by Bella Andre
"Reese, please wait."
When she turned, there was no denying the conflicting emotions in her eyes, or the quick squeeze of her fingers around his, as if for a fleeting second she didn't want to let him go.
But then she dropped her eyes to their hands, gently moved hers away, and said, "What do you need, Trent?"
You, he thought. But he said instead, "I'm sorry for everything that happened between us. I know I hurt you deeply, and..." He paused to try to wrap his mind around his thoughts, but his emotions were so close to the surface that he was afraid telling her he was still in love with her would only push her farther away. "I'm sorry," he said again. "For everything. Please stay?"
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. "I can't," she finally said, so softly he almost didn't hear her. The sadness that filled her eyes nearly tore his heart from his chest. "Me and you...the divorced couple trying to act normal while making everyone else feel uncomfortable. I can't even begin to process what's going on between us. So how can we expect our friends and your family to deal with it?"
Trent stepped in closer again, wanting to touch her, but resisting the urge for fear she'd pull away again.
"It doesn't have to be uncomfortable. We've bumped into each other before," he reminded her, even though the truth was that they'd only ever seen each other briefly across a parking lot or in a grocery store.
"It's different now." She took a step back, and the confirmation that she needed space between them stung.
"You mean because I'm living here?"
She nodded, the difficulty of whatever she was about to say written in her wrinkled brow and the rising of her shoulders. "I'm trying to get used to the idea that we'll be seeing each other a lot more now that you're back. It's a lot to take in, don't you think?"
"Couldn't that be a good thing?" Please tell me it is.
"I don't know. That's something I'm still trying to figure out. And I'm going to need some space to do that." She paused long enough for the words to settle in before saying, "Good night, Trent; have fun with everyone tonight," and walking to her car.
He fought the urge to go after her, because even though he wanted to beg her to stay and talk things through, he'd already hurt her once. Regardless of whether there was hope for something more between them again or not, he still wanted to apologize for all the pain he'd caused her. But right now he didn't need to push her or make her relive the past.
Giving her space was the least he could do, but hell if it didn't feel like he was losing her all over again--before he even had a chance to make things right.
Chapter Six
REESE HAD BEEN teaching painting classes at Bay's Edge Assisted Living Facility since shortly after returning from New York. What had begun as a way to keep herself distracted from thoughts of her failed marriage had turned into one of the things Reese most looked forward to. She'd thought that teaching the elderly to paint might brighten their days with something new and exciting to look forward to, while offering a sense of creativity and accomplishment. But what she'd found was comfort of her own. She'd met a host of insightful, caring friends who'd embraced her and helped her through some of her toughest moments.
As she walked through the front door juggling a box of paints and a bag of paintbrushes, she thought of her students--friends--who had passed away over the years. The ache of every loss hit her hard. And then a new, bright face would take the empty seat in her class, and a new relationship would develop.
That cycle of loss and moving forward had helped Reese move on after her divorce. At least she'd thought she'd moved on.
"Good morning, Reese," Kathleen Torrence, the front-desk receptionist, greeted her, breaking her out of her thoughts about Trent.
Kathleen was a spunky brunette who had gone to school with Reese's mother. Kathleen's mother was living at Bay's Edge, and every time Reese walked through the doors, she couldn't help but wonder if one day she'd be visiting her own parents there. It was the only assisted living facility on the island, and it had a stellar reputation for treating the residents on all levels--mental, physical, and emotional.
"How's your mom today?"
Kathleen put her hand out and wiggled it from side to side. "Fair to middling. Thanks for asking."
Reese tightened her grip on the heavy bag on the verge of slipping out of her hands, and Kathleen said, "You'd better go put that bag down. Looks heavier than usual. And watch out for the Rickenbachers. They were in rare form at breakfast," Kathleen called after her.
Reese grinned as she headed into the arts and crafts room. The Rickenbachers were in their late eighties, but they acted like teenagers, so openly frisky with each other.
They reminded her of how she and Trent used to be.
Used to be?
Last night when he'd walked into the Hideaway looking like sex on legs, the room had heated up about a hundred degrees. Especially when he'd looked at her the way he used to. The way that made her heart melt and her insides rev up. All she'd wanted was to pull him into a back hallway and devour him in one big, delicious gulp.
The bag dropped from her fingers, and paintbrushes scattered across the floor. "Darn it." But when she turned to set down the box of paints, she missed the edge of the counter, sending them scattering, too.
"My, oh my, missy. You sure are flustered today, aren't you?" Tilly Carlson said as she walked into the room toward Reese.
Reese looked up at the elderly black woman who was smiling down at her and realized she'd forgotten to bring the book she'd promised to loan her. "A little flustered, yes. And unfortunately, I forgot your book, too. But I'll bring it later. I promise. How are you doing today, Tilly?"
Tilly always took the time to put on makeup in the mornings and style her short hair, which she wore pushed back from her face with a pretty fabric headband. Even mapped with wrinkles, Tilly's skin looked soft and youthful, despite her advanced age. When she'd first joined Reese's class two years ago, she'd told Reese that the key to good skin was a smile.
Glancing down at her walker, Tilly said, "Every day I can still push this baby around is a good day."
