Cape Cod Promises: Love on Rockwell Island (3 page)

His younger brother Quinn walked into his office. He had become so relaxed since falling in love with Shelley and moving to the island that he actually looked like a different man. Especially today, his blue eyes shining with curiosity.

“So?” Quinn sat down on the leather couch and crossed an ankle over his knee. “I hear there was a basket from Reese in Shelley’s café this morning that wasn’t there last night when we left. Want to tell me how it got there?”

“Not really.” Talking about Reese would only make Trent think about her again.

“So we’re going with the basket-elves theory? That’s what Shelley thought you might want to do, too.”

“Quinn.” Trent ran his hand roughly over his face.

His brother’s teasing expression shifted to concern. “Was it that bad seeing Reese again?”

“No. It was that
good
.” Trent had been tortured all night long by how good it had been to have Reese back in his arms.

“I ran the old route to the dunes this morning,” he admitted. He hadn’t run that route since they’d split up, but after bumping into her last night, it was like his legs had carried him in that direction without any thought.

“And?”

“I still can’t get her out of my head. I know it’s over and she’s moved on. I’ve seen her very briefly on and off over the years, but last night...”

Trent paused, searching for the right words to describe how blown away he’d been by the intense feelings that had consumed him the second he’d realized it was Reese in his arms—and how awful it had been to realize just how badly she’d wanted to get away from him. She had all but run from him.

“Last night outside Shelley’s café, when I realized Reese is even more beautiful, even more talented than she was before, something hit me. Hard.”

“You mean the fact that you’re not really over her?”

Yes
.

The lightning-quick answer inside his brain stunned him silent. Most of all, because he knew it was true.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Quinn asked after letting Trent stew for a few moments. “You two never really hashed everything out. Don’t you think that has to happen at some point, given that the island’s too small for you two not to keep being thrown together?”

Trent knew his brother was right. Ten years ago Trent had explained to Reese that as a burgeoning lawyer he was expected to work long hours and attend the highbrow social events that even he never really cared for. But she hadn’t wanted to hear it. She’d told him that she was
last
on his priority list—not even just second to his job, but seventh or eighth, after his workday, parties, office events, and whatever else might lead to his success. She’d also said she didn’t even recognize him anymore. Right before he returned to New York, his mother had said something that still rang in his ears today.
When your heart is ready to commit, you’ll know. Until then, you just have to do the best you can to move on
.

And moving on was what he thought he’d accomplished. Although, now that he was thinking about it, it
had
taken him a long time to sign the divorce papers. Even after he’d followed Reese back to the island and she’d made it clear that it was really over, he still hadn’t been able to sign the damn things. Mostly because he’d kept thinking, kept hoping, that somehow it would all work out. That
they
would still work out. His attorney had hounded him for weeks until Trent had finally lost hope and signed them. He still had the bottle of perfume she’d left behind and every love note she’d ever scrawled on napkins and slips of torn paper. Hell, he’d never changed his aftershave because she’d loved it so much. All of that should have clued him in to his inability to really move past Reese. Instead, he’d done what he was best at—he’d tried to work thoughts of her away. But it had never really worked, had it?

“You’re right,” Trent said slowly. “We never did hash things out. Not really. Not like we should have.”

His brother was looking at him with concern now as he said, rather apologetically, “I didn’t just come to razz you about Reese. We’ve also scheduled a meeting tomorrow morning at ten to discuss the community project.”

Sierra had come up with the idea of hosting a project at the resort that would represent the close-knit community and the warmth of the island. The last time they’d discussed it, they’d narrowed it down to a couple of front-running ideas, but they hadn’t made any firm decisions yet.

“I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Quinn looked at all the files and papers strewn around Trent’s normally meticulous office. “Although between Reese and whatever mess you’re dealing with right now, you look like you could use a break. Shelley’s going out with Sierra tonight, so I’m meeting Ethan and Derek for a drink. Want to join us?”

