13. Trent
Chapter 13
Trent
The next week flies by in a blur of appointments, decisions, and fleeting glances that linger in my mind long after they’ve passed. Jenny and I barely have a chance to catch a moment alone together. Every day seems to be packed with meetings, fittings, and checklists, all conspiring to keep us apart. Not to mention fighting off the constant barrage of questions from our friends and family about how long we’ve been together, how we knew we were the ones for each other, and if we’re sure we want to have the wedding so soon.
Luckily, when we met with Holly to finalize the cake, she didn’t have any questions about the timing of our relationship. We tasted so many cake flavors that I thought I’d never want sugar again—until I bit into the Sunrise Sin. The rich, tangy sweetness of the orange-cinnamon zest combined with the decadent cream frosting was almost enough to win us over. But then there was the lemon, light and refreshing, with a bright citrus zing that lingered on the tongue. Neither of us could choose, so we didn’t. Two tiers, two flavors—it felt like a perfect compromise.
Today, Jenny has been whisked away by Gwen and my mom for dress fittings and bridesmaid appointments. I can picture her now, standing in front of a mirror, the glow of her smile brighter than any spotlight. The thought sends a pang through my chest.
All I can think about is how much I want more time with her. I didn’t expect this—falling for my future wife wasn’t part of the plan. We agreed this would be simple: a friendly arrangement to solve mutual problems. Get married, stick it out for the agreed time, and part ways amicably. No mess, no heartbreak.
But now, the idea of parting ways feels unbearable. I catch myself imagining forever—her laugh filling the house, her hand slipping into mine, the two of us building a life together. The thought thrills and terrifies me in equal measure.
Is this how it feels in those arranged marriages you read about? Two strangers learning to love each other, except we aren’t strangers. We won’t be meeting on our wedding day. We set this marriage up ourselves, a modern twist on an ancient tradition. Unorthodox, yes, but maybe it could work.
If only I knew how Jenny felt.
I’ve been pouring my thoughts into every detail of this wedding. And every time I walk into my empty home, I wish she were living there already. With how busy wedding planning has been, we agreed she’d move her things in the night before the wedding. She’s also planning a pre-wedding sleepover with the girls at our house while I crash at Greg’s place. The timing of her moving in is a practical arrangement, but it leaves me wondering—will it always feel this temporary?
“What’s up, man?” Greg says, pulling me from my thoughts as he steps out of his office across the hall. “You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
I glance up from my desk, grabbing my cap and shutting my laptop. “Just wedding stuff.”
“Not having second thoughts, are you?” His grin is teasing, but his tone carries a hint of concern. “Not that we could blame you, planning a wedding in three weeks is enough to make anyone run.”
“Dude, I’m not even close to thinking about backing out of this wedding.”
“I didn’t really think you were,” Greg says. “But obviously there is something weighing on you.”
I hesitate, but I’ve known Greg long enough to trust him with our secret. He kept his love for Holly under wraps for thirteen years before they finally got together. If anyone can understand complicated feelings, it’s him. So, I tell him everything, about my grandfather’s contract, Jenny, our agreement, I don’t leave out anything.
Greg raises an eyebrow. “Wow, man, that’s a lot. So, you and Jenny are kind of not in a relationship?”
“We are in the sense that we’re getting married in two weeks.”
“But you’re not in love with each other?” Greg asks.
I stare at the floor.
“Unless . . .” Greg says. “Are you catching actual feelings for her?”
“Yeah,” I admit, leaning back in my chair. “She’s amazing. Not just around the marina, but as a person. I don’t think I could’ve picked someone better to marry.”
“Then why do you look so glum?”
“Because this wasn’t the plan. I’m starting to think that I want this marriage to last longer than a year, but I don’t know how Jenny feels about it.”
Greg leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Then talk to her. Be honest. You never know—she might feel the same way. Man, I see how she looks at you and how you two are together. I’m on your side and think that you two have what it takes to make this work, as long as you are both open and honest about things.”
I shake my head, horrified at the thought of Jenny finding out I spilled everything to Greg. “I can’t. Our arrangement was supposed to stay between Jenny and me. I shouldn’t have told you any of this.”
Greg smirks. “Relax, man. I’m not saying blab to anyone. Just talk to Jenny. You owe it to yourself—and her.”
