Marry Me Tomorrow (Unlucky In Love #3)

1. Trent

Chapter 1

Trent

The lake glimmers under the morning sun as I walk down the marina dock. Golden light scatters on top of ripples that lap lazily against the dock posts. At the far end of the dock, a single fisherman sits and adjusts his line. His battered hat casts a shadow over a face weathered from time.

“Good morning,” I call out, my voice breaking the stillness. “How’s the fishing going?”

He looks up, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. “A few nibbles but not much else. The fish must be sleeping in today.”

I chuckle, stopping a few feet away. “They have a habit of doing that. I’m Trent, by the way.”

Straightening slightly, the man tips his hat in greeting. “Nice to meet you, Trent. I’m Henry. Henry Monroe. It’s my first time back here in years, actually. Just moved into the senior home down the street.”

“Chessie Valley Homes by the Lake?” I ask.

“That’s the one,” Henry replies with a nod. “Figured I’d take advantage of being so close to the water. Used to fish here all the time.”

I gesture toward his fishing gear, noticing the careful arrangement of lures and a thermos close by. “Looks like you’ve still got the touch, even if the fish aren’t cooperating.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that seems to carry the weight of unspoken memories.

“What brings you down here, Trent?”

“I work here. I’ve actually been running the place for almost a year and a half now. I took over the marina for my parents, Edmund and Maureen Hughes. They are ready to retire.”

“I know your parents, good people. Managing the marina is a big commitment to take on,” Henry says, his tone equal parts curiosity and admiration.

“Doesn’t feel that way to me,” I say shrugging. “This marina has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. My parents ran this place since before I was born. I was raised here. I played on our double decker pontoon boats with my friends when we were kids, pretending to be pirates. I broke my leg climbing trees, testing out all the best ones as we created new trails for the hikers. As I grew, I started working here every summer, soaking up the rhythms of the lake. There isn’t a corner of the marina I don’t know or a task I can’t handle. And when I went off to college, I studied business, dreaming of the day I’d take over the place.”

“It’s nice to have some place where you feel you belong,” Henry says, his voice thick with something heavy. He glances at the water. “I want to try to get down here most mornings. Gives me something to look forward to. I need that these days.”

I sit down on the edge of the dock, the wood warm beneath me. “You mentioned it’s your first time back in years. If you don’t mind me asking, what brought you back here after all this time? Other than moving into the senior home down the street.”

Henry’s smile wavers. He looks away, his eyes catching on the autumn trees lining the shore. Their leaves blaze in fiery reds and oranges reflected on the still surface of the lake. For a moment, he seems lost in the scene before him.

“I lost Cora, my wife,” he says, his voice quieter now. “She passed away about fourteen months ago. After, I had medical bills piling up, and it was getting harder for me to live alone. My granddaughter came up to help. We did everything we could, but it wasn’t enough. We needed more money.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “And I didn’t want that life for her, taking care of an old man. So, I told my granddaughter to sell my house and that I’d move into Chessie Valley Homes by the Lake. It was the right thing to do—but losing my wife and my home so close together . . .” His words trail off, carried away by the faint breeze making ripples in the water.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say gently. “That’s a lot to go through in such a short time.”

Henry nods. His weathered hands adjust the fishing rod with practiced care. “It’s been tough, but we’ve been able to use the money from the house sale to pay some of the bills and to cover my costs at the care center. I know things are still tight, but my granddaughter is helping me manage it all. She’s doing her best for me. And this place? It’s not so bad. Being near the water helps. Makes me feel close to my Cora again. She loved it here. We’d come all the time—picnics, fishing, just sitting together. You were a lot younger then.” His eyes meet mine, sharp yet softened by memory and scanning my face as if seeing something familiar. “You remind me of myself when I was younger, you know. Full of life, full of hope.”

The unexpected compliment leaves a pang in my chest of something I can’t quite name. “Thanks. That means a lot. If you ever need company down here, just let me know. I’m always around the marina.”

Henry’s smile returns, tentative but genuine. “I might take you up on that, Trent. Nice to have someone to talk to.”

“And maybe next time,” I say, grinning, “we’ll get those fish to cooperate.”