A drink—
or three
—was exactly what Trent needed to chase thoughts of Reese out of his head. Otherwise, it was bound to be another long and sleepless night.

“Absolutely.”

REESE WAS STANDING on the widow’s walk in front of her easel, her emotions howling and gusting inside her like a brutal storm as she painted, when she heard the glass doors to the loft slide open behind her and Jocelyn’s careful footsteps approach. Jocelyn had been there when Reese had fallen head over heels in love with Trent a decade ago. She’d been Reese’s maid of honor at their wedding. And then she’d been there to help Reese pick up the pieces of her broken heart after she and Trent had broken up.

“Reese? Are you okay? You’ve been up here for hours.” Jocelyn was tiny at five one and barely a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she was no wallflower. She could be as tough as a drill sergeant or as sweet as a preschool teacher—all skills Reese had heavily relied on ever since Jocelyn began running her gallery a few years ago.

Reese clearly heard the testing of the waters in her friend’s tone.
Are you upset enough to need a hug, or do you need a swift kick in the butt, instead?
Reese was so used to pushing away painful thoughts of Trent that she automatically said, “I’m okay, thanks.”

Jocelyn peered over Reese’s shoulder at the painting and arched a finely manicured brow. Her auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders as she narrowed her bright hazel eyes. “Actually, it looks like you’re still reeling over bumping into Trent.”

“I thought I was totally over him,” Reese suddenly blurted out, “and then, after all these years, he knocks me to my knees in five seconds flat. Tell me I’m an idiot.”

“You’re an idiot.” Jocelyn embraced her in a quick hug. “Of course, you know that if you change your mind about him, I’ll be right there saying you’re brilliant.”

“Joce…” Reese had been wrestling with her feelings for Trent all day, and the only way to deal with them and keep her sanity was to paint.

“What? That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” Her friend sat on a deck chair, and as she kicked her feet up on the railing, she said, “Don’t give me that look. Mae is running the gallery. I’m on a helping-a-friend-in-need break. I’m allowed one a day. It’s in my contract.”

“You must have a really great boss,” Reese teased as she put her feet up beside Jocelyn’s and tried to relax.

“She’s the best. Oh, before I forget, Tami Preston called to remind you that she’s showing her artwork at the flea market on the other side of the island the day after tomorrow and you promised to go.”

“I’m glad she called. I’ve been so distracted that I probably would have forgotten. At least I remembered that I’m heading to Bay’s Edge tomorrow.” Reese taught painting classes for senior citizens at Bay’s Edge Assisted Living Facility.

“And Sierra called, as well, to let us know that she has a late meeting to go to before she joins us for our girls’ night out.”

Every few weeks Reese and Jocelyn enjoyed a girls’ night with Sierra Rockwell and her cousin Annabelle, who owned a clothing shop in town. Tonight Reese
really
needed the girls. Only...things suddenly seemed far more complicated than usual.

“Do you think it’ll be weird between me and Sierra now that Trent’s back in town for good?”

“Sierra has always been careful not to talk too much about her brother,” Jocelyn replied. “Why would it be any different just because he’s living here now?”

Reese eyed her painting, as if it held all the answers.

“Is it because you’re worried that she’ll see how conflicted you are? You do look a little on edge, but if I didn’t know you so well, I might think it was because of work or any number of things other than Mr. Hot and Delicious’s hands on your hips again.”

Reese tipped her head back and closed her eyes against the setting sun with a groan. She’d always worn her emotions on her sleeve, which was one of the things that had made it even harder when Trent had become too entrenched in work to notice. When they were living on the island, he’d noticed practically every breath she’d taken. But in New York, he’d barely noticed her at all.

And now she had no idea how to gain control of the emotions he’d unearthed with nothing more than a quick touch and a few words. She obviously hadn’t been able to paint them away today.

The only thing she knew for sure was that she was not over Trent Rockwell.

But at the same time, she definitely couldn’t let herself get hurt again. It had been a real test of strength to survive the deep, dark ache of missing him for the first few years after she’d left him. So even if managing her feelings for Trent was going to be the biggest uphill battle of her life, she knew she had to find a way to do it.

