11. Trent
Chapter 11
Trent
After being cooped up for so long in my office talking wedding plans, the fresh air feels like a gift. Now, I’m hoping I didn’t build this location up too much in my head. Jenny, Gwen, and my mom follow me across the marina grounds. The crunch of gravel underfoot mixes with the distant hum of boat motors.
This marina holds so many memories for me. When Mom and Dad ran the marina and I was just a kid, I spent hours exploring these grounds. I’d climb trees and scramble over rocks, making up games as I wandered through the woods. I can still picture the perfect tree that I always dreamed of turning into a treehouse. And since I haven’t gotten around to that, I figure I’ll build it for my kids someday. Not that this wedding is going to bring about kids or anything. This is just a marriage of convenience—she’s helping me, and I’m helping her. That’s it.
“So where are you taking us?” Jenny asks, stepping up beside me. Her voice pulls me back to the present, and I glance down at her.
“Well, there’s this spot I loved when I was younger,” I say, gesturing to the path ahead. “Last summer, I finally got around to making a walking path that leads to it. It’s hard to describe, but it’s kind of . . . perfect.”
“You haven’t added it to the marina maps yet?” she asks, brushing a strand of hair out of her face as a breeze flutters through the trees.
“Nope,” I reply with a grin. “Haven’t found the right name for it yet. Maybe you can help me with that?”
We take the final turn down the path, where sunlight filters through the trees and dapples the ground with golden spots. The gentle rustling of leaves overhead and the faint chirp of birds create a peaceful soundtrack.
When we reach the clearing, everyone stops in their tracks. The path opens into a circular field surrounded by cherry blossoms about to bloom, their pink petals bright against the blue sky. The scent of flowers mingles with the crisp breeze coming off the water. Small patches of wildflowers peek out of the grass.
To the left, an opening reveals a view of the lake below. It’s elevated just enough to give the perfect vantage point, and on windy days like today, you can hear the waves crashing against the rocks.
Simply put, the view is breathtaking.
I’d originally thought that this location could be a spot for picnickers to come and have a nice outing. I also thought it could be a location for events, I guess like weddings, but I never thought it would be for my wedding.
I shift awkwardly, suddenly unsure. What if what I see as perfection feels underwhelming to them? Seconds stretch into what feels like minutes, and the silence starts to claw at my nerves.
“So . . .” I venture hesitantly, rubbing the back of my neck. “Would this work?”
“Would this work?” Gwen says, her eyebrows shooting up. “Did you just ask me if this would work?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, pulling off my hat and running a hand through my hair. My palms feel clammy now. This was definitely a bad idea.
“It’s perfect,” my mom whispers, her voice thick with emotion. She dabs at her eyes with a tissue.
“Trent,” Jenny says softly, her voice trembling slightly as she looks at me, “this place is incredible.” Her eyes glisten, and she reaches out to take my hand.
“It’s more than perfect,” Gwen declares, breaking her silence as she strides forward, her heels digging into the grass. She looks around like she’s cataloging every detail. “Trent, you and I are going to have a talk. This could be the wedding location for spring. Do you know how many people in Nashville would want to be married here?”
“Umm . . . a lot?” I ask, still processing her reaction.
“Exactly,” Gwen says, her tone decisive. “This could open a whole new revenue stream for the marina. With the cabins for overnight stays, this field for ceremonies, and the barn you have for events, you could corner the market for weddings. Especially for couples who want to get out of the city but stay close.”
“Oh wow,” I say, my mind spinning.
“Do you really think so?” Jenny asks, her voice tinged with excitement.
“Absolutely!” Gwen says. “There are a few minor adjustments we’d need to make, but nothing too invasive.” She flips open her notebook and jots something down. “I think we will have time for what is needed, but we’re going to be pushing it. You all sure you don’t want a fall wedding? This place would be just as gorgeous in the fall.”
We both shake our head in unison.
“What would need to be done to it?” I ask, frowning slightly. “I don’t want to ruin the beauty of this place.”
“Well, for starters,” she says gesturing toward the edge, “we’d need a fence to block off the drop to the lake. But a small white picket fence would do the trick—simple yet effective.”
I nod as she continues, “We’d also need an arch for the ceremony. Nothing permanent, just something that can be stored and set up to match each wedding.”
“That seems reasonable,” I agree.
“It would be adorable with tree-stump seats,” Jenny chimes in, her eyes lighting up. “Not just for weddings, but schools could use it for field trips or outdoor classes.”
“The chairs could be dual-purpose,” Mom says. “They’d work for weddings and educational programs alike. I think it’s a brilliant idea, Jenny.”
I glance back out over the field, picturing the stump seats scattered around the clearing. The idea starts to take root, and I already know where I can source the wood and preserve the seats so they stay nice.
“That all sounds very doable. I’m in,” I say finally.
“Great!” Gwen claps her hands together. “Now, for your wedding. We won’t have the chairs in time, but I’ll arrange for some to be brought in. What do you think about setting the arch here?” She points toward the opening, where the lake serves as a stunning backdrop with the cherry blossoms framing it.
“Yes!” my mom says enthusiastically. “And the chairs could fan out like this.” She gestures with her hands, walking around the field to map out an imaginary setup. “Jenny could make her entrance from the path we just came down.”
