The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,115
text she read. When she’d finished, she clicked on the attachment, stunned by the portrait of herself captured through his eyes.
He’d sent it almost two hours ago. Was he waiting for a reply even as she sat there rereading the note? A love note. After all the secret love letters she’d written to him and stuffed under her bed as a teen, Logan Prescott had finally sent her one.
She glanced at the clock, then whirled around and went to the bookshelf to retrieve the scrapbook he’d discovered weeks ago. Her heart raced, pumping hope and life through her limbs. She felt so full of them she almost forgot to grab Rosie on her way out the door.
Logan woke with a start. Neither hot nor uncomfortable, he blinked, stretching out against cool sheets. It took a disoriented second to remember he wasn’t in Lesbos or Greece but at home, surrounded by the comfort of air-conditioning and potable water. Within the next few seconds, he became aware of a presence—a sound—that didn’t belong.
Someone had entered his apartment.
With limbs still heavy from an incomplete nap, he slid out of bed and crept toward the open bedroom door, then froze.
Claire stood at the kitchen island with her back to him. She’d set something on the counter, then turned and noticed him. “Hi.”
“Claire.” His heart slowed, and he was grateful he had the doorjamb to lean against. After so many weeks away, his greedy eyes scanned her from head to toe as hope boiled over. “Your hair! It’s your normal shade.”
She ran her hand through it uncertainly. “I decided to just be myself.”
“I like it better.” He hesitated, somewhat unsure of how to proceed. “You came to Manhattan alone?”
“Apparently miracles happen.” A smile flickered, then she held up a key, which she set on the counter. “We still had this from doing the work.”
He stepped into the living room, wanting to rush to her, but he’d already pushed Claire enough this spring. He had to let her set the pace. He gestured around the room. “It turned out even better than your drawings. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She stayed frustratingly still at her spot by the island. Her expression seemed conflicted, even as her gaze studied his face. He kept staring, searching for a hint of her intention. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s fine. I’m glad to see you.” His heart pulsed in his throat. Screw it, he had to say what he felt. “The one thing that was missing from this place is finally here.”
Her breath caught and she licked her lips. “I got your email . . . I had to come . . .”
He didn’t wait to hear more. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and pulled her into a kiss. The kiss he’d been dreaming about for weeks. One that would tell her everything he hadn’t said but should’ve. Everything he felt and had only recently begun to understand. Everything. Everything. Everything.
They broke apart to catch a breath, but she held him tightly, her cheek pressed to his chest. “I missed you, Logan. I thought of you every day. Cursed myself for how I walked away.”
“Don’t do that. You were brave and honest about your feelings. I was the coward. You’d tried new things for me, but I never once bent for you. Never told you what you deserved to hear. You were right to leave me standing on that patio. If you hadn’t, I might not have realized what I’d lost. And, Claire, I don’t want to lose you.”
He dabbed a tear trailing from her eye.
“Honest, but not brave. I’m getting better, though.” She turned away and grabbed the binder she’d brought—the catalog of gun violence. “And to prove it, I thought maybe we could get rid of this and buy a new scrapbook, like you’d suggested. One to fill with new ideas and adventures that we do together.”
“I love that plan.” He tossed the old binder to the floor, letting its heavy thud reverberate throughout the apartment. He cupped her face for another kiss, then said, “I already bought one thing that can go on the first page.”
Holding up a finger, he then went to the kitchen cabinets beside the stove and opened his junk drawer to withdraw an envelope. He waved it overhead before tossing it on the counter and walking back to Claire. “Tickets to the US Open.”