The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,100
kept picking men like Todd and Logan, she’d never experience its power or joy.
Sympathy for Mrs. Brewster’s loss smoothed the ruffled feathers of Claire’s impatience. The poor woman probably felt alone in the world without her husband of fifty years. “I’m sure Harold would want you to pick whatever made you happiest.”
Mrs. Brewster touched Claire’s hand with her spindly one and smiled. “You’re right. He would. He was always eager to make me happy. Let’s go with the green one.”
“Perfect.” Claire threw the samples back in her bag before Mrs. Brewster had a chance to reconsider. “I’ll reserve a slab of this. Once the new floors and cabinetry are installed, they’ll come measure and make the template. It’ll take a couple of weeks to manufacture the counters. Steffi will give you plywood counters in the interim.”
“Oh, I know it’ll be a while. Stefanie told me four weeks or more. Hard to believe for this little space, but I know it’ll be worth it in the end.” She smiled, revealing a tooth smeared with a bit of poppy-red lipstick. “I’m using the hall bathroom anyway.”
“I promise, when we’re finished, this will be a wonderful little retreat.” Claire turned and began walking out of the bathroom and down the stairs. “I’ll email you some options for ornamental pieces you might like to place on the vanity or near the soaker tub. You let me know if you like anything.”
“I will.” Mrs. Brewster led her to the front door. “Thank you, dear. I’m so glad we’re doing this. I needed a little project to keep me busy and to have something fun to look forward to.”
“Thank you for hiring us. We’ll make sure you’re happy with the final result.” Claire waved, glad for her first whiff of fresh air in thirty minutes. She half thought Mrs. Brewster’s overly sweet floral perfume had seeped into her pores now, too. “Speak to you soon.”
When Mrs. Brewster closed the door, Claire strode to her car with a sigh, thinking of the mountain of details to sift through to complete Logan’s project. She also needed to design new social media ads with the updated website gallery pages. She’d been putting off these tasks for the past three days because any reminder of Logan physically hurt.
While she dug for her keys, her phone rang. “Hello?”
“Claire,” came Mr. Prescott’s familiar voice. She set her bag aside and gripped the steering wheel. “It’s Harrison Prescott.”
“How are you, Mr. Prescott?”
“Well, thank you. I’m following up on our brief discussion at the gala. You wouldn’t happen to have time now, would you? I find myself with a free hour, thanks to a last-minute cancellation.”
“Oh. Well, I . . .” Her heart kicked at her ribs, but then she scowled at herself. She might have given up on pitching him for this project, but who knew what other good might come of this meeting? If she impressed him, he might make introductions to associates with local projects. “Of course.”
“Great. Come to Arcadia. We can use my home office.”
She gulped. Was Logan at home? Peyton? Closing her eyes, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She punched off the phone, tipped back her head, and breathed through her nose. A second shot at rummaging through her purse produced her keys. Within the next few minutes, she found herself on the private end of Lilac Lane, her old stomping ground.
She hadn’t been to this house in more than two years. Nothing had changed, from what she could see. The elegant curve of its pea-stone driveway led her to the sprawling shingle-style mansion. She could see remnants of the old tree house that had been the Lilac Lane League clubhouse in a large oak tree near the edge of the lawn, although the ladder once nailed to its trunk no longer existed.
The architect and designers who’d built the imposing home, with its tall flagpole set to the side and handsome balustrades around the patios and porches, had created an American dream by the sea. Of course, apparently, it hadn’t been a dream life or family for Logan or Peyton, both of whom had taken off as soon as possible.
Every second since she’d ended things with Logan, she’d wondered how and where he was, and with whom was he doing whatever it was that he was doing. At present, she didn’t see his car on the property. Relief filled her lungs, then regret immediately deflated them.