33. Trent
Chapter 33
Trent
After spending the entire day catching up on boat and cabin maintenance and prepping the rentals for the weekend, my body feels like it’s been put through the wringer. My shoulders ache, my hands are covered in a fine layer of grime, and the damp scent of lake water clings to my clothes. I’m halfway up the steps to the lodge, ready to collapse into a chair and watch the last rays of the sun slip beneath the horizon, when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer, slightly out of breath. “What’s up?”
Her voice is calm but with that unmistakable edge of purpose. “Hi, honey. Your grandfather asked me to relay a message. He’d like to speak with you this evening.”
I pause, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “Is everything okay? Something wrong with the pacemaker?”
“No, nothing like that,” Mom says. “I think it has to do with the marina.”
My stomach tightens at her words. What does this mean? Is there some way he found out about my marriage agreement? I already feel so guilty about not truly fulfilling the clause that’s so important to him. And if he knew, I don’t know what I would do. “Okay,” I say, “I’ll let Jenny know, and we’ll head over after I clean up.”
“No, sweetheart. He wants to talk to just you this time,” she says. “I’ll come by and have dinner with Jenny so she isn’t alone. Besides, I’ve been meaning to catch up with her.”
My stomach twists even more. How am I going to face my grandfather alone? “Alright. I’ll tell Jenny about the change in plans, and I’ll head over in a bit.”
As I hang up, the sky shifts into hues of soft lavender and orange, a stark contrast to the nervousness settling over me. I pull the shop door open, and the tinkling bell announces my arrival. Jenny is behind the counter, her hands gently folding a receipt for a customer. Even in the dim glow of the shop, she’s radiant—her long lashes casting soft shadows against her cheeks. The sight of her causes my heart to beat faster. We haven’t talked since the events of last night, and I was hoping she and I could talk over dinner. Now with Grandfather's summons, that’s not going to happen.
She glances up, and when our eyes meet, a faint blush dusts her cheeks. Her lips curve into a shy smile that makes my heart thud against my ribs. “Hi,” she says, stepping around the counter as the last customer leaves.
“Hi,” I reply, my throat suddenly dry.
She tilts her head, her gaze searching my face. “Everything okay?”
I nod, though my stomach twists. “Yes . . . and no. My grandfather has asked to see me.”
“Oh?” she asks. “What about?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it has to do with the marina.”
“Okay,” Jenny says, “well, we’ve gotten through a similar conversation with him before—”
“Actually, he just wants to talk to me—alone.”
Jenny nods. Her brows furrow briefly, but then her face softens into a smile. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not sure. “Mom’s coming here to have dinner with you so you’re not alone. I hope that’s okay?”
“That’s fine. I love Maureen—she’s been so sweet to me.”
“Maureen, huh?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
Jenny swats my arm lightly, her laugh like a burst of sunlight. “Yes. She told me to stop calling her Mrs. Hughes now that we’re married, but it still feels a little strange.”
“I get it, and if you’re okay with the plan, I should probably wash up and head out soon. Hopefully, it won’t take too long, and when I get back . . .” I nervously shuffle my shoe against the wooden floor. “Maybe we can talk? That is if you are up for it.”
Her gaze softens. “I’d love to.”
Before I lose my nerve, I lean down and press a soft kiss to her lips. Her whisper of “See you later” follows me out, and it takes everything in me not to turn back.
The marina is quiet as I step onto my boat, the gentle lapping of water against the dock soothing my restless mind. The cool evening breeze carries the scent of pine and the faint scent of gasoline from the boats. The engine hums to life, and I steer toward the open water, passing the cove that hides our little house. Through the shadows of twilight, I can see the contractors’ trucks and scaffolding. The sight is bittersweet—it’s progress, but it reminds me how far we still have to go.
The lake stretches before me, its surface rippling with the faintest reflection of fading sunlight. The cool air brushes against my face, easing the tension in my shoulders. By the time I pull up to my parents’ dock, I feel a little more centered. As long as this conversation with Grandfather goes as smoothly as the last one, I have nothing to worry about.
Dad is waiting on the deck, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “Hey, son,” he says, his voice gruff but warm. “Your mom just left, but she sends her love. You hungry?”
