by Beck, Jamie
She smiled, narrowing her eyes, and squeezed his arm. “I always knew you’d make a perfect rogue earl.”
“Is that a yes?” He tugged at her hand.
“Be serious. We’re here to raise money, so let’s check out the items.”
Logan rarely bid on anything because of his family’s affiliation with the event and donors. That, plus the fact that his deep pockets would unfairly tip the scales against those with modest bank accounts. He walked beside Claire, occasionally nodding hello to neighbors and acquaintances while she scrutinized each bid sheet.
She paused by the pair of tickets to the final women’s round of the US Open. Logan noted the longing in her eyes.
“Do you go often?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I never go.”
“Why not?”
She placed her hands on her hips and tipped her head, her expression reading “Duh” loud and clear. “Until last month, I avoided the city.”
“Well, now that you’ve broken that rule, would you like these tickets, or is it too painful to watch what might have been?”
She tipped her head side to side and shrugged. “Ten years ago, when some of the women I’d played with started popping up, it hurt to think, ‘That could’ve been me.’ But it wasn’t meant to be. Now I watch tennis on TV all the time without getting jealous.” She sighed. “The last serious live competition I went to was my own. Anyway, look at the retail value on those tickets. Fifteen hundred dollars is a bit rich for my blood. I need rent money for retail space.”
She moved to the next article on the table, inspecting the items in the gift basket.
But Logan remained in front of the tickets. “If you had the money, would you go? Or would you find another excuse to avoid the crowds?”
She paused, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I’d like to think I’d go, but honestly, I don’t know. Last time I ventured out on my own was a near disaster—literally and figuratively.”
Claire was nothing if not honest, with herself and everyone else. He had to admire that, even if he didn’t like the fact that she wouldn’t push herself a little harder. “Operative word being ‘near.’”
She turned away, dismissing his point, now staring at a gift basket from Connecticut Muffin. Smiling, she bent over and wrote out a bid. “You know I have to win this.”
He snickered as they continued meandering along the tables, looking at the various gifts—jewelry, first-edition signed books, vacation-home rentals, and other items including a 10 percent coupon on Lockwood & McKenna design services for any project over one thousand dollars. Claire also placed a minimum bid for an in-home spa basket and for a color and cut at a local salon.
“Logan!” Karina’s familiar voice boomed from behind them. Her tall, shapely frame carried her merlot-colored gown well, its lengthy slit showing off long, toned legs. “Oh, Logan. A sight for sore eyes.”
She offered a partial hug, careful to hold her martini away from his jacket, then set her hand on his shoulder while flipping her shiny black hair behind her shoulder. “Cute little shindig. Almost worth the drive up,” she teased. “Guess it’s the closest thing to a real party you’ve been to in months, right? But don’t worry. We’ve missed you almost as much as you’ve missed us.”
Ah, the glib repartee commonplace in his circles. Funny how hollow it sounded tonight.
“Karina, let me introduce you to Claire.” He reached for Claire, who’d fallen silent, but apparently not before she’d given Karina a once-over and drawn conclusions about her and Logan. Probably not wholly incorrect conclusions, either. “Claire, this is Karina, the journalist I’ve told you about who I work with on occasion.”
“Yes, I remember.” Claire smiled, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you, Karina.”
Karina shot Logan a curious look and returned Claire’s smile. “You too, Claire, although I confess I’m at a slight disadvantage, having not yet heard about you.”
If Logan could’ve stomped on Karina’s foot without drawing attention, he might’ve. “I’ve known Claire since middle school. She’s redecorating my apartment, which is going to be fabulous.”
“I can’t wait to see it.” Karina smiled. “Will it be finished by the time we get back from Lesbos?”
He felt Claire stiffen and assumed it was because he hadn’t yet told her about his decision to leave for Lesbos in another week.
“It might even be finished before you leave,” Claire tentatively replied.
“So soon?” Karina laughed before knocking back most of her drink. “You must be a miracle worker. Maybe I’ll hire you next.”
