The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound Book 1)

by Jamie Beck

  Claire would rather expose her scars in the middle of Sanctuary Sound’s town green than start this conversation with Steffi, here in the privacy of the 1940s bungalow that had exacerbated their remodeling company’s financial troubles. She’d smugly dismissed her father’s warnings about the hazards of going into business with a friend, certain their friendship could weather any dispute. After all, they’d managed a workable solution to the Peyton problem when she couldn’t have imagined anything more difficult. Apparently, her imagination hadn’t worked hard enough. This new test proved that a personal bond was exactly what made partnership conflicts so sticky.

  Before taking her seat, she leaned Rosie—her rosewood-and-ivory cane—against an empty chair at the farmhouse dining table. Overhead, she heard Steffi’s boyfriend, Ryan, his heavy footfall on the bathroom tile, followed by the sound of the waterfall showerhead at full blast.

  While watching Steffi pour them each a mug of hot chocolate, Claire inventoried the recently renovated interior for the millionth time. They’d tested six blends of “Espresso” and “Jacobean” stain before settling on the darkest one used for all the floors. A gray glass-tile backsplash and white quartzite counters had been splurges. The assortment of modern lines and rustic, antique finishes might inspire a Town & Country feature but didn’t quell her mixed feelings about the fiscally irresponsible project.

  “Did you highlight your hair this morning?” Steffi grabbed a can of whipped cream from the refrigerator. “Strawberry blonde’s so chic.”

  “Thanks.” She self-consciously threaded her fingers through the front of her hair without admitting that the impulsive decision had more to do with Peyton’s impending return than with a true desire to be stylish.

  When Peyton had graced the town with her presence eighteen months ago, she’d bewitched Claire’s then boyfriend, Todd, who dumped Claire to run off with Peyton on her travel-writing adventures. Betrayal by a man sucked. Betrayal by a man and a former bestie—although Peyton obviously hadn’t been a true friend—was excruciating.

  In truth, Claire could admit that most women were more venturesome than her. The lame hip and chronic pain put her high-adventure days in the rearview mirror. No more tennis. No hiking. Even dancing could be iffy on a cold, damp night. And travel? No new city or country would be worth the risk of another life-altering event.

  So, having long ago learned to accept facts and move on, Claire had declared good riddance to both Peyton and Todd, thankful she wouldn’t have to face them again.

  She’d never dreamed Peyton would come home to live, even if only temporarily. Claire didn’t have a new boyfriend, which meant the only thing left for Peyton to steal this time around was her pride. But that could happen. At the very least, her arrival would stir up dust and make Claire the subject of more gossip. She hated being the center of attention almost as much as she hated brussels sprouts. Peyton’s return would also bring her brother, Logan—the star of Claire’s teenage fantasies—to town. The last time she’d seen him, she’d stammered and scampered away. The recollection made her hot—in a bad way.

  The next time she saw him or Peyton, she’d be prepared.

  Determined to be on equal footing with the golden-haired goddess, Claire had dyed her hair. Silly? Sure. But in the heat of the moment, it had made perfect sense. Then she’d remembered Peyton’s current battle with breast cancer—and lack of any hair—and derided herself for petty thoughts.

  Claire smoothed one hand across the waxed surface of the dining table. This bargain find—a benefit of having lived her entire adult life within a ten-mile radius of home and knowing every local craftsman—had been a coup. Claire smiled, picturing Steffi, Ryan, and his daughter, Emmy, carving the holiday roast and blowing out birthday candles at this table.

  Steffi carried a tray with the mugs and whipped cream into the dining room and set it on the table, then handed a mug to Claire. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” She inhaled a whiff of chocolate, then gently blew into the cup to cool the beverage. “Looks like you’re almost finished unpacking.”

  “Can’t believe how long it’s taking, but I can’t complain.” Steffi sat down, slung her dark hair into a low ponytail, and rolled back the sleeves of one of Ryan’s BC LAW sweatshirts. “Sometimes I wake up and need to pinch myself. I never dreamed I could be this in love again and living out my childhood dreams.”

  Claire reached across the table and squeezed Steffi’s hand. “I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  She was. Mostly.

  Steffi and Ryan had overcome a lot of mistakes and worked through Steffi’s violent assault to get to this place. They’d earned their happiness, which was why Claire had agreed to take on this project and let them buy the house at practically no profit. Her dad hadn’t been wrong about the complications of mixing friendship with business, but she could hardly regret this choice.

  “Thanks.” Steffi’s gaze strayed from Claire’s open laptop to Rosie and back to Claire’s face. Her golden-brown eyes radiated sympathy as she patted Claire’s hand. “I want you to be happy, too. Ryan has a cute colleague . . .”

  “I am happy.” Claire withdrew her hand. Totally true, although that didn’t mean a little pang didn’t squeeze her heart now and then from the way her own love life had fizzled. Not fizzled. Exploded—or imploded?—or, more accurately, absconded.

