6. Jenny
Chapter 6
Jenny
I avoid Trent for the rest of the day. My nerves are jangling like loose change in a dryer. I linger with customers longer than necessary, listening to all kinds of stories or chatting about the weather as though it were the most interesting topic in the world. When Trent comes into the shop, I dart out with a forced smile and a flimsy excuse.
“Just checking on this cabin,” I say, my voice an octave higher than usual.
I don’t know what came over me this morning, blurting out that Trent and I were engaged. This isn’t how I wanted that conversation to go. And I really hope I still have a job—and a place to live—after all this. Oh, Jenny, what in the world got into you?
The sun dips below the horizon, painting the marina in hues of gold and lavender. The store is quiet now, the buzz of the day fading into the stillness of evening. I finish wiping down the counter after closing up, the sharp, citrusy scent of lemon cleaner clinging to the air. The cool dampness of the cloth soothes my overworked hands as I hum to myself, trying to focus on the simple task and not on what my mouth said this morning.
I turn to check the aisles, making sure everything is in its place for tomorrow morning, but come to an abrupt halt. Trent stands in my path, his arms crossed over his chest. His face is unreadable, but the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes hints at his calm resolve.
“We need to talk,” he says, his voice steady but firm, each word cutting through the quiet like a blade.
I gulp, twisting the damp rag in my hands until water seeps between my fingers. “Well, I still need to do one last check on the aisles before I’m done for the night,” I say, my voice wobbling.
“That can wait—fiancée.”
“Right, about that . . .”
Trent’s expression remains neutral. “Is the lodge door locked?”
“Oh, um, yes,” I stammer, my heart thudding in my chest.
“Okay. Let’s go talk in my office.” He turns without waiting for a response, and his footsteps are firm and deliberate on the wooden floor, each one echoing in my ears like a drumbeat of inevitability.
Right, I guess that solves this mystery. I’m totally fired.
I follow him, my pulse quickening with every step. His office is neat but lived-in, with a faint scent of cedar and paper. The soft glow of a desk lamp illuminates scattered papers and two wingback chairs across from a desk and a well-worn leather chair.
He sits in one of the wingback chairs, its dark leather inviting, and gestures for me to join him. I hesitate, but his patient gaze nudges me forward. Sinking into the chair, I feel the cool leather press against my arms.
Before I can stop myself, words spill out in a rush, my voice tumbling over itself. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me this morning. I just heard your mom talking—well, I wasn’t trying to listen in, but I did, so I’m sorry about that too. I shouldn’t have told her we were engaged, when clearly, we aren’t. It’s just that what you told me about the marina and needing to be married had been on my mind, and when I heard her, I just—”
“Jenny,” Trent says, holding up a hand, “take a breath and stop.” His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes that surprises me. “I know you weren’t serious about the engagement. It’s maybe not the funniest joke to play on my mom, and she has already started spreading the rumor that we’re engaged. So we’re going to need to come up with a plan to explain all of this.”
“So . . . you’re not firing me?” I ask.
“What?” Trent pauses, then shakes his head. “No, I’m not firing you. It took me months to fill your position. And the regulars love you. There’s no way I’m letting you go.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m so grateful I still have a job and a place to live. And now that I know I’ll be at the marina for the foreseeable future, I have to tell Trent the truth. “Thank you, Trent, for letting me keep this job, but I do have to tell you that when I told your mom we were engaged, I wasn’t joking. I was being serious.”
“Serious?” Trent looks at me like I have two heads. “What are you talking about, Jenny? We are not engaged.”
“I know. I know. I shouldn’t have told your mom without talking to you first.”
“Talking to me first? You mean telling me”—Trent gestures between us—“that we’re engaged? Do you know how this is sounding?”
“Not good,” I admit. “But just listen. After we talked the other day, I was thinking about what you said. And I think we could help each other out.”
“By being engaged?” Trent says, his face full of confusion.
“Yes.”
Trent’s eyes widen slightly. “You can’t be serious, Jenny.”
“I am serious. As serious as a fisherman is about his gear.”
“Well, what you are offering is definitely a solution to my problem,” Trent says, his tone cautious. “It’s one that you know has been weighing on me. But why are you doing this? There’s nothing in it for you.”
His blue eyes meet mine, steady and searching. I shift under his gaze, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Rising slowly, I walk over to the window and place my hand on the clear pane. The glass is cool under my fingertips as I look out at the marina.
“Trent,” I say softly, still looking out at the boats gently swaying on the water. “There is a lot in it for me.” I turn back to face him and lean against the windowsill, the edge pressing into my spine. A lump forms in my throat as I think about everything that brought me here. “This isn’t just about you, okay? It’s about what this place means to me.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “When I was a kid, my parents moved around constantly. I never stayed in one place long enough to make friends or feel like I belonged anywhere. They made it pretty clear I wasn’t part of their plans, you know? I was an ‘unexpected burden’ to them, something they had to deal with, someone who just got in the way.”
Trent’s face tightens. “They actually said that?”
“Not in so many words,” I admit, forcing a small smile. “But I could tell. Then, as you know, one summer, when I was in middle school, we went to visit my grandparents. And my parents left me there. They left without even saying goodbye.”
His eyes widen. “Jenny, that’s awful.”
“It was. At first, anyway. I didn’t understand why they didn’t want me, why they’d just leave me like that. But what they didn’t realize was that leaving me with my grandparents was the best thing they ever did for me. Henry and Cora welcomed me with open arms, made me feel like I finally belonged somewhere. Their house became my home. For the first time in my life, I felt safe, loved . . . stable.”
Trent leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Your grandparents sound like they were amazing people, even back then.”