As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly, and we both laugh. “I guess that’s a yes,” I say.
Dinner is a quiet affair. My father, never one for small talk, doesn’t add much to the conversation. Grandfather stays uncharacteristically silent. The weight of the unspoken lingers in the air, but every time I bring up his summons, he brushes it off with a wave of his hand. “Let’s just enjoy dinner.”
So I update them on the marina. I fill them in on how well the rentals are going and how we are almost done getting the stumps for the clearing Jenny and I got married in, now named Cherry Blossom Grove. I also explain how we’ve done some minor renovations on the barn to allow for better wedding receptions and parties.
Dad and Grandfather are intrigued by the idea. Both of them want to see Cherry Blossom Grove once we get the set up complete.
After dinner, Dad excuses himself, mumbling something about catching the game on television. That leaves Grandfather and me. We retreat to a parlor room, its wide windows framing a beautiful view of the backyard sloping gently toward the lake. The room is still warm from the day’s sun, and the faint scent of jasmine wafts in through the open sliding door.
I glance at my watch. It is getting late.
“I know you’re itching to get back to that sweet Jenny,” Grandfather says, his gravelly voice tinged with warmth. “But I’m thankful you came tonight.”
“Of course, Grandfather.” I try to focus on the lake, its surface now a deep indigo, reflecting the last streaks of fading light. The familiar scene usually comforts me, but tonight I feel restless. I know these waters like the back of my hand. But no amount of certainty out there could prepare me for what Grandfather says next.
“Son,” Grandfather begins, his tone unusually soft. “I want to apologize to you.”
The words hit me like a gust of wind off the lake, sharp and unexpected. I turn to face him, studying his expression. Grandfather isn’t a man who apologizes often—or at all, really. So why is he starting now?
“I should never have forced you to get married in order to inherit the marina,” he says, his voice thick with regret.
For a moment, I forget to breathe. The weight of his admission, so out of character, settles heavily in the air between us.
After a pause, I manage to say, “You didn’t force me exactly, Grandfather.” My voice falters slightly. “Jenny and I love each other.”
“Codswallop,” he says, shaking his head. “We both know the marina was your life, and if that clause hadn’t been hanging over you, the thought of marriage wouldn’t have crossed your mind.”
I stare at him, unsure how to respond. This is not the conversation I’d envisioned when Mom relayed his summons earlier. Did he know Jenny and my marriage was only a ploy to ensure I got the marina?
“I was blinded by my love for my Winnie,” Grandfather continues, his voice trembling slightly. “I just wanted you, or whoever took over the marina, to have what we had. But I see now I might’ve done more harm than good. And you’ve done a remarkable job running the marina. I know that married or not, you would give your heart to that place.” His eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at me. “Can you forgive an old man, son?”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Of course, Grandfather. I know you didn’t write in that clause out of malice. And . . . it means everything to me to hear you think I’m doing a good job with the marina. I’ve always wanted to make you proud. But there’s something I need to apologize for too.”
Grandfather looks at me, surprise on his face.
“You may have gathered this already,” I say, “but I need to tell you anyway. You’re right. Jenny and I did get married just so I could be eligible to take ownership of the marina.”
“Oh, Trent,” Grandfather says, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry I forced you into a marriage you didn’t want.”
“I’m sorry I went behind your back,” I say. “I should have just talked to you about how much the marina meant to me.” I look at my grandfather, a big smile on my face. “But I think you including the marriage clause worked out for the best.”
Grandfather looks up at me more perplexed than I have ever seen him before.
“The marina might’ve been my heart and soul once,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside. “But ever since I met Jenny, my entire heart and soul belong to her.” I hesitate, then add, “Our relationship may have started as a marriage of convenience, a way to keep the marina. But it’s not anymore. I love her. I love her with all that I am.”
Grandfather doesn’t try to hide his tears now. They slide freely down his weathered face. “I know you do, my boy.”
“You do?”
He nods. “Anyone can see that you two love each other as clear as day.”
“You can?”
“Yes,” he says confidently. “I dare say it’s a love like Winnie and mine.”
