The Great Gatsby. Logan, like his sister, had chosen a career that let him jet-set around the world. Former fashion photographer turned documentary photographer. Cool jobs. Suited to his enchanting mix of charmer, adventurer, activist, and artist. Not that she paid too much attention to his comings and goings.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Did I call you one?” Steffi had the gall to look stunned.
“This has Peyton’s paw prints all over it. I’d bet my last penny that she put him up to it. I don’t know what I hate more—that she did it, that you took the bait, or that she knows we’re desperate for money.”
“It’s not a conspiracy. I mentioned that I felt bad about putting you in this situation because of this home. Logan tossed out the idea on the spot.”
“I can’t deal with the strings that would come with his offer.” Except now Claire couldn’t focus on anything else because thinking about Logan took up all the space in her head. If Peyton hadn’t stolen Todd, Claire might’ve pounced on a chance to work closely with Logan. Of course, then she wouldn’t have been free to act on her desire. Not that she had ever acted on it before Todd, either. The hawkish way Logan could stare at her turned her to jelly around him and—oh, just no. “I thought you finally understood that.”
“I do. That’s why I wasn’t going to say anything.” Steffi crossed her arms. “You forced me to tell you.”
True enough. Logan’s image flickered through Claire’s mind again, poking at the tender spot of her pointless longing, like always.
She’d memorized his face so long ago, during the countless hours she’d hung out at his house with Peyton and Steffi. Sandy-blond hair, worn in lengths ranging from shaggy to shoulder-length, which had the added bonus of annoying his father. Piercing green eyes that glowed like phosphorous in the dark. A patrician profile that befitted his family’s prominence. All that and a surprisingly generous smile. Logan Alder Prescott. Even the sound of his name belonged on a lighted marquee.
From their very first meeting, when she’d barely been thirteen years old, she’d concocted adolescent fantasies about him professing his secret love for her. He had fulfilled her wish for him to be her first kiss. He hadn’t known that wish part—at least she hoped he hadn’t. She’d been fifteen, but he’d kissed her only because he felt sorry for her after her surgeries. Just thinking of his gentle lips made her pelvic area throb as if the bullet were striking anew.
She shook her head, dislodging all thoughts of Logan. “I’ll catch up with Mrs. Brewster and pitch a proposal for her bathroom. But we also have to scrape together funds to advertise and update the website, and you need to scare up reno work pronto. Promise me we’ll earmark new revenue toward retail space—”
A knock at the door interrupted her monologue.
Ryan called downstairs, “Steffi, can you get that? I’m not finished dressing.”
“Sure.” Steffi held up her index finger, silently begging for Claire’s patience, before she rose from the table and disappeared around the corner.
Claire added another dollop of whipped cream to her last bit of cocoa plus a spray to the tip of her finger, grateful for her superhuman metabolism. From the other room, she heard Steffi’s surprised voice say, “Oh, we didn’t expect you so early.”
“Hope that’s not a problem,” replied Logan, in his unmistakable baritone.
Claire choked, spewing bits of whipped cream and cocoa across the table. She grabbed at paper napkins to start cleaning up, which was impossible while her vision blurred.
Logan noticed Steffi’s jaw twitch. She remained still in the doorway except for a quick glance over her shoulder. He couldn’t stop a stupid grin from forming when he realized he might’ve just cock blocked his buddy Ryan. “Am I interrupting?”
She batted his shoulder while rolling her eyes, although he noted tension tightening her smile. “No . . . Ryan’s upstairs dressing.”
Uh-huh. As he’d suspected. He guessed those two had a lot of catching up to do. They’d been gaga for each other back in high school, but he never would’ve believed Ryan could forgive her for ghosting him in college. If Ryan could forgive Steffi, then Logan could hope that, one day, Claire might forgive Peyton.
In his ragtag circles, loyalty was a rather flexible concept . . . as was friendship. What his sister had done to Claire, however, had shocked him, given the history of the Lilac Lane League. But he loved his