We head out to Greg’s car, his words still rattling around in my mind. “That’s exactly it, though,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat. “What if she only wants to stick to the original plan? What if she’s not open to forever?”
“Then wouldn’t you rather know now, before you say ‘I do’? At least then you can prepare your heart.”
I let out a dry laugh. “When did you get so wise? I seem to remember giving you advice not too long ago. How did our roles reverse?”
“That’s life,” Greg says with a shrug. “Something happens, and it shifts your whole perspective. For better or worse. And I’m willing to bet that in this case, it’s for the better.”
By the time we arrive at the shop to get fitted for our suits, Gwen, my mom, and Niall are already there, chatting with the attendant.
“There he is!” my mom exclaims, rushing over to pull me into a hug.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Hughes,” Greg says with a wink. “I wouldn’t let him miss this.”
“Hey, mate,” Niall says, clapping me on the back. “Ready for the big day? It’s coming up fast.”
“As ready as I can be,” I reply, trying to keep my voice light.
We follow Gwen and the attendant to the fitting area. The tan suits Gwen picked out aren’t traditional, but they’re sharp—springlike, as she put it. The white shirts add a crisp touch, and by the end of the fitting, I have to admit, we clean up pretty well.
“Don’t forget, you and Jenny are coming over tonight for dinner,” my mom says for the hundredth time as we’re leaving.
“How could I forget, Mom? Six o’clock on the dot, I promise.”
I give her another hug, but as we head out, my mind drifts back to Greg’s words. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s time to have that conversation with Jenny—before it’s too late.
“How did the fitting go?” Jenny asks as I step into the marina shop, the late afternoon light spilling through the large windows and casting golden streaks across the floor. The familiar scent of cedarwood polish and faint gasoline from the dock fills the air. Jenny is behind the counter, her hands busy sorting receipts into neat piles, though her eyes lift to meet mine with a spark of curiosity.
“Good,” I say, pulling off my cap and ruffling my hair. “The guys and I got our suits. Gotta say, we look pretty sharp. And my dad and Henry are supposed to go in tomorrow.” She grins, the corners of her mouth pulling upward in a way that makes me forget whatever else I was going to say.
“Good, good,” she says. “Umm, your mom called. She wanted me to remind you not to forget dinner at their house tonight.”
I laugh, a low rumble escaping before I can stop it. Jenny tilts her head. “What’s so funny?”
“I just left her, and she reminded me there too. Does she think I’d forget in the fifteen minutes it takes to get from the shop to here?”
Jenny chuckles softly, the sound light and musical. “Well, you have been a bit . . . spaced out lately. Maybe she’s worried you’d lose track.”
That statement pulls me up short. “I’ve been spaced out?”
She nods, her smile fading slightly as concern creeps into her expression. “Yeah, probably not noticeable to most people, but I can tell. You haven’t seemed like yourself the past few days.”
Her words settle like a weight in my chest, and I stare at her dumbfounded. My mind scrambles to replay the last week—had I been so consumed by my own thoughts that I’d been neglecting her? Neglecting my responsibilities?
“Trent,” she says softly, her voice like a gentle nudge, “do you not want to go through with this anymore? Are you regretting our decision to get married?”
Her question catches me off guard, and I see the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “What?” I say. “No. Why would you think that?”
That’s the complete opposite of what I’ve been thinking.
She hesitates, her hands stilling on the stack of papers. “I don’t know,” she says softly. “It’s just . . . I’ve been left before, and I don’t think I could go through that again. I know this is just an agreement between us that will end, something temporary for a year, and I’m not expecting you to stick around forever. That’s not what we agreed to. But the thought of standing up at the altar only to be left again unexpectedly . . . I don’t think I could handle that.”
I step closer, reaching out to take her hands in mine. Her fingers are cool to the touch, and I squeeze them gently. “Look at me, please.”
Her gaze lifts, and the unshed tears lining her blue eyes cut through me.
“I don’t regret this—any of this. You’ve been a bright light in what could have been a really dark situation my granddad put me in. Did I want to have to get married to keep the marina? No, of course not.”
She tugs back slightly, but I hold on, desperate for her to understand. “But if I had to pick the perfect person to do this with, I couldn’t have imagined, never in my wildest dreams, anyone better than you. You’ve turned something that could’ve been awkward and stressful into something . . . amazing. I’m excited to marry you.”