To Claire’s credit, she didn’t quiz him about when they were taking off. Her smile didn’t slip. For all intents and purposes, she looked completely unaffected by his impending plans. That should please him. He’d never liked a clingy woman. Still, he surveyed the heaviness in his chest and knew it didn’t feel anything like relief.
“No miracles, sadly. I do try to understand people so that their home reflects something about them.” Claire’s expression suggested she might’ve bit back a snarky remark—about what, exactly, he’d never know. Perhaps she thought Karina was the woman with whom he’d painted his bedroom wall. “Of course, compared with what you two do, my job must seem rather ordinary.”
“Actually, it sounds really nice. Logan and I expose ugly environments in the hope that horrifying others will force change. You create environments designed to make people feel good. Must be nice to bring a smile to someone’s day.” She elbowed Logan, laughing, and polished off her martini. “At the very least, people are happy to see her coming. Us, not so much.”
Logan needed to occupy Karina with someone other than Claire, for everyone’s sake. He caught Ben eyeing them again and waved him over. “Karina, I want to introduce you to another friend. A good-looking, single one who’s here alone, like you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him before pasting a smile on her face and turning to greet Ben just as he arrived.
“Ben Lockwood, this is my colleague, Karina Báez. Karina, Ben . . . an old friend.”
Karina’s smile turned genuine in the face of Ben’s rugged good looks. Sandy-colored hair, hazel eyes framed by dark brows and lashes, and a strong, square jaw. All cleaned up he looked sophisticated, unlike when in jeans at the hardware store.
“Nice to meet you, Karina.” Ben shook her hand.
“Same.” Karina took Logan’s hint and, after handing her empty glass to him, threaded her arm through Ben’s. “So, Ben, how about we hit up the bartender for another round and you tell me a little about this town.”
Logan would feel bad about foisting her on Ben except that Ben didn’t look particularly unhappy about having Karina glued to his side. She was quite striking and somewhat of a guy’s gal in terms of her interests.
He wound his arm around Claire’s waist. “Sorry about that. I forgot she was coming.”
“Then you owe her the apology, not me.”
“I didn’t invite her as a date, Claire. I only meant that I forgot to tell you about our trip to Greece. We recently finalized plans to take off next Tuesday to try to get ahead of an upcoming legal decision about the refugee situation.”
Claire’s smile thinned. “How long will you be gone?”
“As long as it takes to get the story. Hopefully, no more than a month.”
Her brows rose. “I didn’t realize . . . that’s quite an adventure. Will you be able to communicate with us so we know you’re safe?”
“I’m not usually good about checking in. Truthfully, no one’s ever asked me to before.” A sad truth.
She sighed, resigned. “So it’s the ‘no news is good news’ policy?”
He gently touched her jaw and kissed her in the middle of the party, enjoying the blush that immediately flooded her face. “Thank you for caring so much. It feels nice.”
“My caring is nothing new, Logan. We both know that much.” Something over his shoulder caught Claire’s eye.
She squeezed his hand, her voice a little too bright. “Will you excuse me for a minute? I’ll meet you at the table.”
Before he replied, she turned and disappeared into the crowd just before his sister came to his side.
“Well, she sure can move fast when properly motivated,” Peyton said in a self-deprecating tone.
“You look smashing, sis.” He put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “This wig is perfect on you, but one day I want to boldly display our short hair together.”
“Not until mine starts to look like hair instead of fuzz. I think it might be coming in curly. I heard that could happen.”
The event photographer—a middle-aged mother he didn’t recognize—stopped them. “I need a photograph of the youngest Prescotts. Do you mind?”
“Sure,” Logan said, turning himself and Peyton toward the lens before she had a chance to beg off. He whispered, “Smile.”
The photographer took a couple of shots. “Thanks.”
After she left, Logan said, “I should’ve taken photos of you before I left the house . . . for our project.”
“We can just use one of hers.”