He laughs, a low, warm sound that feels like the first hint of spring after a long winter. “Here’s hoping.”

The conversation I had with Henry lingers with me throughout the day. I can’t shake the sadness that clung to Henry’s words, the quiet grief woven through his story. The weight of it all still sits heavy in my chest.

He reminds me of my own grandfather Samson and how lost he was after his wife passed. Her absence shattered us all, but it was easy to see it hit Grandfather the hardest. I can still picture the way he’d sit in her favorite chair, staring out at the water like he was waiting for her to come back home. I don’t know how he would have pulled through without our family rallying around him.

I think of Henry’s love for his wife and their connection to the marina. It stirs something deep within me. The way he finds solace here, how just being near the water connects him to his late wife—it feels significant. I understand that pull, because my own soul is tethered to this marina.

If I ever lost the marina, I know I’d feel the same—a longing to return, to hold onto what it represents, onto what it means to me. It’s not just a place; it’s a lifeline. And somehow, that makes me feel inexplicably drawn to Henry, as though we share an unspoken understanding.

Then the thought strikes me, clear and certain. I grab my phone and quickly search for the number to Chessie Valley Homes by the Lake.

It only rings once before a cheerful voice answers. “Chessie Valley Homes by the Lake, this is Edna. How can I help you?”

“Hi,” I say, my voice steady, determined. “I was wondering if it’s possible to make payments toward a resident’s monthly fees—anonymously, if that’s okay. Maybe call it a discount they’ve earned or something, so they don’t get suspicious. Would that work?”

The line goes quiet, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve lost Edna. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Edna replies, her voice a little choked. “Yes, I’m here. And yes, that’s absolutely possible. What a thoughtful gesture.”

“It’s for Henry,” I say. “Henry Monroe.”

“Oh, Mr. Monroe? That’s wonderful. He’s such a kind man. Thank you.”

“I’d like to pay a thousand a month recurring for him.”

“Oh dear, that is so generous. Thank you so much.”

We finalize the details, and I hang up feeling lighter than I have all day. The thought that I might have eased even a fraction of Henry’s burden fills me with quiet satisfaction. My day passes with a smile plastered to my face.

When I enter the marina office building, Greg, my best friend and the marina’s marketing director, leans his head out of his office. “What if,” he says, “we added trivia nights or karaoke nights and hosted them in the lodge starting in April or May?”

I stop walking and lean against the doorway to his office. “I think that sounds fun. Do we know anyone who could emcee something like that?”

Greg swivels in his chair, his pen tapping rhythmically against his desk. “There are a few businesses that go around to different places. I’m sure if we made it a regular thing, we could get a good deal.”

“Alright, sounds good to me. I’ve really got to get someone in to help manage the marina shop, though.” I step inside and sink into one of the chairs across from his desk. “Where are we on applicants?” The faint hum of Greg’s computer fan fills the room, mingling with the muted sound of voices from the marina shop.

Greg's office is almost the same as mine—same desk, chairs and setup, just without the meeting table—but you can tell he is married. Holly, his wife, has her little touches all over the office. Framed photos of them, a plant by his window, they all show she cares. It makes my office look dull and a bit pathetic in comparison.

Greg types on his keyboard, his brow furrowed. “No one else has applied since that last guy from Middle Tennessee State University. But you didn’t want him . . .”

“Because he wouldn’t be able to work full-time.” I run a hand through my hair, sighing. “I just don’t understand how we can’t find someone who isn’t a college kid to take this job. It’s decent benefits and good pay.”

“I know, man. In the meantime, we can keep switching off and on shifts. Of course, your mom has offered to come back and help.”

“You know I can’t have her do that. She wants to enjoy her retirement, and I don’t want them to think I can’t handle the marina myself. You know?”

“Yeah, I get it. The right person will come along. We just have to be patient. It’s not like you’re going to just run into the perfect person out of the blue.”

“No kidding. Wouldn’t that be great?” I stand and stretch, the chair squeaking as I push it back. “I’m going to head to my office. I’ve got to try and make a dent in the paperwork that’s been piling up.”

Greg chuckles. “Good luck with that.”