The Promise of Us

by Beck, Jamie

  Mr. Prescott’s voice came over the microphone, pulling her out of the downward mental spiral. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming out tonight. I’ve been told it’s time to be seated for dinner. The silent auction will remain open through dessert. We will give a five-minute warning before it closes, then tally the winners. Please have your checkbooks ready. In the meantime, enjoy the meal.”

  The string quartet broke into Bach’s Orchestral Suite no. 3, accompanying people as they scurried around searching out their table assignments. Claire wove through the crowd toward table one, arriving at the same time as Logan and Peyton.

  “Claire, so sorry.” Logan hurried to her side. “We had an impromptu shoot for our project because the light was right and I wanted to capture Peyton the first time she attended a major social event after treatment.”

  Claire and Peyton held each other’s gaze for a moment. Peyton had tried to warn Claire about Logan, and Claire hated that she’d been right. Then again, Peyton knew them both so well—of course she’d been right.

  “It’s fine. Work comes first.” Claire sat in the chair he pulled out for her. Truthfully, she didn’t need for him to apologize. He was simply being Logan, and he’d never pretended or promised he would be anyone else. She wouldn’t even want him to be, really. His passion for things was what made him exciting. Far be it from her to try to cage him in any way. And yet . . . No. She brushed aside ridiculous fantasies and faced her former friend. “Peyton, you look wonderful in that color. I’m sure the photographs will be inspirational.”

  “Thank you,” Peyton replied, a hesitant smile playing on her lips.

  Logan sat between Claire and Peyton, which left Karina the seat to Claire’s left. Karina slung her arm around Claire’s chair and leaned close.

  “I’m sorry to report, Ben Lockwood is not interested. I get it, though. I can be overwhelming.” She grinned and then snapped open her napkin to set across her lap. “I’m best when paired with another oddball.”

  If nothing else, this year’s dinner conversation would be unusual. Claire did envy Karina’s unapologetic self-awareness. That woman would not find herself holding on to false hope.

  “Lucky for you, we’re all oddballs in our own way.” Claire buttered her roll and took a huge bite.

  “I knew I liked you straight off.” Karina bumped shoulders. “You’re no nonsense. I see why Logan enjoys spending time with you.”

  “Well, thanks . . .” Claire lifted her third glass of champagne and chugged it, drawing a raised brow from Logan. He casually laid his hand on Claire’s thigh, clueless about the conflict building inside like the cello’s crescendo in the background.

  When the Prescotts began peppering Karina with questions about past stories she’d reported, Claire’s thoughts turned inward. She picked at her salad, reflecting on women she admired, like Steffi and Pat, even Karina and Peyton. Women who knew themselves and took risks, willing to live with the consequences of potential mistakes.

  Unlike them, Claire’s recent risk taking hadn’t been entirely self-motivated. She’d taken action largely to please Logan, which was probably why she’d never felt wholly comfortable with this no-strings affair. Why she couldn’t drive to and from Hartford on her own. Why she backed away from pitching Mr. Prescott for that hotel work.

  Whether she ultimately traveled farther than New Haven county, or engaged in a series of meaningless flings, or did any other thing with her life, it should be based on what she wanted and who she was, not on how she thought her behavior would affect her relationship with anyone else.

  After tonight, she’d regroup. Figure out who she was and who she wanted to become. What life she envisioned, and what goals she’d pursue if she weren’t afraid to travel. Perhaps pulling the Lilac Lane League book out of hiding would be the place to start. Revisiting youthful dreams and goals might be a shortcut to her heart-of-hearts wishes. The kind formed before society and life jade you and make you question yourself.

  Of course, many of her old dreams had involved Logan. But she was an adult now, which meant she had to learn to distinguish between realistic dreams and fantasies.

  Starting now—this very night—she’d make changes. Not for Logan. Not to spite Peyton. Not to prove anything to anyone other than herself.

  “Claire,” Peyton said, leaning forward to see past Logan. “Logan showed me the drawings you made for his unit. I loved the bold colors and rich accents. It’s so him.”

  “Thanks.” She couldn’t help smiling at the compliment even though it came from Peyton.

  “I’ll throw a party once it’s finished, and you can all come to sing Claire’s praises,” Logan announced to the table before kissing her.

  “You know I never miss a party,” Karina replied.

  “Claire, maybe you could offer some advice about how to update older hotels on a budget,” Mr. Prescott said.

  If more time had passed since Hartford, and if Steffi had been enthusiastic, this opening would excite her. Now it fueled a touch of self-loathing. Not that she’d let anyone see it.

  “I’m happy to, although I’m sure whatever designer you hire will do a fabulous job.” She forced herself to hold his intimidating gaze.

  “I haven’t hired a designer yet. I won’t bore everyone with business talk, but call me later this week. Maybe I won’t need to go out searching for one if I like your ideas.” He forked his salad. Darla patted his shoulder in a way that suggested to Claire that she had prompted that offer. That woman knew exactly how to get what she wanted. Claire could take some lessons from her.