He scowled. “No. All of the photos should be mine. I’ve got a camera in the trunk of my car, actually. Let’s get it and take some shots outside on the side porch while we can take advantage of evening’s blue light.”
Minutes later, the sounds of the party inside muted as he fell into his own world, seeing the entire scene through new eyes, playing with light and shadow and color to document Peyton’s story, while wondering when he would find a story of his own.
Chapter Seventeen
Claire washed her hands and was finger combing her hair when Pat wandered into the ladies’ room, looking rather elegant for someone who usually fell on the frumpy side of style. Her pale-blue gown shimmered under the light, and its lace jacket added a feminine touch.
“Claire. You look fantastic.” Pat set her hands on Claire’s shoulders and spun her so she could admire the new dress. Claire didn’t mind her handsy manner, seeing as Pat was almost like an aunt. Pat’s eyes twinkled with interest. “Are the rumor mills true? Are you here as Logan Prescott’s date?”
Yippee. Gossip had already gripped the old-biddy committee, as she knew it would. They were all here at the party, which meant the news would spread faster than pink eye at a nursery school. No doubt people were already whispering and wondering. Probably doing a lot of head-scratching, too.
Claire nodded, unable to speak past the balled mortification in her throat. You can take it. You’re just having some fun.
Pat clapped her hands together, her eyes lit up with glee. “Well, now we’ll have something fun to talk about at our next meeting. Thank goodness, too, because that book you chose was heavy.”
“There’s not much to discuss, Pat. Logan and I . . . well, it’s not a big deal. I’ve been working with him these past few weeks, but he leaves for Greece in another week and will be gone for a long time.” Admitting that aloud sank her heart deep in her chest, despite having anticipated this inevitable ending. She just hadn’t been—wasn’t—ready for it to happen this quickly.
Pat frowned. “Oh dear. That’s a shame. You two make a handsome pair. I heard Stefanie and Ryan got engaged recently. Maybe their wedding will stir things up again for you and Logan down the road. You never know!”
Claire tamped down the spark of hope those words ignited. Logan and weddings did not go together. “Like I said, don’t hold your breath.”
“You know me. I always hope for the best. Speaking of that, I understand that you’ve spoken with Peyton, too. You three girls were such a joy together. I know she hurt you, but I’m proud of you for trying to get past it. She’s been through the wringer and could use a fresh start.” And then, as if sensing perhaps she’d pushed into dangerous territory, she patted her tummy. “Excuse me, but I must relieve myself.”
She wiggled her fingers and ducked into a stall.
Claire bit back a bitter laugh, having completely lost control of her situation. When she left the restroom, she wandered through the crowd with an unfocused gaze to avoid conversation. No matter where she ran, though, she couldn’t outrun the truth of Pat’s remark. Peyton had suffered a lot this past year, and maybe she did deserve a second chance.
Logan was no longer near the bar with his sister. In fact, Claire didn’t see either of them anywhere. Had Peyton gotten sick? Would Logan have left without a word? The main room was crowded with groupings of people and waitstaff passing by with trays of champagne and canapés. The dull roar of conversation overpowered the string quartet’s attempt to entertain.
If she stood still for too long, someone else would grab her and drag her off for interrogation. She rose onto her toes, desperately searching for her mother. Instead, she saw Karina coming her way. Joy of joys.
“Claire, I need your help.” Karina took her by the arm like they were long-lost pals. The arm grabbing must be a thing with her. “You grew up here, right? What’s the scoop with Ben Lockwood? He seems nice and handsome, so why is he here alone?”
“Are you suggesting there’s something wrong with him because he doesn’t have a date?” Claire wasn’t about to spill details about her closest friend to a journalist she didn’t know.
“At our ages, it’s unusual for any handsome catch to be single.” Karina leaned in as if they were coconspirators. “I’m thinking this party could end on a brighter note than I’d originally assumed, as long as he’s not a closet freak or ax murderer.”
