by Tracy March
She settled back against the cushions on the swing and tapped her tablet until the picture she needed filled the screen. Shifting her glance from the photo to Trent and back, she tried to guess how he’d react when he got his first look at one of the women the Queen had picked as a suitable bride. “I’ve got a picture of one of your girls right here.”
His gaze shot to the tablet but she snatched it up before he could get an eyeful. “Not so fast. Mrs. Hawthorne made me the detail person, so I need to brief you on my plan.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said playfully.
She hoped he’d stay this cooperative during the whole process, all the way until “Will you marry me?” Visions of twenty-five grand danced in her head, her parents’ house saved, her relationship with them getting better every day.
“I’ll introduce you to one girl at a time,” Cyn said. “There’s no way to avoid having your judgment clouded as you meet them one by one, but there’s no need to muddle your mind with too many choices early on.”
“I’m not sure I like that plan,” he said with a glint in his hazel eyes. No doubt those girls would get lost in them. “But I’m going to trust you.”
“Good idea. I don’t want you to get ahead of yourself. So we’ve got three women and three islands. Did you and Mrs. Hawthorne have an itinerary in mind, like, which island comes first?” Cyn could hardly believe how casually she was talking about going to the Caribbean—much less to several different islands and to the Hawthornes’ resorts. She’d never imagined being able to afford to go to even one, and she couldn’t wait—even if it was to find romance for someone else.
“Closest first. Bahamas, Turks and Caicos, then Jamaica.” He raised a finger as he named each island. “Gran has already notified the girls about the change in plans.”
Cyn was thankful for one less thing she’d have to do. After working for the Queen for a couple of years, she had a good idea about the vibe of each island and she hoped they matched well with the girls’ personalities. “I’m thinking we’ll work together on ideas for your dates, and I’ll coordinate them with the resort staff, the production team, and the destinations.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “Gran and I were thinking we’d stick to the same schedule that was already in place.”
“The girls arrive on Friday nights, you meet them Saturday and have an all-day date, dinner that night?”
Trent nodded. “I think that’ll give me a good idea what each girl is like. Hopefully one of them will really stand out, and I’ll invite her back for more time. Who knows? I really might fall for someone. It’s kind of exciting.” He smiled at Cyn and looked pointedly at her tablet. “Can I see the girl already?”
“Hmm…” Cyn teased.
He shot her a stern I’m-the-boss look that managed to be playful, too. Cyn relaxed a little, finding Trent easier to relate to than she’d expected. Liza and Paige always said he was a great guy—funny, down-to-earth, and completely hot. But Cyn had always associated him with the Queen and figured that, despite his good looks, he’d be as uptight and exacting as she was.
“All right already.” Cyn turned the tablet toward him and said, “This is Ava Brennan. Twenty-seven years old, from Chicago. Her grandfather ran the bank that loaned your grandparents the money to build their first resort.”
“Ava Brennan…” Trent scrunched his handsome face as if he was trying to place her name, then held out his hand and she passed the tablet to him. He sat for a while, gazing at Ava’s headshot, giving away nothing. Cyn wished she could see Ava through his eyes and feel his initial reaction. Through hers, Ava looked pretty and lively with a heart-shaped face, dark brown eyes, and even darker wavy hair that cascaded past her shoulders. Trent nodded slowly, glanced at Cyn with a look she couldn’t read, then went back to studying Ava’s picture.
“She’s an aspiring chef,” Cyn said.
“That could be a bonus.”
“Right?” Cyn tipped her head toward Ava’s photo. “All that and she can cook, too.”
“Perfect,” Trent said, and Cyn’s heart skipped a beat.
Perfect? Could it possibly be that easy?
“She does seem like she’d be a good catch.” Cyn struggled to keep the excitement out of her voice.
Trent’s eyes glimmered as he handed the tablet back to her and grinned. “She looks great, but I’ll need more than a picture to decide if I like her or not. I meant perfect that she’s an aspiring chef and we’ll be in the Bahamas this weekend. Maybe we should go to the Founder’s Town Conch Cracking Festival Saturday for our date. ”
“Conch festival?” Cyn wasn’t sure how she’d react if a guy asked her to a conch festival on a first date, mostly because she had no idea what people even did at an event like that.
