3. Trent
Chapter 3
Trent
“Good morning, Henry,” I call as I make my way down the dock, the crisp pre-spring air carrying the faint scent of the last of the frost melting away. “How’s my favorite regular this morning?”
“Trent, my friend!” Henry’s face lights up. “It’s good to see you. I’m thrilled the weather’s warming up early this year. Winter’s not much for fishing—or being outdoors.”
I glance at Henry’s hands now, steady on the rod. The calluses on his fingers tell stories of years spent working as a woodworker that shaped his quiet, thoughtful demeanor. He’s the kind of man I hope to be one day—someone who’s lived a life full of love and family, who feels their absence so deeply it hurts. The kind of man who can still find solace in a quiet morning on the water.
The sun is warm on my back, a stark contrast to the cold breeze hitting my face as I sit down beside him, the bench creaking under my weight. The faint splash of a fish breaking the surface interrupts the stillness, and a dragonfly flits by, hovering just above the water.
“Well, it looks like a great day for fishing,” I say, stretching my legs out in front of me. “It’s early in the season, but it shouldn’t hurt the potential catch.”
“Nope, even in January. There are plenty of fish in the lake.” Henry casts his line out again with a smooth flick of his wrist. The lure makes a soft plop as it hits the water. “Shouldn’t be hard for an old man like me to catch one. What about you, though? Have any fish caught your eye lately?”
I laugh at his not-so-subtle mention of my dating life. “The marina keeps me plenty busy,” I say, leaning back and resting my arms along the back of the bench. The wood feels rough in some places under my fingers but worn smooth in other places from years of use.
Henry shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, don’t let it take over your life. You ought to have someone you can share that kind heart with. Other than us old fishermen who bother you and those guests you always have coming and going.”
“You’re no bother,” I reply, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “But you best be careful, or you’ll start sounding like my mom.”
“I’ve always liked Maureen, nice lady. You ought to listen to her,” he says, chuckling softly. His laughter is like the creak of a rocking chair, warm and familiar.
I laugh too, standing and brushing the dust off my jeans. “Alright, enough of that. You’ve got fish to catch, and I’ve got a marina to run. See you around, Henry.”
As I walk away, I glance back to see him adjusting his hat, his gaze fixed on the water. The rhythmic click of his reel follows me down the dock. The cool breeze stirs the leaves in the trees lining the shore, carrying with it the faint scent of pine.
What is it with everyone trying to marry me off? Lately, my parents and even grandfather have been grilling me about my dating life. And now Henry too. What is everyone so worried about? I’m a happy bachelor living my best life. So what if my life is consumed by this marina? It’s been working out so far, right?
And yeah, someday I want that right person for me. But someday can wait a bit longer, in my opinion.
“Good morning,” Greg calls out, his voice cutting through the soft hum of the AC unit as he strides into the office. His tone carries an unusual energy.
“Good morning to you too,” I say. “Someone seems extra chipper this morning.” I barely glance up as I scan the rentals scheduled for today. The faint smell of paper and ink mixes with the lingering scent of lake water from my morning rounds. Two groups are coming in for pontoon rentals, and a few regulars will pick up fishing boats—a steady start to the day, though the to-do list is already long.
Greg’s boots thud across the wooden floor, the sound slightly muffled by the worn area rug, as he approaches my desk. He sets down a paper bag with a triumphant grin. “I bring good news,” he announces, his voice carrying the same excitement as a kid on Christmas morning.
A rich, sugary aroma wafts up from the bag, immediately triggering a low growl from my stomach. It’s a smell I’d recognize anywhere: Holly’s Sunrise Sin muffins. My mouth waters just thinking about the warm, gooey center of oranges and the flakey cinnamon-sugar topping.
“Dude, did you bring my favorites?” I rub my hands together like I’m about to dig into a treasure trove. Food might as well be my sixth love language, and Holly’s baked goods? They’re practically legendary. It’s a good thing I have this marina to look after because if not, I’d easily gain a hundred pounds.