  But she’d moved on—really, she had. She’d removed all traces of Todd from her life and no longer dwelled on imagining him with horns and green eyes. For a while, that had been her favorite pastime. She’d done it so often that she’d sort of forgotten what he really looked like.

  Now, most nights she collapsed into bed, eager to read a good book after a long, productive day. Only occasional odd moments unlocked that bleak, frosty spot in her chest that ached as much as her hip, like when watching diaper commercials or when decorating a nursery or when watching The Notebook.

  Steffi offered a smile, then cracked her knuckles.

  Enough about Peyton and Todd and my nonexistent love life.

  “I’ll be happier when we sort out our financial problems.” Claire snatched the whipped cream and shook it hard before layering three full rotations of foamy, chilled sweetness atop her cocoa. See? Simple pleasures made a good life. “All the time spent on this project kept us from making money on other projects. At the moment, my small decorating jobs aren’t paying enough to keep us both employed and pay our bills.”

  “Bigger reno projects will start up soon. People generally don’t choose to live through construction during the winter.” Steffi cast a glance through the French doors to the snowy backyard where young Emmy was building an igloo.

  The scene transported Claire back to the time before her injury, when she’d been carefree, dragging her toboggan up Nob Hill, battling in neighborhood snowball fights, and snuggling up in the window seat near the hearth of her parents’ home with a mug of cocoa while watching giant flakes swirl to the ground. The pleasant memories spread bittersweet warmth through her chest.

  Steffi sighed. “I know the business took one on the chin so Ryan and I could afford this house. I swear I’ll make that up to you.”

  “It’s not about favors, Steffi. We veered from our original business plan for this project, and to take on a small crew. Now we need to be strategic. Let’s go back to our plan to rent retail space to help drive business. To do that, we need more money ASAP. I’m not complaining, but we’ve been so consumed with this project that we haven’t found any new leads in the past few weeks, nor have we gained any traction with our website or social media.” Claire closed her eyes and massaged her temples. Neither of these things eased her stress the way a good junk food binge would, but Steffi hadn’t put cookies out, so this was her best option.

  When she heard Steffi add more whipped cream to her mug, she opened her eyes and peered across the table. Steffi had fallen silent while sipping her cocoa, but her constipated expression snagged Claire’s attention.

 
“What are you thinking?” Claire dropped her hands to the table.

  Steffi shook her head, waving one hand willy-nilly. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Is there another bill or problem I’m not aware of?”

  “No.” Steffi inhaled and held her breath, then exhaled slowly. “I know of one project that would not only make a sweet profit but let you really stretch your talent. ‘Sky’s the limit’ kind of budget.”

  Claire straightened her spine and cocked her head. “Sounds amazing. So what’s the catch?”

  “Trust me, you won’t take it. Let’s move on.” Steffi spooned a scoop of whipped cream into her mouth. “Molly says that Mrs. Brewster was thinking of remodeling her master bath.”

  Mrs. Brewster’s late husband had left her comfortably well-off, but you’d never know it. She clipped every single coupon available to mankind—Claire had been behind her at the grocery store more than once. She put only two dollars in the collection basket at church each week, despite having enough money to leave more. And she gave out bite-size candy at Halloween. Bite-size!

  “We can’t rely on Ryan’s mom as our major source of leads, and Mrs. Brewster spending big bucks on a remodel sounds improbable. She probably only used that line to try to get Molly to give her some kind of scoop about our business.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Don’t make me beg. If you have a solution, I won’t dismiss it out of hand, I promise. I’m not an idiot. We need an injection of income. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the doors open.”

  Steffi went still, her chin just above the mug held midair. “Whatever it takes?”

  Claire’s spine prickled in warning, but she motioned “Let’s have it” with both hands.

  Steffi set down her mug and flattened both hands on the table. She sucked in her lips like she was thinking of a clever way to share what she knew. “How would you like to redecorate a high-end condo in Chelsea?”

  “In the city?” Claire’s whole body prickled painfully at the thought of putting herself in the midst of that type of chaos and danger. She’d already been a random victim of one madman. Manhattan teemed with crazies, not the least of which were the people who drove their cars like missiles. “Who in the heck would hire us instead of any of the premier designers there?”

  Steffi met Claire’s gaze. “Logan.”

  Claire’s breath hitched. Her blood thickened as it pulsed through her veins and overheated her body. Tingles and terror all at once—a sensation she both loved and loathed. Yeah, she had her own mental problems. Maybe she belonged in New York, too. “No.”

  “You just said you’d do whatever it takes.”

  “Not that. Never that.” Claire didn’t need to look into a mirror to know that her fair, lightly freckled cheeks now looked like someone had smeared them with ripe strawberries.

  “Just as I suspected.” Steffi shrugged nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just pulled the pin from a grenade and dropped it on the table. “So that leaves us a little tight until the spring. We can work on updating our website and amp up a social media presence. I just read an article . . .”

