The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,65
she believed him soon enough. He led her upstairs, curious to see what else he could convince her of before the night was over.
Chapter Twelve
Claire woke with a start and glanced to her left. If she weren’t naked, and if the empty side of her bed weren’t a tumble of blankets and pillows, she would’ve thought it’d all been a dream.
Logan must’ve left before dawn, which was for the best. Strolling into Arcadia House midmorning would’ve invited questions from Peyton and his parents. Claire couldn’t bear that scrutiny. This way, the reckless thing they’d done would remain their secret.
She’d never had secrets before, but now she’d grown weary of people’s pity. And pity would be what others would feel for her if they found out about her night with Logan. In no universe would anyone believe she could be more than a passing infatuation for him. Even within his own “fluid” world, she’d be a fluke.
Last night he’d almost made her believe otherwise with tender words and touches, and scorching kisses. Now, with no note or other sign of him, she remembered why she’d been hesitant to follow her heart. Still, she couldn’t make herself regret what she’d done. The reality of her long-held fantasy had exceeded her imagination.
A noise from downstairs caused her to bolt upright midyawn. Sliding out of bed to pull on her robe, she then tiptoed across the room.
Did she smell bacon? She cracked open the door. Yes, that was bacon . . . and Logan humming something unfamiliar. She padded down the stairs and wandered to the kitchen, where she found him drinking a cup of coffee in his snug boxer briefs while flipping an omelet.
The sight of his near nakedness—the indents of his six-pack—brought back vivid memories of licking his torso and grabbing hold of his tight behind while he’d—
“Good morning.” He smiled lazily.
She stood, frozen. “What are you doing?”
He set his cup down and turned off the stove. After coming over to give her a quick kiss, he pulled out a kitchen stool for her and forced her onto it. “I thought you might be hungry.”
She remained dazed by the unexpected sight of him cooking—like she’d awakened in some alternate world. Slowly the reality dawned, and the scrutiny of others would follow. “Thank you, but, I mean, why are you still here?”
He poured her a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter. “Where else would I be?”
“Having breakfast with your family.”
“You’re not making any sense. Have some caffeine.” He cut the omelet in half and then plated her half beside buttered toast. “Eat.”
Mindlessly, she obeyed, unprepared for the delightful burst of butter, bacon, and cheese that melted in her mouth. “This is awesome, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He kissed her head and sat beside her, which was when she noticed her media scrapbook on the peninsula.
“What’s this doing here?” She reached for it, but he stuck out his hand to prevent her from taking it.
“I found it on the bookshelf. The spine piqued my interest.” His finger traced along where she’d written “Smoking Guns” in calligraphy, then he opened the binder’s cover. “Quite a collection of news clippings, Claire. Now I understand how you’re so well informed about gun-violence stats. Morbid, though, don’t you think?”
She glowered at him. “You should ask before you snoop into people’s private things.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t look terribly sorry, though. “But now that I’ve seen it, can you tell me about this unhealthy obsession?”
Morbid. Unhealthy. Not the words she’d use to describe her interest in the rapid rise of gun violence. As horrible as these incidents were, she needed to dissect them and try to understand why they kept happening. These clippings helped her search for patterns or explanations to better predict when and where such atrocities might occur. They helped her write persuasive letters to politicians about gun control. They gave her some sense, however illusory, that she could exert some kind of control.
Not that it worked. Not yet, anyway. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“Could this hobby be keeping you from getting past your fear?”
“Facts are facts. Even if I didn’t collect these reports, I’d still see them in the news. Violence is everywhere and getting worse. Any reasonable person should be wary, considering the statistics.” Her appetite fled—a first!
He studied her, his green eyes lit with compassionate determination. “Let’s start a new scrapbook. One filled with pictures of places you want to visit. People you admire or want to meet. Anything positive and life affirming.”