The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,89

this night would be okay. Better than okay. It might even be magical. She broke into a smile. “You’re awesome.”

“Claire, your bar is far too low, but I’m glad you haven’t realized that yet.” He kissed her hand and led her up the stairs.

Inside, the celebration was underway. No fewer than three hundred people milled around, while thousands of twinkling white lights entwined with gorgeous floral centerpieces sat high on clear stands. Crisp white-and-gold linens draped the tables topped with fine china, crystal, and gold chargers.

She’d attended this event many times in her life. Every other time, she’d watched from the sidelines as other couples danced and laughed. Just as often, she’d stewed with envy of whatever woman Logan had brought with him or flirted with, yet had savored any attention he’d thrown her way.

Tonight she would be at the receiving end of most of his attention. All for the admission price of eating at the same table as Peyton and enduring cockeyed glances from the people they both knew.

She stole another glance at Logan, who couldn’t look more handsome or make her feel more beautiful. The sacrifice was well worth it.

“How do you like your pain?” he asked.

“What?”

“Pain.” He raised a brow. “Do you like it quick, or would you rather delay the inevitable?”

Her scalp prickled with concern. “What are you talking about?”

He huffed a sigh. “Should we go say hello to my family now, or would you rather wait until we must see them at dinner?”

His family—the de facto hosts. People she’d once considered beloved neighbors and friends before a sea of discomfort had separated the past and the present. “Let’s say hello now, and then I need to find my parents.”

Her mom would be anxiously awaiting confirmation of her safe arrival, no doubt.

“Okay.” Logan laid his hand on her bare back as he led her around the outskirts of the main room.

They drew a few stares, but she didn’t care. She could hardly think about it because her brain was too busy enjoying the feel of his warm hand on her skin.

Logan craned his neck and located his parents in a corner of the main room, but Claire got lucky because Peyton was not with them.

“Mom, Dad, I made it . . . almost on time.” He gave a sharp nod.

Darla didn’t look at him as she threw out air-kisses, because she’d fixated on Claire with very round eyes.

“My word, Claire.” Darla reached out and hugged her—another discomforting surprise. “This color is perfect on you. I’m so glad you’re joining us tonight.” She then pinched her son’s cheek. “I wondered who your mystery woman was. Why were you keeping Claire a secret?”

“To avoid all the questions I see forming in your head,” came his smooth reply. He kissed his mother’s cheek and then shook his father’s hand. “Dad.”

“Logan.” Mr. Prescott smiled at Claire. “Lovely to see you, Claire. I understand you’re renovating Logan’s apartment.”

She knew from Logan that his father had been there only once. One time in almost a decade. He probably didn’t even remember what it looked like.

“I am. It’s been a great project. You’ll have to go visit when it’s complete. You won’t believe the change.”

“Maybe you two will invite us down for dinner one night,” Darla interjected, projecting ahead as if Logan and Claire were a real couple.

Claire would be flattered except she suspected Darla’s enthusiasm had more to do with what Claire’s dating Logan could mean for Peyton than for Logan. Either way she had to remind herself that that dinner would never come to pass.

Logan’s New York life wouldn’t include her, and not only because she doubted she’d feel comfortable leaving her little hamlet anytime soon after her near miss with that multicar pileup on I-91. She hoped her smile didn’t falter with that thought. Rather than wallow or make a joke, she nodded, playing along with the pretense.

Mrs. Prescott filled the silence with more chatter. “Peyton always said you could cook up a storm. I used to be jealous of your mom for being such a homemaker. But I got over it.” She chuckled. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses.”

“Speaking of Peyton, where is she?” Logan asked.

Claire’s muscles tensed all at once.

“Around somewhere,” his mother replied. “I don’t know that she’ll stay long. She’s still self-conscious about . . .” She vaguely gestured to her chest. “Even with the new wig.”

Claire’s grip on Rosie strengthened. She knew something about how Peyton felt. It took nothing to recall the earliest