by Bella Andre
"He says he's changed, that he didn't know how to handle our relationship before. Neither of us did, Joce. I screwed up just as badly by being so damn scared of everything in the city." She met Jocelyn's concerned gaze. "All I know is that when I'm with him, I feel alive again, and when we kiss..." Her insides went gooey again, and her knees went weak just thinking about Trent's mouth on hers. "When we kiss, everything feels right again. But..."
"Then you remember how hurt you were."
"And I get scared," Reese said with a small nod, thankful that her best friend understood her so well. Because she'd never needed her more than she did right now.
"Tell me what you want me to do," Jocelyn said. "How can I help?"
"Just promise me that you'll be honest with me. If you think I'm acting crazy, if you think I'm getting too wrapped up in him, promise me you'll say something to me."
"Do you really want me to be honest? Or is this one of those honest-in-a-BFF-way things, where I'm supposed to support whatever you want and keep my worries to myself?"
"Pure honesty," Reese made herself say, "even if it hurts."
Jocelyn look undecided for a moment, before she finally sighed and said, "Okay, then here it is. The pure, honest truth. Are you ready for it?"
Reese gulped. "I'd be lying if I said yes, but I want you to lay it on me anyway."
"I never thought you were over Trent. I know we tried to get you there, but I have never seen you happier than when you two were good together. He's here now, not in New York. His life is different. Your life is different. You're not a naive nineteen-year-old anymore. You're a grown woman with your own gallery, and your artwork is shown in some of the most prestigious galleries in New York and Boston. There's hope and promise in all of that. But...And there are two big 'buts' coming." She gentled her voice and expression to soften the blow. "The flip side of his making you so happy is that losing that happiness nearly destroyed you, and I can't stand the thought of you being hurt like that again. But maybe that's the risk you have to take to find out if your love for each other is as true now as you once thought it was."
Reese covered her face with her hands and groaned. "What am I going to do?"
"Paint. You've been running around here like you can't get your mind wrapped around any one thing, and the only way you have ever been able to center your mind is to paint. Go. I can handle the gallery. Your answers will come through your art. They always do."
Chapter Sixteen
FINDING THE DEED should have taken Trent an hour, not several days. Fortunately, the kiss Reese had given him had him soaring so high that even the frustrating search for the deed couldn't dull his mood.
The elevator doors opened on Chandler's floor, and Trent's chest tightened. Grandparents were supposed to be doting and loving toward their grandchildren. Or at least warm and friendly. Trent often wondered if perhaps Chandler had once been that way, before his wife died. But all Trent could remember was the way his grandfather had treated Grandma Caroline, like she was all the way at the bottom of his priority list.
As he stepped from the elevator, a memory whipped through him so suddenly that he had to press his palm to the wall to steady himself. I'm last on your priority list--not just second to your job, but seventh or eighth, after your workday, parties, office events, and whatever else might lead to your success. Reese had said this to him ten years ago after he'd chased her back to the island to ask her why she'd left him with nothing but a note saying she couldn't be married to him anymore. I don't even recognize you anymore, Trent. What happened to the man I fell in love with? Where did he go? Trent's father had encouraged Trent and his siblings to strike out on their own, away from the island, away from Chandler, to ensure they could live their lives out from under Chandler's oppressive thumb. But had Trent taken Griffin's push too far? Had he tried to prove himself despite all costs--even when he'd been losing the love of his life?
The sound of his grandfather's wheelchair turning into the hallway pulled him from his thoughts, but he didn't have the wherewithal to push himself upright. Not when his mind was still drenched in What the hell did I do?
"Trent?" Chandler grumbled as Didi pushed his wheelchair closer.
Trent forced his shoulders back, his stomach knotting. "Grandfather." He lifted his eyes to Didi but was unable to force a smile. "Didi."
"It's nice to see you, Trent." Didi's warm tone softened his ache a little. She deserved a kinder greeting than a grumble that reminded Trent of the very person he didn't want to be.
"You too, Didi." He finally managed a smile.
Turning back to his grandfather, he said, "I've looked for the transfer documentation in the archives and in the office files. I'd like to avoid a trip to the courthouse, if possible, and I'm wondering if you have any idea where else Robert Faison might have put the files."
"Faison." A deep vee formed between Chandler's brows. "You didn't find the deed with the rest of our corporate documents?"
"No, and I've been through them all. The deed was never formally transferred to you. You must be receiving tax bills in your father's name. I mean no disrespect, but didn't you notice? Didn't the accounting staff notice?"
"The tax bills always came in his name," Chandler said as his frown deepened. "I never worried about it."
"I had hoped that we might have the original documentation, but since we don't, I'll get to work putting together new transfer documents. Do you know if your father had intended to transfer the property prior to his death?"
"Of course he did. He signed all of the paperwork. Robert Faison had it, and I assumed they'd been filed. When he died so suddenly--" Chandler stopped his uncharacteristic dithering. "Do whatever needs to be done. I need that deed."
"Yes, of course."
"Didi." Chandler motioned for her to push the button for the elevator.
Trent rode down the elevator with them, and when it opened, he pressed his hand to the door, holding it for Didi to push his grandfather's wheelchair into the hall.
