The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,99

Something new and different from anything I’ve had with other women. Please don’t push me away so soon.”

Her eyes were watery. “You say things like that and it breaks my heart, because I want to believe that there is something big enough here to bridge the gap between the different things we want from life.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and spoke in hushed but urgent tones. “We won’t know if you won’t give us more time.”

She held his face in her hands. “I’m almost thirty-one. I’d like to have a family. I can’t waste time when the odds are so long.”

He broke away and took a few steps across the porch, raising his hand in the air. “So what, you’re going to hang out here and settle for someone like Ben Lockwood?”

“Settle?” She scowled. “Ben is a fine, fine man, Logan.”

“You know what I mean.” He’d been pissed at Ben since he’d returned to town. He’d blamed it on Ben’s anti-Peyton stance but now had to admit it partly came from jealousy that he’d had such an important place in Claire’s life.

“No, actually, I don’t. If you’re insulting him for building a quiet life near his family, then you might as well insult me and millions and millions of other people.”

They stared at each other. His fingers were growing numb from the cold. Goose bumps rose on her arms. The air between them fogged from heavy breaths despite the fact that they were standing still.

He wanted to shake her. Instead, he kissed her.

A deep, possessive kiss, complete with gnashing teeth and plundering tongues. A kiss meant to change her mind . . . or at least make her doubt her hasty decision. His heart beat faster, desperate to hold on to this bond.

She broke the spell when she pulled away. With her cheek pressed to his chest, she begged, “Logan, if you care about me, let me go now.”

He touched her hair and shoulders, and then let his arms fall to his side. Inside something broke and sapped the fight out of him. “If that’s what you wish.”

“Trust me, this is not my wish. But my wish would change something essential about you, and I can’t want that.” She smiled and searched his face as if memorizing it. “Thank you for . . . all of it. I’ll catch a ride home with my parents tonight, okay?” She turned to go back inside, then stopped. Without looking back, she said, “I hope you get the story you’ve been searching for in Lesbos, Logan. And know I’ll be praying for your safe return.”

She flung open the French door and disappeared inside. It clicked shut behind her, leaving him out in the cold.

Chapter Eighteen

Claire nodded while Mrs. Brewster droned on indecisively about her exhaustive list of pros and cons when comparing the Calacatta gold marble to the jade-green onyx for the countertops in her bathroom. “I just can’t decide. What would you do, Claire?”

Standing in the dusty, empty space that Steffi had just demolished, Claire forced herself to focus on the project. And, good God, if this decision took so much time, she prayed that Mrs. Brewster didn’t begin to second-guess the choices she’d made about drawer pulls and fixtures. “White is classic and timeless, so if you think you might downsize in five or seven years, this will hold up better for potential buyers. But I think you actually like the elegance of the jade tone, so you might be happier every day surrounded by this one.”

She held the green square at arm’s length. Then she thought of Logan, as she’d done nonstop for the past three days. Not only did the onyx resemble his eyes, but he’d never call it green or even jade—not when it contained cream veins and gold flecks, too.

“They’re both so expensive.” Mrs. Brewster pressed her hand to her mouth. The light coming through the single large window behind her shone through her thinning hair, which she’d teased into a sort of curly crown. “I don’t want to make the wrong decision.”

“There is no wrong decision. Both are pretty.” Claire tipped her head. “The onyx is slightly more feminine and unique. Some men might not like it, but you don’t have to make that compromise.”

“Oh, Harold.” When Mrs. Brewster sighed, her eyes turned misty even though her husband had passed almost two years ago. “Maybe I should get the white because he would’ve liked it better.”

Love like that—pure and eternal—did exist for some. If Claire