  She supposed she couldn’t blame a mother for wanting to do anything she could to help her children, and Claire had no doubt that one of Darla’s goals was to make it harder for Claire to shut Peyton out of her life.

  To decline Mr. Prescott’s offer right now would be rude. Claire nodded, trying not to let her conflict show on her face. She looked longingly at the table beside them, where Steffi, Ryan, Ben, and their parents were gathered and laughing. What she’d now give for comfortable conversation without subtext and tension.

  She swigged more champagne, counting the minutes until others finished their chicken piccata so that dessert could be served. It’d better be chocolate. If the portions were tiny, she might steal Logan’s, too.

  Logan didn’t know what had changed this evening, but he noted a shift in Claire’s attitude from when they’d first arrived. Had he left her alone too long? Had Karina said something to upset her? Was it Peyton?

  “Take a walk with me,” he whispered.

  “Now?” She polished off his chocolate mousse cake, having already wolfed down her own.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Well, I don’t want to miss the end of the auction.”

  “We’ll walk by the items you want and make a final bid.”

  “Okay.” She stood, wobbling slightly. He handed her Rosie and took her other arm until he was certain she was steady.

  When they got to the auction tables, they wandered to the two she’d most wanted, while he stole a glance at those US Open tickets. The bid was up to twelve seventy-five. After making sure she wasn’t looking, he bid sixteen hundred, hoping that would be enough to keep others from outbidding him.

  He went to her side. “Let’s go outside for a minute. I could use some fresh air, after all that time with my dad.” And she’d had a lot to drink, so the chill might sober her up a bit.

  “I thought you two formed a truce.”

  “We did, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy.” He opened the French doors where he’d been photographing Peyton.

  “It’s chilly out here.” She shivered.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “Did my family make you uncomfortable?”

  “No.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Did Karina?”

  “No. Why?” Her brows pinched together.

  “You drank a lot tonight. I sense something is off now, but I don’t know what. Is it because I disappeared
for a while?”

  “I already told you, no. I can survive thirty minutes on my own, especially here. I’ve more friends and family in there than you do.” Her defensiveness suggested she’d overstated her case, but he still didn’t know why.

  “Okay.” He wanted things to return to how they’d been for the past few weeks, so he kissed her. Unlike every other time, she pursed her lips and pulled away. He released her with a huff. “Claire. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She glanced at the door. “Won’t they be announcing the auction winners soon?”

  “Yes, but I want to settle this tension first.”

  She sighed and spun away, walking to the edge of the patio and grabbing hold of a pillar. “I’ve realized some things tonight, and one of them is that this”—she gestured between them—“has to end.”

  He hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t that. “Right now?”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything until we got home, but I guess there’s no point in putting it off. You’re leaving for Greece in another week—a fact you failed to mention. Not that it matters, because you’ll always be going off on assignments, often with women with whom you have a ‘fluid’ relationship, like Karina.

  “After speaking with her and thinking about things, it struck me. The truth is . . . the truth is that I’m not good at being fluid. I’ve tried it your way, but I disagree that a happy life is one lived only in the moment. I also disagree that goals and expectations make me too rigid to enjoy life. Being loved, having real friends, starting a family . . . these things matter to me. They do make me happy.

  “You—let’s be honest—you’ve meant so much more to me throughout our lives than I ever meant to you. We came into this thing on unequal footing—something I should be used to by now.” She wryly nodded at Rosie. “I have nothing but love for you, Logan. You’re exciting and charming and, at heart, a good guy. These past couple of weeks have been like a dream, but it’s time to wake up. Our needs are incompatible, so you should stick to women like Karina, and I’ll keep searching for someone more like me.”

  Love. She’d said she loved him. Not exactly in a declarative sense, but that word shimmered between them like the beautiful last bits of glitter before a firework extinguishes. He’d never used that word, not really. Not the way she meant it.

  He crossed to her and reached for her hands. “But I don’t want Karina, or women like her. I want you.”

  He’d come to crave her earnestness, and to like himself better with her, where he could drop all pretense and persona.

  A wan smile appeared. “I know you care for me, and after all these years, it’s been a wonderful surprise. I don’t regret what’s happened, but I can’t pretend to be who I’m not just to hold on to something that we both know has an expiration date. I need something more. Something to build on.” She eased her hands out of his grip. “Every day I spend with you only adds to the time it will take me to get over missing you and wishing things were different.”

  It might have been cold enough outside that Logan could see his breath, but his chest burned. “What did Karina say to you?”

  “Nothing I didn’t already suspect.”

  He raised his arms from his sides, irked and more than a little thrown off balance. “I’m not sleeping with Karina.”

  “Not at the moment. But that’s the point. In four weeks, you’ll be in Greece, and in that moment, we won’t be together and you two will . . . you know.” She fluttered her hand as if to suggest sex was a forgone conclusion.

  “How do you know?” he snapped.

  “How do I know what?”

  He rolled his hand, mimicking her. “You assume that I’ll end up in bed with Karina. You assume I won’t miss you or be thinking of you. In fact, I was planning to invite you to meet me in the Mediterranean for a vacation when I’m done working. Maybe Sicily.”

