaiting confirmation of her safe arrival, no doubt.
“Okay.” Logan laid his hand on her bare back as he led her around the outskirts of the main room.
They drew a few stares, but she didn’t care. She could hardly think about it because her brain was too busy enjoying the feel of his warm hand on her skin.
Logan craned his neck and located his parents in a corner of the main room, but Claire got lucky because Peyton was not with them.
“Mom, Dad, I made it . . . almost on time.” He gave a sharp nod.
Darla didn’t look at him as she threw out air-kisses, because she’d fixated on Claire with very round eyes.
“My word, Claire.” Darla reached out and hugged her—another discomforting surprise. “This color is perfect on you. I’m so glad you’re joining us tonight.” She then pinched her son’s cheek. “I wondered who your mystery woman was. Why were you keeping Claire a secret?”
“To avoid all the questions I see forming in your head,” came his smooth reply. He kissed his mother’s cheek and then shook his father’s hand. “Dad.”
“Logan.” Mr. Prescott smiled at Claire. “Lovely to see you, Claire. I understand you’re renovating Logan’s apartment.”
She knew from Logan that his father had been there only once. One time in almost a decade. He probably didn’t even remember what it looked like.
“I am. It’s been a great project. You’ll have to go visit when it’s complete. You won’t believe the change.”
“Maybe you two will invite us down for dinner one night,” Darla interjected, projecting ahead as if Logan and Claire were a real couple.
Claire would be flattered except she suspected Darla’s enthusiasm had more to do with what Claire’s dating Logan could mean for Peyton than for Logan. Either way she had to remind herself that that dinner would never come to pass.
Logan’s New York life wouldn’t include her, and not only because she doubted she’d feel comfortable leaving her little hamlet anytime soon after her near miss with that multicar pileup on I-91. She hoped her smile didn’t falter with that thought. Rather than wallow or make a joke, she nodded, playing along with the pretense.
Mrs. Prescott filled the silence with more chatter. “Peyton always said you could cook up a storm. I used to be jealous of your mom for being such a homemaker. But I got over it.” She chuckled. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses.”
“Speaking of Peyton, where is she?” Logan asked.
Claire’s muscles tensed all at once.
“Around somewhere,” his mother replied. “I don’t know that she’ll stay long. She’s still self-conscious about . . .” She vaguely gestured to her chest. “Even with the new wig.”
Claire’s grip on Rosie strengthened. She knew something about how Peyton felt. It took nothing to recall the earliest days after her surgeries, when her more severe limp had made her feel like Frankenstein. When her angry scars had looked like lumpy lava on her skin. Even now, Rosie reminded everyone in the room of the incident and the damage it had wrought. Empathy caused Claire’s nose to tingle, but she kept her tears at bay.
Logan seemed to be searching the room for his sister, his sober expression suggesting his sympathy for her.
“If you’ll excuse me, I should find my parents and say hello,” Claire said, giving herself a temporary escape from the awkward moment.
“I’ll join you.” Logan clasped her hand, preventing her getaway, and led her to where her parents were speaking with Steffi’s father.
Claire’s mom saw them approach, at which point her gaze went straight to Claire’s cleavage. Her jaw fell open until she clamped it shut and forced a polite smile. “You bought a new dress?”
Before Claire could answer, her dad wrapped her in a hug. “Claire Bear, look at you. What a beauty!”
“Isn’t she?” Logan’s hand brushed along her bare back, sending pleasant tingles careening down her spine.
Her mom cleared her throat, failing to erase the apprehension in her eyes when she said, “Logan, you look dashing in that jacket.” She brushed her palm across its lapel. “Quite a pair tonight.”
“I have the prettiest date in the room, present company excluded.” Logan gave her mom a kiss on the cheek and then shook hands with her dad and Mr. Lockwood, but Claire noted a slight tic in his jaw. “Thanks for coming out to support the library’s literacy program.”
“We look forward to this event all year. So many friends gathered in one place, and so many auction items.” Claire’s mother gave her dad a pointed look. “There’s a beautiful freshwater-pearl necklace that would make a lovely thirty-fifth anniversary gift.”
“Thirty-five years. Congratulations.” Logan’s smile seemed almost impish then. “I’ll be sure not to bid up that necklace. However, perhaps you’d have more fun celebrating if you bid on the one-week VRBO in La Jolla.”
“Oh no. That’s not for us!” Her father laughed.
Mr. Lockwood nodded thoughtfully from the outskirts of the conversation. He’d never been a talker.