“Why not? It’s one of the oldest festivals in the Bahamas, and it raises money for the schools and the area surrounding Founder’s Town. Things are a lot quieter in that part of the island, and they don’t get a lot of tourism revenue.”
“I like that idea, but what would you and Ava actually do there?”
“Eat, for one thing,” Trent said. “They’ll have every kind of conch dish you could imagine—chowder, salad, ceviche, fritters. Ava will probably be amazed at all the ways the Bahamians cook with conch.”
Cyn lifted her shoulders. “What else? You can’t just eat all day.”
Trent pressed his palm against his flat belly. “Watch me. That conch is awesome.”
“Good thing they cook it about twenty ways,” she said, enjoying his lighter side.
He pushed off the ground with his foot and sent the swing swaying more steadily. “And there are all kinds of entertainment and things to do, like quadrille dancing and a Junkanoo rush-out, hooking conchs, plaiting the maypole, the conch-fritter-and-spoon race, and the conch cracking contest.”
She could hardly keep her thoughts caught up with his words. “Sounds like fun.” She grinned. “I’m excited. I mean, I’ll be working, but I’ll still get to watch…” She nudged his elbow. “And eat. I’ve never even tasted conch.”
“Just wait. It’s incredibly delicious, but it’s still not the highlight of the festival. ” He gave her an impish look. For the first time she noticed the slight cleft in his chin beneath his two-day stubble.
“I’m almost afraid to ask what it is.”
“The best part is when they climb the greasy pole.”
Cyn struggled to stifle a laugh, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from bugging out. “Did you just say ‘climb the greasy pole’?”
“Yep.” He flashed her a smile and a peek at his straight, white teeth. His bottom lip still maintained a little pout… Cyn tore her gaze away from his mouth. Those girls would totally want to kiss Trent.
“They grease a thirty-foot pole,” he said, “and challenge contestants to climb it.”
“Have you ever tried?”
He drew his head back. “Oh heck no, and I don’t plan to. But it’s really fun to watch.”
“This could be your year,” Cyn teased. “I’ll tell the production team about the festival and get started on the details today. And speaking of, it’s time for us to head up to the house. They should be here by now.” She set the cushion aside, uncrossed her legs and skimmed her feet on the ground to stop the swing.
“One more thing,” Trent said.
“Only one? This must be my lucky day,” she said lightly.
But Trent’s expression had turned serious. “I get that this is your job and you’re doing what’s required, but do you really think this could work?”
Cyn gave him a nod powered by twenty-five thousand dollars worth of hope. “I’ll do my best to see that it does.”
Chapter Three
Beneath the warm morning sun, Cyn walked next to Trent as they headed for the house, mostly matching his confident stride but hanging back at times to get a good look at him top to bottom, so to speak. She had to get to know the product she was pushing, right? Someone had to do the tough research.<
br />
Trent’s jeans hugged his hips loosely, but they were snug enough to make the rear view one she wouldn’t get tired of watching. His sturdy shoulders gave shape to his sweatshirt—just broad enough but not bulky. No doubt the guy worked hard, but he found time to hit the gym, too. Or the beach for a run. Or the island mountains for a climb. However he did it, he did it well. He wore his jeans just fine, and she’d bet he looked even better in a pair of swim trunks.
She and Trent went in one of the back entrances of Hawthorne Manor and headed through the wide, high-ceilinged hallways toward the solarium at the far rear corner of the house. As they neared the room, voices echoed in the hallway, a couple of them lilting with Australian accents.
They entered the brightly lit room where the sun streamed through floor-to-ceiling picture windows that lined two full walls. Beyond, the gardens and grounds sprouted green, and the pond shimmered like a sapphire set in a sea of emeralds. Inside, the Queen sat in a cushioned white wicker chair with a high, rounded back. A man and a woman who looked to be in their early forties sat on a muted yellow sofa, and a guy about Cyn’s age sat across from them in an upholstered chair. Cyn recognized them all from their pictures on their production company’s website, and she’d had several conversations with them already.