“Yep,” Greg replies, his smile growing. “And good news. Did you hear that part?”
I’m already unwrapping a muffin, the wax paper crinkling under my fingers. “Sorry, got distracted by the muffins. What’s this good news you bring me this fine morning?”
Greg shakes his head, amused, and leans casually against the corner of my desk. “I found you a manager for the marina shop.”
I’m so caught off guard that I inhale my muffin too quickly, choking on the cinnamon sugar crumbs. “You what?” I croak between coughs, my eyes watering as I fumble for the water bottle on my desk.
“I found you a manager,” Greg repeats, clearly amused by my reaction. “You know, for the position you’ve had me post on the website for months now? I found someone to fill it.”
“Without me interviewing them?” I rasp, still recovering my breath.
Greg chuckles, crossing his arms. “No, I’m not that crazy. But this person comes highly recommended.” He takes a bite of his own muffin, crumbs spilling onto his shirt.
I look at my half-eaten muffin, then narrow my eyes, suspicion creeping into my tone. “Let me guess. Holly recommended this person, didn’t she? Is that why she sent in muffins this morning?”
Greg grins, brushing crumbs from his shirt and looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Man, you know Holly has a knack for this kind of thing. Holly told me about the girl she’s recommending last night, and I have to say, from what Holly says, you should definitely give this girl a chance. I think she will be just what you need.”
I rock back in my chair and glance around at the organized chaos of my office. Stacks of papers threaten to topple over, unsorted orders clutter the desk, and unopened stock boxes are piled haphazardly in the corner. It’s not exactly inspiring confidence in my ability to manage it all. I could use some help.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I guess I could interview her. She’s not a kid, though, right? I don’t have time for someone who’s going to bail after a month. As we both know, I need some help managing a bit of everything since my parents have stepped back fully.”
Though I wish they would help me convince Grandfather to pass ownership to me. Having to go to him for big things takes so much more time than it should.
“Nope, not a kid,” Greg says, licking muffin crumbs off his fingers. “She’s about our age, from what Holly said.”
“Fine,” I concede reluctantly. “Let her know I can interview her tomorrow.” Greg’s sheepish expression stops me in my tracks. “What now?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, scratching the back of his head, “Holly might have told her to come by today . . . and that you’d be more than happy to interview her. And I kind of told Holly that would be fine.”
“Dude, do you see this place?” I gesture at the mess surrounding me. “I don’t even know where I put the job listing.” Pulling off my baseball cap, I rake a hand through my hair before jamming it back on. “And I’m not even dressed for an interview.”
Greg waves a hand dismissively. “This is what you wear every day. Nobody’s expecting a suit and tie. Besides, I can print a copy of the job listing for you. Give me two minutes.”
He darts out the door and across the hall, his footsteps fading quickly. I take a moment to tear into the muffin again, savoring the burst of warm orange-cinnamon filling as it melts in my mouth. Less than two minutes later, Greg’s back, waving a freshly printed sheet still warm from the printer like a victory banner.
“Thanks, I guess,” I say. “Do you at least know when this mystery girl will—” My question is interrupted by the soft chime of the front door as someone walks into the marina store.
“That’s probably her,” Greg says, slipping out of the room. “I’ll bring her back here. Straighten up a bit while you’ve got the chance.”
“Naw, I’ll just interview her outside,” I call after him. “I’ll walk her around the marina so she gets a feel for the layout.”
“Sounds good, man. Good luck.” Greg says before heading out the door and back to his office.
I shake my head, eyeing the piles of papers and unfinished projects. But before I can do much more than stack a few papers, I hear a soft, tentative voice call out from the shop.
“Hello? Holly said you’d be here. Is this a bad time?”
The voice is gentle, uncertain, yet strangely familiar.
“Just a moment,” I call out, tucking the job listing under my arm and adjusting my hat. My shoes scuff against the floor as I stride toward the door, mentally preparing myself to meet this Holly-approved candidate.
My steps falter the second I see her.
Jenny.