Cape Cod Promises

by Bella Andre

But if she could learn to turn her body off and just be his platonic friend, wouldn't that make everything easier?

  One time. No sex. Just an outing with a friend. We'll talk.

  She felt like she was standing at the top of a slippery slope, trying desperately to gather the past around her like a shield. But when it came to Trent, even her strongest shields were way too weak.

  If they were going to meet to talk, they definitely needed to go someplace public so they wouldn't be tempted to make the mistake of ripping each other's clothes off. Even if it was a mistake she was craving body and soul.

  "I promised an aspiring artist who lives on the other side of the island that I'd go see her work at a flea market tonight. I guess you can come with me if you'd like."

  The way his eyes lit up made her pulse go a little crazy, and she feared that even being in public might not help--but he was back for good, and she couldn't live her life in an emotional hurricane. If she and Trent were going to be living on the same island for the foreseeable future, then she needed to work toward a friendship--without benefits.

  *

  REESE COULDN'T SHAKE off her conversation with Trent. After all these years of trying to forget him, she'd given in after only a few brief conversations and one glorious, mind-blowing kiss. What would she do after spending an hour with him?

  Because she knew he was right--they did really need to talk. She needed to forget the way he made her hot and bothered, look Trent in the eye, and hash out the past. All of it. But first she needed to get over to her parents' house and tell them that she and Trent were working on the mural project together. The island was small enough that her parents might bump into someone who saw them out together, and she didn't want them to get the wrong impression.

  She drove to their house thinking about what impression she did want to give them. The real question was, what impression did she have? Where was this leading? She didn't have those answers yet. But she wanted her parents to hear about them working together from her first. She and Trent were simply working together on the mural and then going on one outing.

  Definitely not a date. If they made it out the front door this time.

  She parked in front of the cedar-sided Cape home she'd grown up in and then banged her head on the steering wheel. What am I doing? What do I want? With a sigh, she sat up straight again, and her eyes landed on the miniature lighthouse hanging from her rearview mirror.

  Banging her head on the steering wheel wouldn't help this time. There was no denying that he'd never really been far from her thoughts.

  She followed the driveway up to her parents' front door, hoping that her mixed emotions weren't evident all over her face.

  She pushed open the front door and inhaled the wonderful aroma of freshly baked bread. Her mother had baked her whole life. A warm and loving family starts with the love you pour into it. And pour love she did. Judith Nicholson was a doting mother who always had a warm hug at the ready. She wore her white-blond hair cropped in a stylish pixie cut. When Reese was younger, her friends used to love to come over after school and for slumber parties, because her mother would treat them all as if they were her own daughters and kept the house stocked with homemade snacks. Reese hadn't realized until she was much older that her mother was dishing out life advice as she handed out cupcakes and doled out hugs.

  "Mom? Dad?"

  "In here, honey."

  She followed her mother's voice into the kitchen and wasn't surprised to see her holding up flour-covered hands while her father tied an apron around her waist.

  "Okay, love," her father said. "You're all set." He opened his arms to hug Reese. "How's my girl?"

  "I'm good." She hugged her father and kissed her mother on the cheek. "The bread smells delicious."

  "Have you eaten? The first two loaves are out of the oven. I can put some jam on a slice for you." Her mother reached for a fresh loaf.

  "Oh, no thanks. I'm not hungry. I have to get over to the gallery, but I wanted to let you know that I got hired for the mural project over at the resort that I told you about."

  Judith's eyes widened. She wiped her hands on a towel and said, "I'm so happy to hear that. You must be over the moon."

  "I'm glad, but I'm a little nervous. You know how much the island means to me. I hope I can do it justice." She also knew how much of herself she poured into her artwork, and even after just one kiss, her inspiration was exploding. Would her mother see those raw emotions in her art and put two and two together now that Trent was back on the island?

  "Oh, honey. You're so talented. Of course you'll do it justice," her mother said proudly.

  "Does this mean you're working with the Rockwells? Or one of their staff?" her father asked.

  David Nicholson was well liked and well respected by neighbors and friends, but to Reese he was the epitome of the perfect husband and father. He was retired now, but when he'd worked as an editor for Island Press, he'd eaten breakfast with Reese and her mother every morning before work, and he'd been home every evening in time for dinner. He'd never failed to ask both of them how their days were, and he cared--he really cared--about their answers. One of the hardest things for Reese about moving to New York had been leaving her parents behind. She'd be lying if she didn't admit that when she'd come back home, a piece of her had felt like she'd been tethered to them the whole time she'd been gone. She wasn't a needy, clingy woman, but she loved them too much to just grow up and move away, to visit only on holidays.

  "Actually, I'll be working with Trent."

  A look of interest passed between her parents before her mother said, "How do you feel about that?"

  All I know is that I want to devour him and yell at him every time I see him. "I'm hoping it'll be fine. A little awkward at first, but..." She shrugged, wishing she had a better handle on her feelings about her ex-husband.

  "I'm sure he'll do everything he can to make it a good experience for you," her mother said.

  Including kissing me senseless, if I want him to.