Trent nodded politely to his grandmother, and Cyn gave her a reassuring smile to let her know all had gone well so far. She was eager to convince the Queen—and herself—that she had things under control.
“Hey, guys,” Trent said to the others, who all stood. “Good to see you again.” The Queen had told Cyn that they’d all worked together on a previous marketing campaign for the resorts, and she’d raved about how impressed she was with their work. She hadn’t even considered anyone else to take on this project.
Trent shook hands with the man, Gordon Robinson, and the younger guy, Stuart Alcott. After giving Gordon’s wife, Jamie, a hug, Trent turned his attention to Cyn.
“You must be Cyn,” Jamie said, extending her hand. The Queen winced at the use of the nickname, but Cyn was happy to hear it. She hardly wanted to go weeks hearing “Cynthia this” and “Cynthia that.”
“You’re even prettier than I imagined,” Gordon said to Cyn, earning him a playful elbow to the ribs from Jamie. His weathered looks, messy dark hair, and scruffy face reminded Cyn of Hugh Jackman.
Heat rose in Cyn’s face and she smiled self-consciously. “Thank you.”
“Watch out for this one,” Jamie said. “He rarely thinks a thought that doesn’t shoot right out of his mouth.” She tucked the long side of her asymmetrical bob behind her ear. Her silky hair had been dyed a deep burgundy, a stark contrast to her fair skin and light blue eyes.
“Consider yourself warned,” Stuart said, grinning as Cyn shook his hand. He was tall and rangy, and nearly good-looking with a mop of brown curls and brown eyes to match.
They all sat down, Cyn and Trent taking the white wicker love seat.
“We got your message about the change in travel plans in time to talk about it on the way here,” Gordon said. “As the campaign’s producer, I think it’s a genius decision to film on the islands. Cuts down on editing since we won’t have to use a lot of B-roll. And everything will be fresh.”
“We’ve got some renovations at the resorts that we could highlight,” the Queen said. “Trent can point them out to you at each location.”
Gordon nodded, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. “Perfect.”
“From a creative standpoint,” Jamie said, “we envision using a lot of body language and nuance. We’ll be selective with dialogue—maybe use a snippet or two here or there in the spots, if we use any at all. Just keep that in mind when you’re with the women, Trent. You and the ladies will be miked for a portion of your dates, but be yourself. Say and do what comes naturally. We’re aiming for something airy and light, but still sophisticated. If it turns out we want to produce a longer show in addition to the spots, we’ll have the footage we need.”
Gordon set his gaze on Trent. “We’d like to do some Q&A work today for drop-ins.” He lifted his chin and aimed a knowing look at Trent. “That’ll free you up to spend more time with the ladies later on.”
“Works for me,” Trent said.
The younger guy, Stuart, nodded, and Cyn would swear she saw a glint of envy in his eyes. She couldn’t blame him. Who wouldn’t want to be in Trent’s position right now?
“We’ll use a green screen,” Jamie said. “Just in case we need the video later.”
“Whatever you say.” Trent shrugged. “I’d be more comfortable if this was some other guy trying to find a girl, but Gran insists it has to be me.” He cut his eyes at the Queen, a look Cyn wished she could get away with giving her.
Funny, Cyn felt just the opposite. If it were any other guy trying to find a bride, there wouldn’t be a twenty-five-thousand-dollar bonus on the line.
…
Trent sat on a chaise longue on Hawthorne Manor’s grand slate terrace, a little amped from everything that was going on around him. Not only that, within minutes he’d be on camera, answering who-knew-what kind of questions in front of four acquaintances.
In front of everyone. Whatever the production crew recorded might possibly end up on television and the internet for anyone and everyone to see. But wasn’t that the idea? Showcase the resorts to every potential customer. Captivate their emotions. Tell a story. Make them want to be you—or be with you—and long to be in a tropical paradise, falling in love.
Man, that was a lot to ask. Could he pull this off?
Jamie adjusted the collar of the white oxford shirt he’d put on for the Q&A. “The camera is going to love you.”