“That sounds lovely,” Jenny says, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. The small gesture pulls me back to the moment, reminding me that we’re in this together—for better or worse.
Later that evening, after locking up, I scan the marina grounds for Jenny. I’d planned to walk her to my house so she could get a feel for it and figure out what she wants to change, but she must have already left. With only two weeks until the wedding, there’s still so much to do.
I glance toward her cabin and see a soft glow through the window. The light’s on, so I head over, the crunch of gravel under my boots the only sound in the still evening air.
About ten feet from the cabin, I catch sight of Jenny painting through the window. My steps falter, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. I’ve never seen her while she paints before.
She’s a vision. Wearing paint-splattered overalls, her hair tied up in two messy braided pigtails, she looks completely at ease. The sight makes my heart lurch in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
Through the window, I watch as she paints, her movements fluid and rhythmic, like a dancer lost in the music. One hand holds a palette, dabs of color bright against its surface, while the other sweeps the brush over the canvas in gentle, precise strokes. It’s mesmerizing. She’s mesmerizing.
The intensity on her face, the way her lips purse ever so slightly when she concentrates—it’s like she’s poured every ounce of herself into the art. I have no idea what she’s painting, but whatever it is, it’s clear it holds a piece of her heart.
Realizing I’m just standing there staring like some kind of creep, I shake myself and step up to the cabin, knocking lightly on the door.
“Just a minute!” Jenny calls, her voice muffled but warm.
A moment later, she opens the door. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a streak of paint smeared across one of them. Specks of color dot the backs of her hands, and a stray lock of hair slips from her braid, curling against her temple.
“Oh, hi!” she says, a little breathless. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Were you expecting someone else?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
She rolls her eyes and swats my arm, the corners of her mouth twitching in a barely restrained smile, before turning back toward her easel.
Yeah, I deserved that.
“I mean,” she says with a playful smile, “I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
“You need a few more minutes before we head to my—I mean our house?”
“I just need a couple minutes to clean up,” she says. “Come on in.”
I step inside, taking in the organized chaos of her cabin. Canvases lean against the walls, brushes and paint tubes scattered across every surface. The faint smell of turpentine and lavender drifts through the air, oddly comforting.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” I say, chuckling as I step over a drop cloth.
“Sorry for the mess,” Jenny says with a shrug, waving a paint-streaked hand. “Soon it won’t matter. I’ll be able to turn this whole cabin into a proper studio.” Her eyes light up as she speaks, her excitement almost tangible. “You have no idea how much that means to me. I’ll finally be able to work on multiple projects at once, have everything set up permanently so I can just dive in whenever inspiration strikes. No more having to tidy up for guests.”
“Well, I’m glad it makes you happy,” I say, my voice softening. “I like seeing you happy.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I cringe internally. Smooth, Trent. Real smooth.
“You like making others happy, don’t you?” Jenny says, tilting her head, her eyes searching mine.
I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. Safer to keep quiet this time.
“I noticed that about you the first time we met,” she continues, a playful glint in her eye.
“You mean when I saved you from becoming a pancake?” I ask, smirking.
Jenny narrows her eyes and points her paintbrush at me, a tiny splatter of blue landing on my shirt. “We don’t talk about that day. It was one of my lowest moments, and you know it. But,” she adds, her voice softening, “you were a bright spot for me. You turned things around, and I don’t know if I ever really thanked you for that.”
“Well, speaking of bright spots,” I say, gesturing to my paint-splattered shirt, “looks like I’ve got some of my own now. Does that mean I get to help paint?”
The horrified look on Jenny’s face when she notices the splatter is almost too much. I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, rushing off to grab a washcloth. “It’s acrylic paint, so it should wash out. I can treat it tonight.”
She dabs at my shirt with the damp cloth, her movements quick but gentle. The warmth of her hand against my chest makes my pulse quicken. I catch her wrist lightly.
“It’s fine, really,” I say, my voice steady. “This shirt isn’t special. Don’t worry about it.”
Her lips press together. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I reply, smiling. “I can just take care of my shirt when I get back to my place.”
“Okay, well let me clean up really quick and we can head over there. I am excited to see the place.” Jenny wipes her hands on a rag before disappearing to clean up. When she returns, there’s still that small streak of paint on her cheek.
“Hold on,” I say, stepping closer. I reach out, cupping her face gently in my hand.
“What are you—”
“Just a second,” I murmur, dabbing at the paint with the washcloth. Her skin is soft, and the warmth of her cheek beneath my fingertips makes me pause longer than I probably should.
“Did you get it all?” she whispers, her wide eyes meeting mine. The space between us feels charged, her breath warm against my neck. My gaze flickers to her lips, soft and inviting. For a brief second, I wonder what it would be like to kiss her.
What the heck, dude? Get ahold of yourself. You can kiss her when you say “I do.”
My thoughts snap back, and I step away, clearing my throat. “Right. Got it all. Let’s head to our place then.”
I set the washcloth down and turn toward the door, stepping outside to put some distance between us.
No, I tell myself firmly, you have no right to kiss her. Kissing her now isn’t what we agreed on. Physical affection only when necessary, and this moment isn’t necessary. Even if she is my fiancée.