  Reese's parents had always encouraged her to follow her heart. They'd been supportive of her artistic efforts, and the summer she'd fallen in love with Trent, they'd been just as eager for her to find happiness. And when she'd come home six months after she'd married and moved away, with a shattered heart and broken dreams, they'd wrapped her in their loving arms and had never said a derogatory word about Trent.

  They'd simply listened. For hours. Days. Weeks.

  Years.

  "You know we always thought Trent was a nice man," her father said, "but I know it must be overwhelming to not only have him back on the island, but also to work with him on the mural." He looked at her mother again before adding, "We're glad you stopped by. We've been wanting to make sure you're doing okay with it all, honey."

  "I think it will just take a while to figure out how to navigate the new waters."

  To this day they'd never made her feel like she'd made a bad decision falling for Trent, or that she should have known better than to get married so young. In her tender way, Reese's mother had shown her that she'd also hindered their ability to flourish in New York. She'd been so frightened about venturing out into the big, new city that she'd holed up in her apartment, unknowingly making Trent her entire world in a way that wasn't healthy for either of them, thereby adding more stress to an already difficult situation.

  Her father put his arms around her again, and she gladly leaned in to his solid warmth. It had taken a long time for her to pick up the pieces of her life after their divorce. Once she had, despite underlying hopes that she'd written off as first-love leftovers, she'd never imagined that she and Trent would ever become close again. She'd certainly never imagined that he'd move back to the island.

  And she'd never in a million years thought that she'd be so deeply at risk of falling in love with him a second time.

  Chapter Eleven

  ALL TRENT HAD thought about since this morning was Reese...and how badly he wanted her back.


  But was it too late? Had he hurt her too deeply--and been too stubbornly stupid for too many years?

  If he could do things all over again, he would erase the ten years between their divorce and today. No... If he could do things all over again, he'd erase all the ways he'd screwed up their marriage in the first place. He'd be wholly devoted to her instead of his career. And he'd never let one single second pass without her knowing just how much she meant to him.

  But there was no time machine; there was only today. He prayed she'd at least consider giving him another chance.

  Trent parked his car in front of Reese's house. She was close to her parents, and he hadn't been surprised to hear that she'd bought a two-bedroom house right around the corner from them. Trent tightened his grip on the gift he'd brought for her and paused before walking up the steps to her front porch, remembering the look on her parents' faces when he'd come after Reese to try to convince her to come back to New York with him. They'd treated him with respect and kindness, and the few times he'd seen them in town since then, they'd been friendly toward him, which surprised him, given that he'd swept their daughter off her feet, only to send her running back home, heartbroken, a few months later. If they'd swapped places, he didn't know if he'd be as kind. Looking back, he sure as hell didn't feel like he deserved their generosity.

  Trent scrubbed his hand down his face. He'd known the second he'd met Reese that she was the only woman for him--but he'd allowed their connection to get severed by his need to succeed. How could he have been such a fool?

  He would move heaven and earth for Reese, and he vowed to prove to her, and to her parents, that he was the best--and the only--man for her.

  As he knocked on Reese's door, he silently reminded himself not to allow this first date to go the way their real first date had a decade ago, when they'd never even made it out the door before they were ripping off each other's clothes. They would make it to the flea market, even if he had to keep his hands in his pockets all evening to keep from touching her. The most important thing was that they talk tonight, really talk, especially about the hard stuff. Because it was killing him that he hadn't had a chance to tell her how deeply sorry he was.

  When Reese opened the door, the evening breeze blew her blond hair off her shoulders. She'd changed into a peach sweater and a pair of jeans darker than the ones she'd worn earlier in the day. She looked stunning. Her lips curved up in a smile that thankfully reached her beautiful eyes, radiating straight to the center of Trent's chest.

  "You're gorgeous, Reese." Even though he knew it was a dangerous proposition when he was intent on making sure they talked rather than ripped each other's clothes off, he couldn't stop himself from leaning down and kissing her cheek, lingering just long enough to drink in her sweet perfume and the feel of her warm cheek on his lips.

  He could have sworn she nuzzled against him slightly before she said a husky, "Thank you."

  Making himself take a step back from her, rather than moving closer, which every cell in his body was urging him to do, he handed her the wrapped gift. "I saw this and thought of you."

  "You didn't have to bring me anything."

  He was surprised at the ease with which she pressed her hand to his chest the way she used to, before she seemed to realize what she was doing and pulled her hand back. Old habits clearly die hard. And hopefully true love never died at all.

  "Are you nervous?"

  She'd obviously felt his heart racing when she'd laid her hand on his chest. But he wouldn't have lied to her even if she hadn't already felt the proof of his nerves. "Yes, I'm nervous. I don't want to mess this up." Not when he'd screwed up so many things before and had ended up pushing away the person most important to him in the world.

  They stood there for a long moment, gazing into each other's eyes, with an undercurrent of desire simmering between them and a world of memories tethering them together.

  "I'm really glad you agreed to go out with me tonight."

  "As friends," she reminded him, but her heart didn't sound completely behind it. She turned her focus to the gift and ran her hands along the flat top. "It feels substantial." Her delicate fingers trailed the edge of the wrapping paper. "The paper is beautiful."