  Claire heard Steffi talking, but her words ran together like white noise. Her brain was stuck back on the idea of working with—no—for Logan Prescott. His ploy was so obvious she could laugh. Did he really think he could buy her forgiveness for his sister? Well, Claire would never, ever forgive Peyton. Not even if the woman’s gorgeous brother paid her a million dollars to renovate his condo.

  The very condo Peyton had moved into while undergoing chemo because Todd had dumped her when she got sick. Sure, Todd was a real shit, but Claire had learned that a year earlier. His leaving served Peyton right for breaking a cardinal rule of friendship. Eyes closed, Claire pressed her palm to her hot cheek, silently asking for forgiveness for yet another ugly thought.

  “Claire? Did you hear anything I said?” Steffi turned her hands out in question.

  “Sorry.” She rubbed the scowl from her forehead. “I’ll find another way to make us money and turn up new leads. Working with Logan is a hard no.”

  “Too bad. You’d have so much fun decorating his place. I’m sure he’d let you do whatever you wanted. He doesn’t care all that much because he’s not there often.”

  Of course he wasn’t. Only a Prescott would own a multimillion-dollar property that sat vacant as often as it was occupied.

  Their family’s legacy stemmed from their great-grandfather’s famed body of literature. The Prescott mystique—and coastal home here in town—was like something out of The Great Gatsby. Logan, like his sister, had chosen a career that let him jet-set around the world. Documentary photographer sounded cool. Suited him. He’d always been an interesting mix of adventurer, sensitivity, and artist. Not that she paid too much attention to his comings and goings.

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “Did I call you one?” Steffi had the gall to look stunned.

  “This has Peyton’s paw prints all over it. I’d bet my last penny that she planted this seed. I don’t know what I hate more, that she did it, that you took the bait, or that she knows how desperate for money we are.”

  “This isn’t a conspiracy. I happened to lament to them that I felt bad about putting you in this situation because of this home. Logan tossed out the idea on the spot.”

  “I can’t deal with the strings that would come with his offer.” Except now Claire couldn’t focus on anything else because thinking about Logan took up all the space in her head and chest. If Peyton hadn’t stolen Todd, she would’ve been thrilled to work closely with Logan. Not that she would’ve been free to act on the kind of desire he inspired. Of course, she never had acted on it, even when she’d been free. Any attempt would be in vain, anyway. The hawkish way he stared at her turned her into a ninny around him and—oh, just no. “I thought you finally understood that.”

  “I do. That’s why I wasn’t going to say anything.” Steffi crossed her arms. “You forced me to tell you.”

  True enough. Logan’s image flickered through Claire’s mind again, poking at the tender spot of her pointless, girlish longing, like always.

  She’d memorized his face so long ago. Sandy-blond hair, worn in lengths ranging from shaggy to shoulder-length just to annoy his father. Piercing green eyes fringed with thick lashes and framed with straight brows. Cheekbones carved to perfection. A patrician profile that befitted his family’s prominence, and a surprisingly generous smile. Logan Alder Prescott. Even the sound of his name belonged on a lighted marquee.

  From their very first meeting, when she’d barely been thirteen years old, she’d concocted many adolescent fantasies about him professing his secret love for her. He did fulfill her fervent wish for him to be her first kiss. He hadn’t known that part—at least she hoped he hadn’t. She’d been fifteen, but he’d kissed her only because he felt sorry for her after her surgery. Just thinking of his gentle lips made her pelvic area throb as if the bullet was striking anew.

  She shook her head, dislodging all thoughts of Logan. “I’ll catch up with Mrs. Brewster and try to coax her into letting us pitch a proposal for her bathroom. But we have to scrape together funds to advertise, update the website, and you need to find some reno work for us. Promise me we’ll earmark new revenue for cheap retail space—”

  A knock at the door interrupted her monologue.

  Ryan called down, “Steffi, can you get that? I’m not finished dressing.”

  “Sure.” Steffi held up her index finger, silently asking for Claire’s patience, before she rose from the table and disappeared around the corner.

  Claire added another dollop of whipped cream to her last bit of cocoa and another splotch to lick off her finger. From the other room, she heard Steffi’s surprised voice say, “Oh, we didn’t expect you so early.”

  “Hope that’s not a problem,” Logan replied in his unmistakable baritone.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2016 Lorah Haskins

  National bestselling a
uthor Jamie Beck’s realistic and heartwarming stories have sold more than one million copies. She’s a 2017 Booksellers’ Best Award finalist, and critics at Kirkus Reviews, Publishers Weekly, and Booklist have respectively called her work “smart,” “uplifting,” and “entertaining.” In addition to writing novels, she enjoys dancing around the kitchen while cooking as well as hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family. Fans can learn more about her on her website, www.jamiebeck.com, which includes a fun “Extras” page with photos, videos, and playlists. She also loves interacting with everyone on Facebook at www.facebook.com/JamieBeckBooks.