My heart warms at the thought because I think it is too.
“Jenny is a mighty fine young woman,” he says, “to be so willing to work at the marina and to step in like she has—she’s incredible.”
“She really is,” I agree.
“I’m so happy you have found your very own Winnie. I hope you treasure her and every day you get to spend with her.” Grandfather pauses, his eyes glinting with the sheen of unshed tears. “You’ll never know when it will be your last, and that, my boy, is the scariest thing of all. I thought I would have more time with my Winnie, but she was taken from me too soon. Treasure that Jenny of yours, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, my throat tightening.
“Your grandmother Winnie would be so proud of you. So proud of both of you. And so am I.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “That means the world to me.”
He pats my shoulder with a trembling hand. “You’ve been here too long. Why don’t you head on back to your lovely wife. And bring her around for dinner on Sunday, alright?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, my heart leaping at the thought of Jenny.
As I say my goodbyes and head down to the dock, I think about what Samson said to me, to treasure Jenny because I’ll never know when it will be my last day with her.
Unfortunately, due to our agreement, I do know when my last day with her will be. But I’m going to change that. I hurry my steps and get the boat ready to leave, excited to get back home to Jenny.
I grip the wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening as a surge of frustration washes over me. I want to be with her already. I want to tell her how I feel, and I hope she feels the same way. Because if she doesn’t, there is no one else for me. Jenny is it. I want to stay married to her forever.
In this moment, I realize I’m irrevocably, madly in love with my wife.
When I walk into our apartment, the place is empty. No Jenny. My heart dips for a moment, but then I realize I know exactly where she is.
The marina feels almost otherworldly as I walk to her painting cabin. The sun has mellowed, casting long golden rays that glimmer on the water. A heron stands statuesque by the shore, its reflection rippling gently below it. The faint hum of distant cicadas blends with the occasional plop of fish breaking the surface.
When I reach her cabin, music spills faintly through the closed door—soft, lilting. I knock softly before stepping inside.
The world tilts.
Her artwork surrounds me, and I freeze in the doorway, my breath caught somewhere between wonder and disbelief.
A massive canvas dominates the room, it’s presence almost magnetic. It feels like stepping into a dream. The scene is achingly familiar. It pulls me in with quiet reverence. It’s the hanging bridges at Anakeesta.
Suspended in twilight, dark green trees stretch toward the sky, their vast canopies broken only by winding wooden bridges lined with twinkling lights. The entire painting glows as if holding its own breath, waiting. Off to the side, a couple stands in a loving embrace, gazing into each other’s eyes, lost in their own world. My chest tightens. It brings me right back to that night. That kiss.
Then I see a sketch—of me—pinned delicately on the wall. The memory rushes back. The day we first met, when I took her to For the Love of Sugar after saving her from stepping onto the street.
Next to it, a larger watercolor painting—our picnic at Cades Cove. The colors bleed and blend in soft dreamy strokes, capturing the way the golden sunlight filtered through the trees, casting the warmth over that morning. It doesn’t just depict the moment. It breathes it.
To my other side, a smaller canvas catches my eye. A bride and groom surrounded by cherry blossom trees, frozen in a dip as their love spills from the brushstrokes. Their expressions—pure, weightless joy—pull at something deep inside me.
And then—another. It’s the little waterfall from our honeymoon, painted with such vivid intensity that I almost hear the roar of the water crashing into the lagoon below. The painting glows, the greens of the overhead canopy pierced by streaks of golden sunlight. Tiny details—the rough texture of the rocks, the way the light catches on the spray—bring it to life. In the foreground, two shadowy figures stand side by side, their closeness as palpable as the warmth of the memory it brings on. It feels as though I am right back there with her on that hike.
I turn, and my gaze lands on a painting of our cabin. Two people sitting in rocking chairs, side by side, staring out at the lake as the first rays of dawn stretch across the water. A quiet moment. A lifetime held in this single frame.
But it’s what hangs beside it that undoes me.