Determined not to let Logan pressure her parents, Claire changed the subject. “Mom, have you seen Steffi?”
Her mother’s expression faltered again as her eyes darted from Claire to Logan and back. “Yes, she’s right over there with Ryan, Ben . . . and Peyton.”
Claire turned to spy Steffi and Ryan arm in arm. Ben fiddled with his tie, looking as uncomfortable as Claire felt, while Peyton had tucked herself into a corner of the room, self-consciously playing with her earring, keeping her hand near her face as if it were a shield.
Normally, Peyton would stake out the center of the room, commanding everyone’s attention in a daring outfit, with her long golden hair swirling around her shoulders and breasts like a come-on.
Tonight, her demure midnight-blue gown helped her hide in the shadows. Although still beautiful in an ethereal way, none of the sparkle that usually lit Peyton’s face or eyes shone tonight. That wig, a gorgeous one—the blonde color looked familiar.
Claire paused, taking another look while asking Logan, “Is that your hair?”
“Mm-hmm.” His lips curled into a bittersweet smile.
A wave of questions and emotions made her hot. Before Claire could form words, Peyton glanced over her shoulder at them. She froze for a microsecond, then waved.
Logan dipped his head to whisper in Claire’s ear. “Can we go say hello?”
“Of course,” Claire said, willing her tense legs to move. Despite the level floor, her gait seemed more uneven than usual, her legs heavy, as if climbing stairs. Claire dragged her gaze from Peyton to Ben, while Logan greeted his sister.
Ben smiled at Claire before casting a meaningful look—almost a warning—at Logan.
“Gorgeous dress, Claire. Is it new?” Steffi planted a friendly kiss on her cheek. “What a great color on you.”
“You look very pretty,” Peyton added quietly.
“Thanks,” Claire replied, suppressing the urge to touch the wig made of Logan’s silky hair. “So do both of you.”
If her words came out stilted, it was because her throat was dry, not because she’d been lying. Not that Peyton knew that.
“I’m sorry to lose my regular dinner date,” Ben chimed in, leaning forward to kiss her hello.
“Don’t worry. You’ll have me back soon enough,” she muttered, low enough that only he could hear.
He clenched his jaw and turned to Logan. “I hear you’ve been helping Claire and my sister with their website. A lucky break for them. Thanks.”
“No thanks required.” Logan tugged Claire to his side and wound his arm snugly around her waist. “I’m the lucky one.”
“As usual.” Ben glanced at Claire and back to Logan. “Things always come pretty easily to you. I hope you appreciate it this time.”
Claire tapped Rosie before either of the two cavemen threw more shade. She turned to Logan. “Would you mind getting me a drink?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.” H
e looked at the others. “Anyone else?”
Peyton grabbed for his arm like it was an escape ladder thrown into a deep well. “I’ll come with you.”
As soon as they left, Claire whirled around on Ben. “I don’t need a watchdog. Please cut the stink-eye.”
“Sorry.” He crossed his arms. “I didn’t want Logan using his charm to coax you into dealing with Peyton before you’re ready.”
Shame shot heat through her. “Because there isn’t another reason he’d like to spend time with me?”
“That’s not what I’m saying—” He looked at Steffi and Ryan for help, but they wisely stayed mum.
“It kind of is what you’re saying by jumping to that conclusion, Ben. Thanks for your concern, but don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I have no more false illusions about Logan than Melanie does about you.”
Ben winced at the mention of his regular booty call. “Sorry. Big-brother mode is hard to turn off.”
“Forgiven.” She smiled and turned to Steffi. “We should use tonight to drum up business. Everyone who’s anyone is here.”
“On it.” Steffi saluted her with a smile.
Logan and Peyton returned, and he handed her a glass of white wine. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.” She threw back a full gulp. She’d need several more to help her converse with Peyton for the next three hours. “Let’s check out the auction items before the bidding heats up.”
“Good idea.” He turned to the gang before leading her to the long tables flanking the main room. “We’ll see you later.”
“Thank you for rescuing me from Ben. I think he wanted to bite my head off,” Logan whispered in Claire’s ear, glad to be putting some distance between himself and Ben Lockwood. “Tell the truth, did you two ever have a thing?”
“No.” She batted at him. “I told you, we’re like siblings. We stuck together after you all took off.”
Logan cast a glance over his shoulder. Ben was no longer glaring at him. “Well, I’m glad to have you to myself for a few minutes. In fact, can I persuade you to duck into an alcove with me?” He nipped at her shoulder.
