The Promise of Us

by Beck, Jamie

  He’d stood by her always, even when she’d made terrible decisions, like when she’d hurt her childhood friend Claire over that idiot Todd. Logan had also moved her into his home and taken months off work to be there, day and night, so that she wouldn’t be alone during chemo. And without him she would’ve been utterly alone after having alienated her friends for the love of a man who’d made off like the Road Runner when she shared her diagnosis.

  Logan tugged at her earlobe. “Are you sure I can’t take you to JFK tomorrow?”

  “No thanks.” She hugged the book to her stomach, which fluttered every time she thought of taking off on the weeks-long European promotional tour that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. “At least a car service gets paid for sitting in hours’ worth of traffic. I’m already too indebted to you. Besides, I’ll need some downtime before I meet Mitchell and take off for Rome.”

  She’d looked Mitchell up on LinkedIn and then banged her forehead on her desk a few times. Just her luck to be hitched to a guy who was not only great at his job but also good-looking. Like, wow-level handsome, with gobs of gorgeous hair. Ever since she’d lost all hers, she noticed other people’s hair before any other feature.

  She missed her prechemo hair—a beautifully blonde, long, silky curtain she’d used to flirt or hide or distract. Baldness had been a special kind of hell and, in some ways, made her a stranger to herself. Vanity was another of her flaws; she knew this. But having been born with her father’s high cheekbones and blue eyes and her mother’s lean figure, she’d been turning heads since puberty.

  Her looks had defined her as much as anything else. Now she still carried a few unwanted pounds of postchemo bloat, and her still-too-short, newly wavy hair didn’t fit her, somehow. It wasn’t terrible, just wrong. And there was no hiding . . . or flirting. But, hey, she was still breathing, and that mattered most.

  On the other hand, Mitchell’s hair fit him perfectly. A rich chestnut mane that had to have a natural wave or cowlick in order to achieve that kind of high flow in his bangs. And those eyes, also brown, with an elongated shape and apparent alertness. She couldn’t imagine how they’d affect her in person. His brows were thick like his hair—his lips, full yet firm looking. The serious expression in his profile photo matched her all-business impression of him, which she’d based on what little email communication they’d had to date.

  Hallelujah for that, though. The absence of friendly banter was the only thing that made her willing to take this trip with him. At this early point in her recovery, she couldn’t cope with, much less encourage, the tingly feelings of desire.

  Not that Mitch would be interested in her. Chemo hair aside, even if she were ready to dip her toes back in the dating world, Mitch Mathis would have far better options than someone with her particular scars. After reading her memoir—with her erratic mental state and all the images of her double mastectomy filling its pages—he couldn’t possibly find her attractive.

  “If I weren’t going to Peru next week to photograph Inti Raymi, I’d come with you.” Logan sighed.

  “It’s fine.” She stroked the book jacket. “I know this is our collaboration, but it’s my story. I’m the one that has to sell it. The only one who can answer reader questions. I’ll be fine.”

  “Still, you know I’d come along for emotional support if I could.” He pulled his foot up over his knee.

  He would, but she couldn’t keep relying on him. He’d already rearranged his life for her and played an important role in helping her begin to mend fences with Claire. She trusted him implicitly, which was why she’d agreed to the crazy project in the first place.

  From the beginning, their far-flung venture had seemed more of an impossible dream than anything else, until the arrival of the author copies sealed her fate.

  “Spend your free time with your new fiancée.” She pushed at his foot. “You’re officially fired from this babysitting job.”

  He smiled again, a content kind of smile, particular to his feelings for Claire. Peyton wouldn’t have bet on that opposites-attract relationship, but her brother had fallen hard. Proof that dreams can come true, though, given Claire’s long-standing crush on him.

  “You’ll be back for the engagement party, right?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” These days Peyton was grateful for every breath she drew and every celebration she could share with any of the people she loved, including some of her mom’s tedious parties. “I’ll be back a week ahead.”

  He winked. “I’m relieved things with you and Claire are getting better.”

  Peyton nodded, although her insides still recoiled at the memory of how she’d betrayed her childhood friend. “She still doesn’t confide in me, but things are comfortable now rather than merely polite.”

  “I’m just glad not to be caught in the middle of two women I love anymore.” Logan then craned his neck in the direction of their father’s crystal carafe of bourbon. “Shall we break into Dad’s stash and toast to our success?”

  She welcomed a change of subject. “Sure.”

  “No reason to wait for Mom and Dad, right?” He pushed himself out of the chair and poured the amber liquid two fingers deep into two glasses before handing one tumbler to her.

  “Nope.” Their mother had not been supportive of the project, having considered it airing “dirty laundry” to the world. Never mind the philanthropic mission or the fact that Peyton and Logan had put in excruciating hours of work. She doubted her mom even had bothered to read the advance copy.

  Logan stared at Duck’s Pulitzer and then looked back at her while raising his glass. “To keeping the Prescott lit rep alive. Cheers.”

  The liquid burned its way down her throat. She rarely drank alcohol anymore, so its effect grabbed hold of her quickly, loosening her muscles one by one until her limbs felt soft and heavy and her mood pleasantly fuzzy. Then her phone pinged. She glanced at the text. Mitch.

  Checking in. Any last-minute questions or problems?

  “My taskmaster.” She chuckled, holding up the phone to show her brother.

  He patted her shoulder. “I’ll let you deal with that. Need to get back to Claire for dinner.” He finished his drink and stood. “Can I take a few copies?”

  “Of course. They’re half yours.” She certainly didn’t need twenty-four copies of that image staring at her, nor was she in any hurry to distribute them to anyone she knew.

  It wasn’t a lack of pride that stopped her. She’d worked her ass off on the book. Bled onto those pages. It was good work and she knew it. If she didn’t have to promote it, she’d be much happier, though. And the thought of friends and neighbors and strangers picking over her vulnerabilities made her want to vomit. This venture would have to raise a ton of money to make up for what she’d exposed.

  Logan smiled and snagged five books. “If you want to meet me for lunch tomorrow before you head down to the airport, shoot me a text.” Before breezing out of the office, he kissed her head. “Love you. Good luck.”

  “Bye.” She waited until he left and then set her book on the desk and sighed. Looking at her phone screen, she pictured Mitchell’s intense gaze and imagined him tapping his foot impatiently while awaiting her response. That made her smile.

  Cancer had changed a lot about her, but apparently it hadn’t killed the part that had always enjoyed keeping a man on the edge of his seat. After counting to ten “just because,” she replied.

  All set here. Not to brag, but I’ve been known to be a pretty good traveler. No need for hand-holding. :-)

  Not that, in another lifetime, she wouldn’t enjoy holding his hand.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth while waiting for the little dots to start dancing on the screen. They lit up almost immediately. Confirmation of his workaholic status. She grinned. Would he get the reference to her former career? Might he respond with something clever this time?

  Thanks for the reminder. Always enjoy working with a pro. See you tomorrow.


  She frowned, doubting he intended any kind of double entendre with that “pro” remark. Just as well. She really could not abide falling in lust with her publicist.

  That said, there was no reason not to dig into her old wardrobe and ditch the Birkenstocks for a couple of weeks. Maybe this trip to Europe was exactly what she needed now. A return to her natural habitat.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2016 Lorah Haskins

  National bestselling author Jamie Beck’s realistic and heartwarming stories have sold more than two million copies. She’s a Booksellers’ Best Award and a National Readers’ Choice Award finalist; and critics at Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, and Booklist have respectively called her work “smart,” “uplifting,” and “entertaining.” In addition to writing, she enjoys dancing around the kitchen while cooking and hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family.

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