"Thank you, Trent," Didi said as she settled a hand on Chandler's shoulder. "We're going down to the beach for a walk. Would you like to join us?"
Though Chandler looked surprised at her invitation, he didn't counter it. And for a moment Trent was tempted to go with them. If only because he couldn't imagine what a walk on the beach in the middle of the afternoon with his grandfather could possibly be like. Maybe Chandler really was changing his ways, just as Quinn had suggested a few weeks back when he'd overheard Chandler and Didi talking about commitment to family.
"Thanks for the invitation, but I've still got to take care of a few things in my office." And the rest of his day would be all about Reese.
But as soon as he got back to his office and began gathering the documentation he'd need to prepare a new transfer of the deed, he couldn't stop thinking about Reese--or how seeing himself in Chandler turned his stomach.
He'd apologized to her again and again these past days, but he knew those apologies weren't good enough. He needed to do something more to make up for his past mistakes. The documents could wait--it was time to take a ride over to her gallery.
Just as he was about to head out, his office door swung open and Sierra walked in, looking pretty in a long wine-colored skirt. She didn't even waste time on a greeting before saying, "How're things working out with Reese and the mural?"
"She's got a great sketch of it already."
"That's good." Her gaze softened as she clarified, "But I was asking about you. Are you okay with working together?"
Trent knew how much Sierra loved the idea of being in love, and she'd been heartbroken when he and Reese had broken up. Hell, they all had been. "I'm more than okay with it, Sierra. I want her back. More than anything."
"And Reese? What does she want?"
"More time."
Sierra came around the desk and embraced him. "Love like you two shared doesn't just go away. I'm sure she'll come around. Who could possibly resist my loving, smart, hands
ome oldest brother?"
*
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER Trent stood on Old Mill Row, staring up at the sign above Reese's gallery, wondering how he could have missed seeing the significance of it all these years. He studied the yellow dandelions on the left side of the sign, then followed their metamorphosis as they moved across the painting. The yellow flowers made a textured and graceful transition to parachutes of fluff, the delicate hairs separating and floating away toward the upper-right side of the sign. Below, the word Dandelion was elegantly tucked among the grass.
The endearment had come to him the first time they'd made love. There was something magical and ethereal, beautiful and soft, about dandelion fluff as it was swept away in a whisper of wind. Its beauty was almost indescribable, and there was something so magical and full of hope within its beauty as it traveled in the wind that it made everyone smile.
Just like his Reese.
How could he have spent a decade visiting the island and never put two and two together? He'd been so bogged down by the pain of her Dear Trent letter that he'd never seen the sign hanging above her gallery for what it was--her love letter to him, just waiting for him to return and figure it out.
Renewed hope filled his chest.
Inside the gallery, Jocelyn was busy with a customer, and when he didn't see Reese, he took a moment to really look at Reese's paintings for the first time in far too long. Her passion came through in the sexy, dark curves of the images, and he saw her playful side in the lighter paintings. Though most of her artwork was abstract, Trent had always felt that through her art he'd been given a glimpse into her soul. When Reese was happy, she used flowing, delicate strokes, rather than the contrasting, muted, or dramatic flairs that showed her darker moods. But the paintings he loved best were the ones where light and dark overlapped and she painted angular shapes with smooth, fine lines, then filled them with thick, bold colors--or when she created edgy strokes and softened them with pale, earthy hues.
At last he came to Reese's easel, and his eyes landed on the photograph of the two of them that he'd given her in the box of paints. His heart tugged at the sight.
"She put it there this morning. But she's not here now."
Jocelyn's voice startled him, and he turned to see Reese's best friend standing behind him with her shoulders and chin set in a strong manner and a serious look in her eyes. Trent knew how close Jocelyn and Reese were and that they'd always shared everything with each other. By the way she was scrutinizing him, he guessed she knew he and Reese had made love last night.
"I'm not going to hurt her again, Jocelyn. Hurting Reese any more than I already have is the very last thing I want to do."
"Look, I can see that you're still in love with her," Jocelyn said flat-out, "but you've been gone a long time, Trent. She's not a kid anymore. She has a life here on the island. A good life, with friends and her gallery. She's happy. And it took her a really long time to get there. She's incredibly strong, but she's also--"
"Sensitive." Trent turned to look over a few of Reese's darker paintings before looking back at Jocelyn. "I know how complex and wonderful Reese is, and I know you want to protect her. I do, too." He held her gaze. "You're right. I'm still in love with her. More in love than ever before. I know I screwed up, and I have a hell of a lot to make up for. But I swear to you, this time I'm going to be the man she needs me to be. And I'm going to make her happier than she ever knew she could be."
As he spoke, Jocelyn searched his eyes, but he wasn't worried about what she'd see. The love he had in his heart for Reese would overshadow all else.
Jocelyn finally smiled at him, as if he'd just passed a test. A really big one. "She's at home, in her studio."
"Thank you. Not just for telling me where she is, but for always being there for her. Especially when I wasn't."
