The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,85
spent time with your dad?” She clutched the sofa cushion with both hands.
“And lived to tell the tale.” A sad joke, but apt.
“And you did it for me?” Her voice sounded so soft and surprised it actually made his heart hurt. She deserved nice things from him on a regular basis.
“Yes, for you.” He rubbed her thigh. “Although, honestly, I got more out of it than I expected. We’ve called a truce—at least temporarily. We’ll see how long it lasts.”
She tucked her chin, her eyes sparkling in every shade of blue, chuckling. “I’m speechless.”
“Well, I didn’t learn much. I know the name of the hotels and the cities they’re in—from Maine to Maryland—but it sounds like most of his improvement plans are operational. He wants to ‘freshen them up,’ but he’s not planning to take on structural renovations. At least not until the other things are running better.”
She shrugged, a wan smile where he’d hoped to see a brighter—or at least determined—one. “It’s probably for the best.”
“What?” He turned fully, his knees bumping her thighs. “I thought you were excited to pitch him. That’s why I spoke to him.”
“Thank you, and I was. But some things aren’t meant to be.” Her words sank beneath his skin, producing a pit in his stomach. She absently twisted one of her earrings and then stood. “I’m thirsty. Do you want something to drink?”
He followed her to the kitchen, where he saw an empty box of chocolate-covered pretzels on the counter. “Hang on. What’s really going on? You’re not acting like yourself.”
An expression he didn’t recognize dashed across her face before she opened the refrigerator to grab a pitcher of iced tea.
“The thing is, I am. I’m acting exactly like myself.” She poured two glasses and handed him one. “It’s these past weeks that I haven’t been myself.”
These past weeks that she’d spent with him? He shivered, and not because of the cold drink in his hand. “Is this your way of telling me you regret everything?”
She swallowed the sip she’d started while shaking her head. “I don’t regret any of it, but I got ahead of myself thinking I could handle your father’s project.”
“I’m not following. Is it the competition? ’Cause you’re talented enough to compete with any designer.”
“Logan, if my history proves anything, it’s that I’m not afraid of competition.” Her gaze lost focus, and he guessed she was remembering her fierce court presence. She glanced at her feet. “But after today, I have to respect my limits and take things slower.”
She limped back to the living room and sank onto the sofa.
“What happened today?” He crouched in front of her, setting his glass on the coffee table so he could rest his hands on her knees.
“It doesn’t matter.” She sipped more tea, rubbing her hip. He’d noticed it bothered her more often on rainy days.
“It does to me.” When he saw the misty sheen in her eyes, he took her glass and set it aside, then clasped her hands. “Don’t cry, Claire. Tell me what’s happened.”
“I don’t want to tell you.” She wrested her hands free and buried her face in them.
“Why not?” He waited. “Is it Peyton?”
She shook her head, refusing to look at him. “It’s all me, and it’s more humiliating than when you found my scrapbook.”
He’d botched handling his feelings about that fixation. Today he’d do better so she could confide in him.
“Tell me, please. I promise, I won’t think less of you.”
She splayed her fingers and peeked at him.
“Come on.” He pried her hands from her face and kissed her knuckles. “Trust me.”
“Fine.” She heaved a sigh. “I drove to a design center in Hartford to search for things for your condo. I got up there on my own and bought some great pieces. In fact, the purchase orders are in my bag, and Steffi will be starting to trim out the living room and paint after the gala, so you need to clear out whatever you aren’t keeping right away. She’ll cover everything else.”
“That’s great news.” He nearly leaped into the air from the fact that she’d driven herself to Hartford. But he didn’t want to get sidetracked by discussing that at the moment. “So why are you so upset?”
“Because . . .” She twined her fingers together in her lap and stared at them, tears forming again. “I couldn’t make it home. It started snowing when I left, and the traffic was three times as heavy. Cars were honking at me, my wipers made a