Because she’d never survive losing Trent twice.

Jocelyn rose to her feet and squeezed Reese’s shoulder. “Just remember one thing—if you can’t drink it away, cry it away, paint it away, or eat enough ice cream to drown it, it just might be too real to be forgotten. After all, you do still have that lighthouse he gave you ten years ago hanging from your rearview mirror,” Jocelyn pointed out before she walked back inside the gallery.

The lighthouse. He’d given it to her on their third date.

And as she glanced at the painting she was working on and the two other canvases propped against the railing beside her, she realized she’d painted that lighthouse into every single picture.

* * *

TRENT FOUND HIS parents talking with his brother Derek in his father’s office.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Never, honey.” His mother, Abby, hugged him. “We’re just going over our options for hiring a marketing company to handle the resort.”

“Well, that sounds like more fun than the wild-goose chase I’m on. Chandler asked me for the deed to the resort.”

“What on earth does he need the deed for?” Derek asked as he rose from his chair.

Although Derek had agreed to be a part of the resort takeover and to live on the island for one year, he still hadn’t fully embraced the situation. His resentment toward their grandfather was evident in his stormy dark eyes.

“He wouldn’t tell me. And when I called the courthouse, I learned that the deed transfer giving Chandler ownership of the resort was never filed. I called his office to find out what the hell is going on, but his assistant told me he wasn’t available. Dad, do you know where the legal documents might be?”

His father, Griffin, frowned. “As far as I know, the deed should have been kept with the rest of the legal documents. Abby, honey, you’re better with names than I am. Who was the resort’s last legal counsel?”

Trent’s parents had always been openly affectionate, with each other as well as their children. They’d also always been integral parts of each other’s lives on every level.
Just like Reese and I once were
.

“Robert Faison was the last person to run the department. You remember him,” Abby answered. “He was a heavyset, balding man. He passed away unexpectedly from a heart attack about… Could it have been eight or nine years ago now?”

“That sounds about right,” Griffin said.

“He worked for your great-grandfather for many years, and stayed on after Chandler took over,” Abby explained to Trent. “Griff, after he passed away, weren’t a number of his files archived to the basement with the reorganization?”

Griffin kissed the back of Abby’s hand. “I can always count on you to remember everything.”

He turned to Trent. “Ask Irene about it. She manages the archives. I’m sure she’ll know where those files are.”

Thoughts of the deed went out the window as his parents’ unrelenting commitment sent his mind spiraling back to Reese and the promise they’d made on their wedding day.

I promise to always love you. Forever
.

It was a promise that sounded so simple. However, in the wake of their painful divorce, he’d ended up believing it was actually the most difficult promise in the world to keep.

But now that he’d held Reese in his arms again and had gotten lost staring into her beautiful brown eyes, he finally realized the truth: It was a promise that he’d always kept.

Because he still loved her.

And he’d love her forever.

THE HIDEAWAY WAS one of the most happening spots on Rockwell Island. Owned by Sierra Rockwell and decorated with local artwork, it was also one of the friendliest gathering places in town. The interior boasted wide-planked hardwood floors, rough wood walls, high ceilings with iron chandeliers, a cherrywood bar, and a covered patio with gorgeous bay views.

“I am so glad I moved to the island,” Shelley Walters said. “Every day is like an adventure, with the changing tides and the tourists coming and going.”

This was Shelley’s first time joining them for girls’ night, and she instantly fit in. She was vivacious, funny, and easy to talk to, not to mention stunning, with a mass of dark, curly hair and a bright outlook.

Reese had never imagined Trent’s younger brother Quinn, who had always worked at least as many hours as Trent, would change his workaholic ways. But now that she’d gotten to know Shelley a little better, she understood why he had. Shelley’s energy and positive outlook were contagious.

“In fact, one of the things I was most hoping for here was girls’ nights out. When did you guys start doing them?” Shelley asked.