Reese put the paints back in the box. "You look nice today. Is that a new outfit?"
Tilly lowered herself into a chair, then smoothed the brown zip-up jacket she wore over a flowered shirt. "You don't think it's tacky, do you? I'm not used to wearing tracksuits."
"A beautiful woman like you could never look tacky," Morris Rickenbacker said as he came into the room with his wife, Norma.
Tilly rolled her eyes. "You're such a flirt."
"That he is," Norma said, leaning over to peck her husband's cheek. Her gray hair was brushed away from her face in a layered style. She had a slight overbite, and always looked like she was smiling. She stopped just short of Reese, who was still gathering the brushes from the floor. "Goodness, Reese. What happened?"
Reese put the last brush in the box, hoisted it to the counter, then pinned a picture of an oak tree to the corkboard on the wall. "Just a little mishap. How are you this morning, Norma? Morris?"
"I feel so good, I think I'm growing hair." Morris rubbed his palm over his bald head.
"You wish, sweetie." Norma sat at a table. "That's a wonderful outfit, Tilly. Did your daughter send that to you from Los Angeles?"
After Tilly nodded, Reese asked, "Is she going to make it up to visit before winter?" Tilly's daughter rarely visited, unfortunately.
"I think that's why she sent the outfit, to let me down easy. She's writing a screenplay and apparently it's an all-day, every-day endeavor." Tilly's voice was thick with disappointment.
"I still say you should tell her to get her butt up here," Morris said. "She hasn't visited you in months."
"Morris. That's enough. You're going to make her feel bad," Norma chided him.
"I'm sorry, Tilly," Reese said as she began laying out the supplies for the class. "I'm sure she misses you."
"She's got a man now, and I know what love does to a woman's head. I miss my daughter, but not like I miss my Ritchie." Tilly passed a paintbrush to Norma. "He was my first and only true love."
"You'll see him again," Norma said, patting Tilly's hand.
"Norma was my first love," Morris said.
His wife squeezed his hand. "We both know I was your second, but I'll take that over not being your love at all."
"You are my forever love," Morris said.
"Yes, I know. But Sadie got something I'll never have," Norma said without a hint of resentment but with longing in her eyes instead. "She got to see what first love looks like in your eyes, and felt it in your touch. What a devastating loss that she died at twenty years old."
Morris leaned forward and whispered, "I was eighteen with Sadie, and it hurt so much to lose her so young. But you and I, my love, we have depth you can't find in youth."
Was that true? Reese wondered. Was adult love even deeper than youthful love?
Trent had told her that he'd never been in love before they'd met, and she'd seen that in his eyes and had felt it in his touch. Their love had been so powerful that every time they came face-to-face again she felt as if she were reliving all of her firsts with him. The feel of his palm against hers that very first day. The soft press of his lips to hers. And, oh God, the first time their bodies came together with such insatiable passion that they couldn't even make it to the bedroom.
The tape dropped from her trembling hands.
"Goodness," Tilly said, obviously startled by the clack of it hitting the floor.
"Sorry." Reese crouched to pick it up and pressed the tape against her stomach to keep the others from seeing it shake in her hand. "Tell us more about Ritchie, Tilly."
"I was twenty-seven when I met him," Tilly said, looking past Reese out the window, as if she were watching a scene unfold before her. "He was thirty-four. He'd been around the block a few times, but I hadn't dated much. He was a policeman on the other side of the island, and he tried to give me a ticket for jaywalking."
"Jaywalking? Can you get a ticket for that?" Morris asked.
"I'm pretty sure it was his way of getting my name and number," Tilly said. "The minute I laid eyes on that man, I knew that he was the one. He was big and burly, not like most men these days, who shave their chests and Lord only knows what else." She laughed. "My Ritchie was all man, with a deep voice and eyes that looked right into my soul, and when he held me...I knew I'd never find true love like that again."
Everything Tilly said Reese could have said about Trent. She gripped the chair so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"What about you, Reese? Have you found true love?" Tilly asked as she turned back from the window.
None of them knew about her and Trent. But this morning something inside her broke open, like she'd been holding part of herself closed for so long it suddenly cracked, and the words tumbled free.
"I was in love once, and he was everything." She pulled out the chair and sat beside Tilly. "Like you and Ritchie, I could feel his love in his touch, see it in his eyes. And when we were together"--she sighed a dreamy sigh--"nothing else existed except this cloud of happiness."
"Oh, girl, you have been touched by love." Tilly touched her arm. "And what happened with this man?"
"I'm not really sure. I think he got a little lost." She paused for a moment, then added, "We both did."
Tilly patted her hand. "Well, honey. You know that old saying, 'If you love someone, set them free'?"
"Yes." That was just what she'd done when she'd left ten years ago. Tried to set them both free because she'd been sure there was no other way.
"Well, sweetie, if you ask me, love doesn't get set free. Love lingers. Love haunts. Love consumes." Tilly leaned in close and her tone grew even more serious. "Love isn't easily dissuaded. It doesn't go away when one of you dies, and it certainly doesn't go away when one of you moves away. It's like a boomerang. No matter how many times you toss it away, it always comes back."