The gazebo overlooking the lake. The place where everything became real. Sunlight spills over sandy shores as crystal clear water laps gently against the land. Wildflowers of every color bloom in the grass, their petals trembling as butterflies flit from one to the next. A wall of cherry blossom trees cradles the scene, their leaves whispering secrets into the breeze. Light filters through the branches, casting warmth across the place where I knelt before Jenny, where I asked her to be mine.
Tears blur my vision. The weight of it all—the love embedded in every brushstroke, the way she has captured not just moments but the very essence of us—presses against my ribs.
My heart cannot take the sheer depth of feeling spilling from the artwork that covers the cabin.
She has painted our love story. And it is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Jenny . . .” Her name falls from my lips, barely a whisper.
She turns, startled, a paintbrush still clutched in her hand. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, stray wisps curling around her face. She looks beautiful, radiant in her element.
“You found me,” she says, her voice a mix of surprise and delight.
“This is . . .” I struggle for words, gesturing at the paintings. “Jenny, this is stunning. No—that’s not the right word. It’s breathtaking. It’s like being there, everywhere, all over again. How, how did you do this?”
A soft blush spreads across her cheeks. She sets the paintbrush down carefully, as if the moment requires all her attention. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” she says.
“Well, you’ve succeeded in surprising me,” I say, my voice warm with awe. “Can we take these back to the house?”
Her eyes soften, but there’s a flicker of something vulnerable in them. “You’d really want them at the house?”
“Of course I would.”
“Hopefully,” Jenny says quietly, “they’ll be up there for a long time—longer than a year.”
I look over at her and my soul screams with joy. This woman has to love me, she just has to. Why else would she say something like that? Why else would she paint such vivid and poignant moments of us?
I take a step closer to her, unable to resist. “Jenny, there’s nothing I’d want more.”
Her breath catches, and I feel the shift in the air between us. The room, the painting, the marina—all of it falls away, leaving only her. I hold out a hand. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”
“Okay,” she says.
As she slips her hand into mine, her fingers fit perfectly. The warmth of her touch ignites something deep in my chest.
We wander toward our gazebo, the late evening sun bathing everything in a golden glow. The blossoms sway gently in the breeze, their soft fragrance mingling with the pine scent of the forest floor.
I can’t hold it in any longer. “Jenny, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. For a while now actually.”
As we step into the gazebo, the sunlight filters through the blossoms, painting the ground in soft patches of light and shadow. I guide her to the bench near the entrance and sit beside her, my heart pounding.
“Jenny,” I begin, my voice trembling slightly, “I’ve fallen in love with you. Completely, hopelessly, head over heels, scream it from the rooftops in love. I don’t want our marriage to be about an agreement anymore. I want it to be real. Forever.”
A soft breeze blows loose strands of hair across her face. I reach over, unable to help myself, and brush the strands back behind her ear.
Her eyes widen, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Trent,” Her voice is thick with emotion. “Each day that passes is one day closer to the end of our agreement, and I’ve dreaded the end of each day because I want nothing more than to be with you forever. I fell for you a long time ago, and the thought of losing this—of losing you—has been unbearable. Because I am madly, utterly, crazy in love with you.”
The weight of her words crashes over me, filling every crack in my heart. I pretend to tear up a sheet of paper and blow the pieces into the wind. “There, the agreement’s done, gone, vanished into thin air, no more.”
I kneel down and take her hands in mine. “Jenny, my beautiful, sweet, wonderful wife, I know you already married me. But I ask you now here in the spot where I first asked you to marry me, will you marry me again, today, marry me tomorrow, every day for the rest of our life?”
Yes,” she breathes, her voice breaking into a smile. “Yes, Trent. Forever.”
“Then I vow here and now to be the best real husband, with no end date, to you that you will ever have,” I say.
“And I vow also here and now to be the best real wife, with no end date, to you that you will ever have,” Jenny says.
“Then by the power vested in us, since this gazebo and marina is ours, I hereby declare us real husband and wife, with no end date.”
“We may now kiss each other,” Jenny says.
When I kiss her, the world stops, leaving only the two of us in the warm embrace of the gazebo. The future stretches before us, infinite and filled with promise. With this kiss I let all my love and devotion to her shine through, letting her know that she is and will always be loved to the end of our days and beyond.