Trent caught Cyn’s eye and smiled self-consciously, wishing he could read her mind. He still wondered what she must think of all this. The last thing he wanted was for her or anyone else to get the idea he was cocky. He’d fought that forever growing up in Maple Creek as Fairleigh Hawthorne’s grandson. People had just assumed. And everything he’d done—good or bad—had been magnified and analyzed by people who didn’t know him at all. He took a deep breath, fighting off a sinking feeling of déjà vu.
“And those lucky girls are going to fall hard.” Jamie stepped away from him, squinting as if to make sure she was pleased with every detail.
Gordon tinkered behind the camera, and Stuart fussed with the huge furry microphone he’d set up nearby.
“Something that looked just like that ran out in front of my car yesterday,” Cyn said to Stuart.
Jamie scowled. “That thing’s a bloody fright. Scares the bejaysus out of me nearly every time I look at it, even though I know it’s there.” She glanced at Stuart, then set her gaze on Gordon. “Everything ready?”
Both guys nodded and Trent’s heart skipped a couple of beats. “Shouldn’t you brief me on the questions?” he asked.
“Not a chance,” Jamie said. “We’re looking for genuine reactions and emotions. Just say what comes to mind. If you absolutely bungle something, we’ll just start a blooper reel.”
“Great.” Trent sighed. “My own personal blooper reel. Who wouldn’t want one of those?”
Cyn had settled in a chair off to the side and looked on curiously. Having her there made him more comfortable and more apprehensive at the same time, if that was even possible. At least Gran had to attend a Maple Creek Historic Preservation Society meeting. Trent might not mind talking about personal things with her, but both of them had so much at stake here—the marketing campaign, his love life, her dream of having great-grandchildren. It might well paralyze him if she were here monitoring every word. She wouldn’t be on the islands with them either, so maybe she’d decided to relinquish her control early—even though that had never been her style.
“Counting it down.” Gordon held out his hand, fingers splayed, then lowered them one at a time until none remained.
A few silent seconds passed and Jamie asked, “Have you ever been in love?”
Tre
nt’s stomach clenched. “So we’re starting with the easy questions,” he joked, trying to buy himself some time. He stared out at the big oak for a moment, then swept his gaze across the terrace. Have I ever been in love? “Not like I’m going to be. I mean, I’m really open to it. Really hoping…”
A spring breeze stirred the leaves in the wax myrtle hedge behind him, cooling the flush that had broken out on his skin.
“Hoping for what, exactly?” Jamie asked.
Trent raced to gather his thoughts during a long silence. “For someone who captivates me with every little thing about her. Someone who makes me want to be better than I am—perfect for her. For a love that will spark hot and keep burning, the embers always ready to flare.”
Jamie nodded appreciatively. “That was quite poetic.”
Heat rose in Trent’s face. “Just what came to mind.” He’d had plenty of time to think about what kind of love he wanted in his life, but he had no idea he’d be able to put it into words like that.
Jamie checked her notes. “You’re hungry for a snack,” she said. “Cookies or cashews?”
Talk about switching gears. “Cobbler,” he said.
Cyn gave him two thumbs up.
“That wasn’t one of the options,” Jamie said lightly.
“I know. But cobbler just does it for me. Makes me feel relaxed wherever I am.” He liked the easier questions and hoped they’d keep coming. “The chef used to make it when I stayed here in the summers as a kid. Cherry’s my favorite.”
“Those girls will definitely need to be clued in on that.” Jamie walked behind Gordon and the camera to the opposite side, likely to get a new angle on Trent. “You’re stuck on a tropical island—”
“Most of the time.” He grinned. “But it’s not like being stuck. I stay on four different islands, and it feels like home in every place. I’d just like someone special to be stuck there with me.”
“It’s going to take a certain type of girl to enjoy a lifestyle like that,” Jamie said. “What kind of girl would that be?”
Trent rubbed his hand across his forehead. Had he given this enough thought? What kind of girl would enjoy a life like that? Cyn gazed at him intently, likely hoping at least one of the girls Gran had picked matched up with whatever he was about to say.