“I promise, he’s neither of those. He’s a wonderful, caring man. He just hasn’t found the right woman for a serious commitment yet.” Claire didn’t know much about what kind of woman Ben wanted for the long haul, but she didn’t think it would be one like Karina.
“Perfect. I’m not looking to be anybody’s serious anything. Fleeting suits me fine. Is he opposed to that?”
Claire thought of Melanie again, whom she’d yet to bump into this evening. “Is any guy opposed to that?”
“Not that I’ve ever met.” Karina laughed and patted Claire’s forearm, which she kept snug to her side. “Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a player, but then again, you are here with Logan. This is why we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
Claire’s stomach tensed. Did her date with Logan signal that she was up for random flings? Would people whisper about her the way they did about Melanie?
Karina kept babbling, unaware that her long stride challenged Claire and Rosie. “Share some fun childhood stories about Logan that I can torture him with while we’re away.”
Claire swiped a champagne flute from a passing tray. “Won’t you have more important things to focus on in Greece?”
Two gulps polished off the champagne.
“Sure, but humor makes tense conditions bearable. Most of the time, Logan’s quick wit gives him the upper hand when we poke at each other. It’d be nice to turn the tables for a change.”
Claire deliberately slowed down, hoping to dislodge herself from Karina’s clutches. While searching for another waiter, she asked, “How many projects have you two worked on together?”
“This will be our fourth in three years.” Karina stopped but didn’t release her hold on Claire. “We work together long enough to get sick of each other, then go our separate ways for a while. The cycle works. Keeps the spark alive.”
“The spark?” Claire’s stomach turned again, this time with the added burn of acid.
“You know,” she said, tossing a silky black waterfall of hair over her shoulder. “The creative juice that pulls our work together.”
“Oh.” The relief in her voice drew Karina’s notice and then laughter.
“Oh gosh. You thought I meant something else . . .” She shrugged one shoulder. “Logan and I have had our fun. Sometimes it gets lonely when you’re out in the field, working on a depressing story. You need to hold on to something or someone affirming. But it never means anything and always ends.”<
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“Until the next time.” Those words escaped before Claire realized what she’d said. A statement, not a question.
Karina paused, as if unsure how honest to be. “You know how it is. You grab what you can when you can, and then you let go when you must. That’s what I hope to do tonight with your friend Ben. So tell me the truth. What are my chances?”
“You really have to ask him.” Claire felt a stab of sympathy for Melanie and disentangled herself from Karina. She’d met her quota of intimate new details about Logan. “If you’ll excuse me, I see my parents over there.”
“Oh, sweet. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party with my parents.” Karina smiled and then craned her neck, ostensibly looking for Ben. Claire didn’t know whether to be glad or worried about that. “See you later.”
Claire found another glass of champagne before she slipped through the crowd. The bubbly didn’t help her to stop picturing Logan and Karina together at the end of an emotionally wrenching day of interviews and photos, under a hot Grecian sun, looking for a place to channel their restless energy and need for comfort.
She shuddered, confirming that, despite her best efforts—her very best—she was not anything like Karina or Logan or Melanie. She could not adopt the “grab what you can when you can” philosophy, no matter how much she wanted to extend her little fantasy with Logan.
Facts crowded her thoughts, demanding her attention. He was leaving in a week, something he’d neglected to tell her. He would be away for weeks or longer with a woman with whom he shared an intense friendship with benefits. When he returned from Greece, he’d be living in Manhattan, not at Arcadia House. Unlike her beloved historical romance novels, their rake-and-wallflower story would not end with a happily ever after.
When Logan finally left Sanctuary Sound, he would do so having gotten nearly everything he wanted when he first arrived—a newly decorated house, a thawing of the animosity between Claire and Peyton, and no-strings sex from Claire. Meanwhile, Claire would be left nursing a bruised heart because, despite everything she’d told herself and others, she’d let herself spin tales of “maybes” where he’d been concerned. Silly dreams spun on the fuel of her desire. Useless dreams because, as she’d known in her heart of hearts, she’d be alone again in a sea of happier people, just like now.