Chapter Seven
TRENT SAT IN the basement of the Rockwell Resort meticulously sorting through archived legal documents. There were at least a dozen boxes spread across the floor. He'd been at it for two hours, and he'd found documents dating back several generations, but what he hadn't found was the paperwork to transfer the deed. The cold concrete walls and the scent of musty old papers was a world away from where he'd been a few months ago, when he'd have sent an assistant to search through files. He didn't mind doing the grunt work, however. Especially not today, when he needed some time to really think about Reese. He could swear that last night in the parking lot, when she'd squeezed his hand, he'd seen so much emotion in her eyes. Regret. Longing. Desire.
All the same emotions he was feeling for her.
He rubbed a crick in the back of his neck and decided that he needed to talk to Reese. The last thing he wanted was for her to be uncomfortable, but if she was uncomfortable because she still had feelings for him, that was a lot different from being uncomfortable because of bottled-up resentment. Last night, one look from her in the bar had made it clear that she still wanted to rip off his clothes--but however good sex could be, it didn't equate to love. That Trent knew all too well. Over the years he'd tried to fill the gap Reese had left in his heart, but no one ever came close to her. None of them felt as good in his arms, or made his body hum with a whisper across his skin. No one saw in him the man Reese had once seen. The man who had somehow gotten lost in overtime and ladder climbing.
He placed the file he was holding in a box, wishing he hadn't gone so many years without reaching out. But the truth was that he hadn't been ready before now. When Reese had left him ten years ago, he'd been too caught up in making his mark and then in building his own practice. But after spending more time with his family these past weeks, and watching Quinn and Shelley fall in love, he'd finally realized that he was still empty inside.
Trent breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind and feeling as though he'd been duped--by his own damn self. He shook his head with the painful realization, and man, was it hard to accept that this all came down to him. He'd tricked himself into thinking that he was something, and sure, he was the best attorney in his field, but what did that really mean in the long run? He came home to an empty house and distracted himself with work from the only thing--the only person--who could ever really make his world complete. Reese.
He couldn't blame her for needing space. But what if that was just her way of pushing him away again? What if it was time for them to finally sit down and talk face-to-face about everything that had happened in the past--and everything that was brewing between them now--even if it was uncomfortable?
A memory suddenly flashed through his mind of the day he'd come home and found the note Reese had left when she'd gone back to the island. Because she couldn't even look him in the eyes and tell him she was done.
Obviously clear communication was something they'd needed to work on in the past. Then again, they were just kids back then, weren't they? Could they do better now as adults who had some life lessons and experience under their belts?
As a lawyer, Trent had honed his ability to separate truth and facts from obtrusive issues. He'd thought he'd been equally as good at interpreting his relationship with Reese.
But he'd been wrong. So wrong that he'd lost the person most important to him in the world. The only woman he'd ever loved.
Trent rose to his feet, running a frustrated hand through his hair as he mentally prepared for the biggest case of his life. His plea for Reese's forgiveness--and a second chance with the woman he'd loved since she was nineteen years old.
*
AN HOUR LATER, Trent was sitting in a conference room at the resort, meeting with his family. His father never sat at the head of the table, and today was no different. Griffin and Abby sat side by side, holding hands, and his parents' ever-present love and their respect for each other made Trent long for Reese even more.
>
"We should be able to finish the little we have left to get Shelley's cafe ready to open over the next two weeks, then bring in a painting crew to finish up, which shouldn't take more than a couple days at most," Quinn said. "The opening is in less than three weeks, and assuming everyone's work is on schedule, we should make it with a day or two to spare."
"I'm almost done with the shelves. One more night is all I need," Trent said.
"Derek and I will finish the attic work this week, too." Ethan was Trent's youngest brother, and with his dark hair tousled from his early-morning fishing trip, he looked a hell of a lot more carefree than the rest of them.
"Shelley and I have curtains we want to put up," Sierra said, "but of course that will wait until after the painters come in."
"And since I'm having lunch with Darla this week," their mother added, "I'll have her put Shelley's grand opening on Chandler's calendar." Darla Collins was their grandfather's personal secretary, and she and Abby had been friends for a long time.
"You think Chandler will come to Shelley's grand opening?" Derek asked. "Isn't that a little bit beneath him? Making time for a celebration?"
All of them had a complicated relationship with their grandfather. Mostly because he was a prickly, stern man who rarely smiled and always seemed to be trying to control everyone and everything.
"Derek," Abby said, "I know Chandler isn't the easiest man in the world to get along with, but he is your grandfather, so please show a little respect. He cares about this island, and I'm sure he'll want to celebrate with Quinn and Shelley."
"Cares about the island?" Derek didn't look the least bit chastened by their mother's uncharacteristic lecture. "He was going to sell the resort and didn't care that the new owners would fire the local staff, who rely on the income to survive. The locals are the island, Mom."
As Griffin spoke, Trent found himself comparing his warm and loving father to his cold and distant grandfather. Even after all these years, he had a hard time putting Chandler and Griffin together as father and son. Griffin was just as shrewd a businessman as Chandler, but he treated every person he met as if they were as important as the next, no matter what their social status.