  Her lips formed a perfect O until she sucked them in for a moment. “That’s romantic, but we both know I can’t fly to Italy when I couldn’t even drive home from Hartford! I’m not proud of that, mind you, but let’s be real.”

  “You love that word, but what’s ‘being real’ even mean, Claire? Reality isn’t some fixed thing. It’s different for everyone, and changes depending on your perception. If you perceive yourself as unable to fly, then you won’t ever fly. If you perceive yourself as unable to experience a relationship as it is instead of as you think it should be, then you won’t be able to explore and enjoy it. If you perceive danger everywhere, then you see danger.” He went to grab his hair and then remembered he’d cut it off. He balled his hands in fists at his sides. “Don’t let your perceptions—your misconceptions—affect what’s happening here. I’m not going to sleep with Karina next month.”

  She frowned, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter if it’s Karina in four weeks or someone else in four months. Logan, you run from your home here, always searching for the next new exciting thing. For this little while, I’ve been that shiny new thing. But you’re an explorer. You’ve no interest in a picket fence, nursery school, and a quiet life by the sea. And I don’t begrudge you what makes you happy. I want you to be happy on your journey. I just don’t want to go with you.”

  “Then stay here and build your business, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the time we have now and then see what happens when I return from Lesbos.” He stroked her arm. “Are you tired of me?”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “Then let this unfold on its own timeline.” He shuddered at the thought of being cast out of her warmth.

  She hugged herself, turning away and staring down the street toward the town green. For a few seconds, he thought he’d convinced her to reconsider, and his chest filled with helium.

  She glanced up at him. “Is there any chance in the world that you could see yourself happily committed to me, living here in town, and raising a family?”

  He froze—as if all the blood had drained from his body—having never given any thought to such permanence. Not with her or anyone. Not ever.

  “See.” She thrust her hand toward him, palm up. “Even the idea stops you cold. Letting things unfold when we know it’s only going to hurt me is great for you but terrible for me. Though unintentional, that’d be the result.”

  “I don’t know what I want from minute to minute, so how can you know what I want or what will be?” He gripped her waist as if the strength of his hands would make her feel what he felt. “You mean something to me, and you know I don’t say that lightly. I don’t get close to people, but I feel a connection with you, Claire. Something new and different from anything I’ve had with other women. Please don’t push me away so soon.”

  Her eyes were watery. “You say things like that and it breaks my heart, because I want to believe that there is something big enough here to bridge the gap between the different things we want from life.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers and spoke in hushed but urgent tones. “We won’t know if you won’t give us more time.”

  She held his face in her hands. “I’m almost thirty-one. I’d like to have a family. I can’t waste time when the odds are so long.”

  He broke away and took a few steps across the porch, raising his hand in the air. “So what, you’re going to hang out here and settle for someone like Ben Lockwood?”

  “Settle?” She scowled. “Ben is a fine, fine man, Logan.”

  “You know what I mean.” He’d been pissed at Ben since he’d returned to town. He’d blamed it on Ben’s anti-Peyton stance but now had to admit it partly came from jealousy that he’d had such an important place in Claire’s life.

  “No, actually, I don’t. If you’re insulting him for building a quiet life near his family, then you might as well insult me and millions and millions of other people.”

  They stared at each other. His fingers were growing numb from the cold. Goose bumps rose on her arms. The air between them fogged from heavy breaths despite the fact that they were stand
ing still.

  He wanted to shake her. Instead, he kissed her.

  A deep, possessive kiss, complete with gnashing teeth and plundering tongues. A kiss meant to change her mind . . . or at least make her doubt her hasty decision. His heart beat faster, desperate to hold on to this bond.

  She broke the spell when she pulled away. With her cheek pressed to his chest, she begged, “Logan, if you care about me, let me go now.”

  He touched her hair and shoulders, and then let his arms fall to his side. Inside something broke and sapped the fight out of him. “If that’s what you wish.”

  “Trust me, this is not my wish. But my wish would change something essential about you, and I can’t want that.” She smiled and searched his face as if memorizing it. “Thank you for . . . all of it. I’ll catch a ride home with my parents tonight, okay?” She turned to go back inside, then stopped. Without looking back, she said, “I hope you get the story you’ve been searching for in Lesbos, Logan. And know I’ll be praying for your safe return.”

  She flung open the French door and disappeared inside. It clicked shut behind her, leaving him out in the cold.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Claire nodded while Mrs. Brewster droned on indecisively about her exhaustive list of pros and cons when comparing the Calacatta gold marble to the jade-green onyx for the countertops in her bathroom. “I just can’t decide. What would you do, Claire?”

  Standing in the dusty, empty space that Steffi had just demolished, Claire forced herself to focus on the project. And, good God, if this decision took so much time, she prayed that Mrs. Brewster didn’t begin to second-guess the choices she’d made about drawer pulls and fixtures. “White is classic and timeless, so if you think you might downsize in five or seven years, this will hold up better for potential buyers. But I think you actually like the elegance of the jade tone, so you might be happier every day surrounded by this one.”