“They were. And Grandpa Henry still is. He’s the reason I came back here, Trent. Leaving for college and venturing out on my own in the world has been wonderful, but leaving my grandparents is also the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’d always longed to return to Chessie Valley. I wanted to be close to them, but I wasn’t sure how to make it work with my job. Then Grandma passed, and fate forced my hand. And I’m here now. I’m making it work. That little cabin by the marina? It’s not just a place to live—it’s my sanctuary. It’s where I have the freedom to paint, where I feel like I can breathe. This job? It’s given me not only that cabin, but more importantly, it’s given me a way to stay close to Grandpa and this community. It’s given me stability. A home.”
Trent nods slowly, his expression softening. “I guess I didn’t realize how much this place means to you.”
“It means everything,” I say, my voice steady and sure. “The marina, the regulars like Mr. Newman, my cabin, it’s all part of the life I’ve started to build here. And I don’t want to lose it. I want to be near my grandpa as long as he’s alive, and I want to stay in Chessie Valley, the only place I’ve really felt at home.”
Trent looks at me, his gaze searching.
“So,” I continue, “if we do get married, I’m guaranteed this job and this home.”
“True,” Trent says. “The rumor mill would be unhinged if I fired not only my best employee but also my wife.”
“And if we do go through with a wedding, you’d be guaranteed ownership of the marina.”
Trent nods, then looks into my eyes. “But marrying me . . . that’s a huge step, Jenny. You’re talking about tying yourself to someone you barely know. It’s crazy.”
I laugh softly. “Oh, it’s definitely crazy. But I don’t think it’s as crazy as letting this place slip away from us. And Grandpa Henry likes you, Trent. He’s got a knack for knowing when someone’s a good person, so I trust his judgment.”
“Yeah,” Trent says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He’s called me a good egg once or twice.”
“Exactly.” I take one last look at the lake, the setting sun casting it in molten gold, and inhale deeply before I push off the windowsill and take a step closer to Trent. “Look, I know this isn’t how either of us pictured our lives going. But I also know you’ve worked too hard to let this marina slip through your fingers. And I’ve worked too hard to leave my grandpa and Chessie Valley again. So, yeah, I want to get married. Not only because I want to help you but because I understand what it feels like to lose everything.”
Trent’s shoulders relax, and he runs a hand through his hair. “You’re . . . something else, Jenny. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll stop second-guessing my seriousness about this arrangement,” I reply, a teasing edge to my voice. “If you need a wife to meet the requirements your grandpa set in place, then I’m your lady.”
“Are you sure? You barely know me or my family,” he asks, though his tone lacks the weight of genuine doubt it had previously.
I cross my arms and give him a pointed look. “I feel like I know you and your mom just fine, thank you. My grandparents raised me to do the right thing, and my gut is telling me to do this.”
Trent leans back, crossing one leg over the other, and studies me for a moment. “Okay, well, if we’re doing this, there are some things we would need to agree on first. Ground rules.”
“Such as?” I ask, sinking back into the wingback chair.
“Well, living situation, physical affection, how long we would stay married—things like that.”
I nod, already running through possible scenarios in my head. “Okay. What are you thinking?”
“I have a house walking distance from the marina,” Trent says, his tone practical. “After we’re married, you could live there with me.”
“Logical,” I agree. “We’d need to keep up appearances anyway.”
“Exactly. And I figure we’d only need to live together for a year,” Trent continues.
“Why a year?”
“Well, my thought was that if we’re living together for at least that long, people will believe that we genuinely gave this marriage a go. So when we separate, no one will suspect that this marriage was all pretend. Plus, once I officially become the owner, I can change the contract to remove the marriage clause. After that, we wouldn’t need to keep up the charade anymore.”
“That makes sense,” I say, nodding “And we wouldn’t actually get divorced until I am ready to leave the marina, so I don’t have to worry about a job or place to live after the year is up.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“And for the last part?” I ask, hesitantly.
Trent takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “And . . . for the physical aspect, I think we should keep things simple. People will expect at least one kiss on the wedding day. But other than that, we keep everything else friendly, like holding hands and small gestures and stuff like that.”
My brain stalls at the word kiss. My cheeks heat as I picture kissing Trent. Is Trent attractive? Absolutely. Have I wondered what kissing him might be like? Yep, and definitely more than once. But hearing him say it out loud sends my thoughts spiraling.
“So,” Trent says, his voice pulling me back to reality. “Are you still in?”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “You won’t get rid of me that easily,” I reply with a small smile. “But I have one question.”
“Hit me with it,” Trent says, leaning forward, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
“When’s the wedding? And how big or small is it going to be?”
Trent bursts into laughter, the sound filling the room and making me smile despite myself. His laugh is warm and contagious, a glimpse of the carefree side he so rarely gets to show lately.
And in that moment, I know the hardest part of this arrangement isn’t going to be pretending to be married. It’s going to be trying not to fall for him.
“Well,” Trent says, “if my mom has anything to do with it, it’ll be the event of the season. But since you are doing me such a big favor, we can do it any way you want.”
“Remember, it’s not a favor. We’re both getting something out of this.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.”
“I’m more worried about the financial aspect of it,” I say, then look at the ground. “At the moment, I barely have enough money to get by, let alone put any toward a wedding.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Trent says. “My parents will cover it. My mom is more than ready for me to be married. She’s practically been preparing for my wedding since I was born.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“I’m sure,” Trent says. “And seriously, thank you for doing this.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks, the significance of our agreement hanging heavy between us. Somehow, this crazy plan feels a little less overwhelming than it should—and a little more like the right decision.