Her lips part, surprise softening her features. “Seriously? You’re not just saying that?”
I nod, my voice firm. “I’m serious. As serious as the fact that kissing you last week was the highlight of my year so far.”
A huge smile spreads across her face.
“And,” I say, my voice turning more serious, “I would never ever do what your parents did. I would never leave you, Jenny.”
When I pull her into a hug, it feels as natural as breathing. Her tension melts away as she relaxes against me, and the world outside the shop fades to nothing.
After a moment, we pull apart, and she resumes tidying the counter, though her movements are slower, more thoughtful now. “So then, what’s been on your mind if it’s not the wedding?”
“Oh, the wedding’s definitely on my mind,” I admit, leaning on the counter as the late sunlight catches the highlights in her hair. “That, and trying to declutter some of my stuff so that you have space when you move in.”
She pauses, a hint of teasing in her tone. “I could’ve helped with that, you know.”
Neither of us has had the time to do much more with the house, since we’ve been so busy with wedding planning. And after our kiss, I don’t want to tempt myself with being so near her, but I know that’s going to be all for naught when she moves in the night before the wedding. I need to rein in my emotions because I don’t want to scare her away. I need her to stick to the agreement not only because otherwise the marina is pretty much gone but also because I’m hoping I can convince her to stay with me past the year we agreed on.
“I know,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “But you shouldn’t have to help with my things. Besides, I didn’t mind. It’s just . . . getting used to this new normal.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile, but she doesn’t push further. Instead, she changes the subject. “My painting is coming along great, by the way. The views around the lake have been really inspiring. I’m trying something new, but it’s not ready for anyone to see yet. Maybe soon, though—if you’d want to see it.” She tucks a stray hair behind her ear before making eye contact with me.
I can see the joy and excitement, but also the nervousness in her eyes. I hate whatever put that there, whatever caused her to think she isn’t the greatest, most talented person I’ve ever met.
The vulnerability in her voice stirs something in me. “Of course I want to see it. Maybe you could even paint something for the house, to hang in the bonus room upstairs.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t mean that.”
“Sure, I do. You’re talented.”
“How would you even know?” she asks, skepticism tinged with curiosity. “You’ve only seen a few paintings here and there.”
“And just from those, I know you’re talented. And . . .” I kick the toe of my shoe against the counter before finally admitting, “when we made our arrangement, I looked you up. I wanted to see your work—to get to know you better. If I was going to marry you, I felt like I should know all of you. You know?”
She’s silent for a moment, and I look up to find her watching me, her expression soft and unreadable. “You did that?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I? Jenny, I’d be proud to have your art in our home.”
Her expression softens further, and a wistful smile tugs at her lips. “My grandma Cora would’ve loved you. She was the artistic one in the family—she’s where I get it from.”
“I didn’t know that.” I lean against the counter as she talks and finishes wiping down her workspace. “I remember your grandma. Every now and then, Henry would bring her to the marina for a picnic, and I got to meet her. She was a very sweet lady.”
“She was the best,” Jenny agrees, nodding. “I can’t believe you met my grandparents before we officially met. I wish I could have asked Grandma Cora what she thought of you.”
“She loved me, of course,” I say waving at myself like I am Vanna White and just showcased a new letter.
“I do think she would have loved you. Grandma Cora had a love for all things fun in life. She saw the world in a way that others couldn’t. It’s why she was an artist. She used to say that art could show people the beauty in the world, even when they couldn’t see it themselves.” Her voice falters slightly, but she continues. “When she got too sick to go out, I’d paint by her bedside. I wanted to bring the world to her, to remind her of all the beauty out there.”
“That must’ve been hard, losing her.”
Jenny nods, her smile bittersweet. “It was, but she’s with me every time I pick up a paintbrush.”
Coming around the counter, she swats my arm playfully. “We’d better hurry or we’ll be late. How long does it take to get to your parents’ place?” She heads toward the door, and I follow her.
“About forty-five minutes by road,” I say, locking the shop door behind us as we step outside, “but only ten if we take the boat.”
She grins, the setting sun casting a golden glow across her face.
As we make our way down the path toward the house, the rhythmic sound of our footsteps mingles with the distant whistles of wood ducks. I can’t help but think how much I want every journey with her—by land, by boat, by whatever—to last a lifetime.