The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,7
Logan had named him because of the way he’d often spoken to kids in a Donald Duck voice, practically founded the town. A Prescott had lived on Lilac Lane for ninety years. Logan should know. In less than two months, he’d be required to attend an annual fund-raiser to celebrate that fact and raise money for the local library’s literacy program.
Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Don’t pull the Prescott card, buddy. It doesn’t suit you.”
In some ways, it didn’t. He’d rather be admired for his own talent than the long shadow of his family name. While he’d had moderate success, he’d yet to produce a truly noteworthy project. This morning, however, Claire’s dismissal had thrown him out of sorts, although he couldn’t honestly say why it hurt him so much.
It wasn’t like he saw her often. She’d simply been part of his life here, like the rambling mansion his mother and father still called home, and Donna, the aging waitress at the diner who knew to bring him black coffee and coconut cream pie when he sat down, and the sense of peace he knew when kayaking on the Sound during the golden hours. “Sorry. Maybe I should go. Steffi’s likely to chew my head off, too.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Shut up and get inside. Her bark is worse than her bite. Besides, she planned a whole lunch thing.”
“She cooked?” Steffi Lockwood was not someone anyone would deem domestic.
“Takeout.” Ryan smiled and raised his index finger to his lips, forcing a chuckle from Logan. “Lasagna from Lucia’s.”
“Thank God coming home can still yield a few good surprises.” Logan smiled and headed for the door, noticing for the second time its canary-yellow appeal. A nice contrast to the Wedgwood-blue clapboard trimmed in cloud white.
It’d been a long time since he’d spent more than a few hours in Sanctuary Sound. When his sister first announced her wish to come home for her double mastectomy after the final round of chemo, he’d been skeptical. Her relationship with their parents was only slightly better than his own, and Peyton had burned some serious bridges last year. The sleepy town also wouldn’t offer much entertainment.
But a growing part of him had looked forward to catching up with old friends. He’d assumed that list included Claire, but apparently his last name had cost him that privilege. That left him with two choices: pursue his original plan or let her go.
The past six months had been a grueling challenge with Peyton, so how hard could one more battle be?
Chapter Two
Claire frowned, muttering to herself throughout the drive to her mother’s house. She jabbed the seat-heater button, but the lukewarm cushion scarcely melted her frozen behind. The humiliation of landing on her butt in front of Logan had stung a whole lot less than the crestfallen look in his eyes when he’d said, “Pity to learn it was all an act.”
She hated disappointing anyone, including him. The fact that she’d done so with false bravado, well . . . karma had swooped right in to make her pay.
Dicey roads and slippery thoughts made the drive treacherous enough without the added distraction of her phone pinging text messages. Steffi? Logan? A potential client? She couldn’t check while steering, but each ding sparked along a new nerve ending until she shook with frustration.
As soon as she parked in her parents’ driveway, she scrolled through Steffi’s messages.
10:42 a.m.: Sorry! Logan showed up an hour early.
10:43 a.m.: Are you okay? Text me so I know you’re all right. I promise finding new work will be my number one priority this week.
10:46 a.m.: What happened outside with Logan? He’s kinda sullen, and you and I both know that rarely happens.
10:50 a.m.: Logan asked if he should call you to apologize. Since I know you don’t want to deal with him, I said I’d pass along the message and you’d call if you wanted to talk to him. Here’s his number, in case you don’t have it: 203-555-9753.
Claire’s derisive snicker echoed off the windows of her car. As if she didn’t know Logan’s number. She didn’t even need to check her contacts. She’d memorized those digits when he’d been showing her his first iPhone back in 2008.
Sighing, she typed back:
It’s fine. I’m at my mom’s. Tell Logan
She hesitated and then deleted those last two words. Tell him what? She had nothing more to say. As much as she wished things hadn’t ended on a horrid note, she couldn’t pretend that they could pick up as