Chapter Seventeen
MUSIC PLAYED SOFTLY in Reese's backyard studio. It was a small studio, no bigger than a shed, but it was the perfect size to paint in, with plenty of windows to let in as much natural light as possible. The combination of the studio and the close proximity to her parents' house were the two things that had sold her on the cozy cottage, and since moving in a few years earlier, she'd planted lovely gardens and decorated both the cottage and the studio in her own unique and colorful style.
She wore a pair of her painting overalls and was already covered with streaks of paint from pouring all of her emotions into the old canvas she'd pulled out of the back of the closet in her studio. She'd started the painting when she and Trent had first started dating, and then she'd gotten so caught up in their relationship that she'd set it aside. She'd tried to find her muse after moving back to the island, but while it came easily for other paintings, this one hadn't spoken to her. It had remained unfinished for all this time, a raw mess of emotions shoved into the back of her closet.
But when she'd come into her studio this afternoon, she'd been immediately drawn to the painting. And now it was finally coming together, bursting with passion and color.
Reese rarely picked favorites among her work because each piece was so different that it was nearly impossible to choose. But the painting she was currently working on spoke to her far louder than all the rest. She felt as if it were rooted so deeply in her heart that she could finish it with her eyes closed.
She held the paintbrush in one hand and took a step back to study it. Lipstick red rounded out two chins, contoured with wide strokes of black, which faded into pink and fluorescent-green bows of two mouths. Aqua blue, pink, and more black streaked over contours of misshapen cheeks and over the ridge of two equally misshapen noses. Four eyes gazed out at her, a mix of blues and greens and peppered with amber. Two bodies twisted like tornado funnels, swirling together, drawing strength and sharing heartache as they created energy that soared up toward the sky in bright starbursts and jagged lines.
To a stranger it might look like two faces had been put into a bottle, shaken up, and splattered onto a canvas, with two bodies that had also been stretched and twisted and bound together, then coiled beneath the whirlwind of emotions on the faces. But to Reese the images weren't tangled at all. They were as real and as raw as the explosive emotions inside of her. And just as Jocelyn had said, the more she painted, the better she felt.
"Reese?"
She spun around, shocked to find Trent standing just inside the door to her studio. All of her emotions had risen to the surface over the course of the afternoon, and now she felt as if her skin were on fire as he stepped forward, giving her an easy yet sensual smile that made her insides melt.
"I didn't mean to startle you. I knocked, but you were lost in your work." His eyes slid over her like a caress before he asked, "Can I see what you're working on?"
"It's not finished," she said, but she stepped aside to let him look at the canvas.
He stared at the painting for a long time without saying a word, and her heart leaped to her throat, knowing that he'd see her emotions all over the painting. By the way he was assessing it, and glancing back at her with darkening eyes, she knew she was right.
She stepped in front of the painting, feeling raw and exposed as she said, "There's a lot I still need to do to it."
"I think it's perfect." His voice was deep and soothing, as if he understood just how vulnerable she was feeling. "I missed watching you paint, Reese. I always thought it was so incredible to watch you get completely swept up in your work."
Just the way she was getting swept up in him right now. Twice today he'd surprised her with unexpected visits. This morning she'd kissed him. And now? Well, she wasn't good enough at lying to herself to think they were going to get by with just a kiss this afternoon.
"Tell me about this one."
He was pointing at a painting that reminded her of a storm coming in through the clouds. Carefully stepping over her tarp, which was splattered with paint, she moved around open paint cans and set her paintbrush with the other drenched brushes, before she replied.
> "It's called Struggle."
It was such an angst-filled word, but she could find no better way to describe the deep purple, yellow, orange, greens, and every shade of blue she could create that streaked violently across the canvas. There was no landscape, no houses in the distance, just the raging, disjointed storm, coming together from all angles. Only when the driving clouds collided did the colors soften, finally giving way to graceful flourishes as they edged off the canvas.
"I should have guessed," he said softly as he turned to face her. He used to be able to guess the names for her paintings, as if he could see right into her heart just by looking at them. "You were incredibly talented when we first met, Reese, and you're even more so now. I was so pleased when I started finding your artwork in New York galleries."
"You saw my work in New York?" It truly hadn't occurred to her that he might have seen her paintings during his years living in the city. He'd worked so many hours when they were together that she couldn't imagine him taking off time to visit a gallery.
"I had a business meeting with the owner of one of the galleries, and once I saw your work there, I went looking for more."
"Why?"
He reached for her hand. "Because your art is a piece of you, Reese. I bought every piece I could get my hands on, until I had no place else to keep them."
"You bought them?"
"I told you that I never stopped loving you, and I meant it. After you left, your paintings were the only way I could be close to you."
He gathered her into his arms, but even though that was exactly where she wanted to be, she pulled back, saying, "I'm covered in paint."
But he pulled her in close again. "It's your paint, Reese. And I love knowing something of yours is now a part of something that's mine."
That was something the old Trent would have said, but New York Trent would have been worried about his clothing and one of his colleagues seeing a stain on his fancy suit. She took pleasure in the marked difference.
"I'm so happy you made it, Reese. Despite what happened between us, your dreams of showing your work in galleries came true."
"It almost didn't happen," she admitted.
He slid his warm hands up her arms and asked, "Why not?"