  He'd always loved watching Reese open gifts. Most people were so excited to see what was inside the wrapping that they tore it open--but while that was how Reese used to act toward him, when it came to actual gifts, she was all about savoring the moment. Unless, of course, she was giving the gift. Then she was like a kid trying to hold in a secret.

  "I thought you might like it." He'd bought the gift wrap in New York a few years back, one of the many times he'd seen something and known Reese would love it. When he'd gone back to New York to pack his things and move to the island, he'd been surprised by how many items he'd bought over the years with her in mind.

  She carefully lifted the tape and unfolded the edges of the wrapping paper, exposing the beautiful wooden box inside.

  "Trent." Her wide eyes met his. "This is exquisite, but a Caran D'Ache wooden box set of aquarelle pencils? I can't accept this." She held the box out to him.

  He gently pushed it closer to her. "You can, and you should. When I saw your drawing this morning, I could practically smell the flowers. They deserve to be as vibrant as you imagine them." He couldn't resist touching her again, and covered her hand with his.

  "But..." She moved a little closer. "You shouldn't be buying me things."

  "Why not?" His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and she squeezed his fingers as she'd done the other night in the parking lot.

  "Because. I'm...You're..."

  "We're, isn't that what you mean?" There was no denying the sparks between them. "Whether I buy you a gift or not doesn't diminish the strength of our connection."

  He stepped closer, and she made a little whimpering sound.

  "Trent," she whispered, before clearing her throat and adding in a stronger voice, "we have to go. I promised Tami I'd go look at her work."

  It took every ounce of self-control to nod and move away from her rather than pull her into his arms. But when he couldn't shift more than an inch away, he realized she had hooked her finger into the pocket of his jeans, keeping him close.

  The look in her eyes when she realized it, too, told him that she'd surprised herself with the move as much as she'd surprised him.

  But despite his desire to press his body to hers and kiss her until neither of them could remember anything but how good they made each other feel, he was determined not to go too fast, or he'd be taking a chance of messing things up again with Reese.

  He wrapped his hand around hers and unhooked her finger from his waistband, then kissed her palm. "Shall we?"

  Her lips parted, as if he were asking her if she wanted to go into the bedroom--and the heat in her eyes told him she was considering it.

  Sweet Lord, trying to keep his hands off of her so that they could talk was shaping up to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life. "Leave, I mean. To see your friend."

  "Yes." She shook her head as if she were clearing her thoughts. "We should leave before we end up replaying history." She walked into the cozy living room, where she grabbed her purse and a book off of a coffee table made from driftwood and glass. "Do you mind if we stop by Bay's Edge on the way? I promised to drop off a book for a friend."

  "Sure," he answered, wondering who her friend was. He'd heard that she worked with the residents of the care facility and knew they all had to be just as much in love with her as he was.

  Everything in her house told of the creative and interesting woman Reese was, from the Tibetan peace flags that hung over the fireplace to the double Papasan chair beside the soft couch and the passionate, emotional paintings she'd hung on the walls. He saw her in every one of them. He could so easily imagine how it would have been if they'd lived here together. Reese would have walked barefoot through the cottage in the mornings, sunk into the Papasan chair, then patted it
and asked him to join her. And he would have appreciated every single second with her in his arms.

  Could that fantasy ever become a reality?

  Hands in pockets, he reminded himself as he followed her out and checked the lock behind them. "There are certain parts of history that are worth replaying," he said as he forgot his own reminder and draped an arm over her shoulder. When she stopped cold, he realized what he'd said and done.

  "Everything feels so natural with you," he admitted as she turned to face him on her front step. "Sometimes I forget that it's been ten years."

  "I do, too," she admitted. She was silent for a few moments, and he could see her weighing her thoughts before she finally admitted, "One minute I want to rip your clothes off, and the next I'm thinking about how long it's been and how much has gone unsaid."

  He traced the edge of her jaw with his finger. "Reese."

  "And then you touch me like that and say my name like we're in the bedroom and you're about to... Ugh." She threw her hands up in the air. "This is so hard." She took one step away and spun around, eyes narrow with warning. "And don't make a sexy comment about that either."

  Trent held his hands up in surrender even as he stepped closer and lowered his cheek to hers to whisper, "Just because something's hard and just because it makes both of us nervous doesn't mean it isn't worth it, Reese. Worth absolutely everything."

  Chapter Twelve

  THIS WAS THE exact moment Reese had both feared and desperately wanted since the very second she'd bumped into Trent a few days ago.

  Her heart thundered in her chest as she fisted her hand in his black button-down shirt--the one that set off his smoldering blue eyes. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, which he knew drove her crazy. Damn him. She'd always loved to run her fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest. Trent was all man, and right here, right now, with his cheek pressed to hers and his warm breath whispering across her skin, she wanted him more than she ever had.

  He drew back far enough to gaze into her eyes but remained close enough for her to see the starburst of gray surrounding his pupils, fusing with the blue that had gone nearly black with desire. She leaned in as he curled his fingers around the nape of her neck, and she couldn't stop herself from brushing her lips lightly against his.