Cape Cod Promises (Love on Rockwell Island 2)

“And I get scared,” Reese said with a small nod, thankful that her best friend understood her so well. Because she’d never needed her more than she did right now.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Jocelyn said. “How can I help?”

“Just promise me that you’ll be honest with me. If you think I’m acting crazy, if you think I’m getting too wrapped up in him, promise me you’ll say something to me.”

“Do you really want me to be honest? Or is this one of those honest-in-a-BFF-way things, where I’m supposed to support whatever you want and keep my worries to myself?”

“Pure honesty,” Reese made herself say, “even if it hurts.”

Jocelyn look undecided for a moment, before she finally sighed and said, “Okay, then here it is. The pure, honest truth. Are you ready for it?”

Reese gulped. “I’d be lying if I said yes, but I want you to lay it on me anyway.”

“I never thought you were over Trent. I know we tried to get you there, but I have never seen you happier than when you two were good together. He’s here now, not in New York. His life is different. Your life is different. You’re not a naive nineteen-year-old anymore. You’re a grown woman with your own gallery, and your artwork is shown in some of the most prestigious galleries in New York and Boston. There’s hope and promise in all of that. But…And there are two big ‘buts’ coming.” She gentled her voice and expression to soften the blow. “The flip side of his making you so happy is that losing that happiness nearly destroyed you, and I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt like that again. But maybe that’s the risk you have to take to find out if your love for each other is as true now as you once thought it was.”

Reese covered her face with her hands and groaned. “What am I going to do?”

“Paint. You’ve been running around here like you can’t get your mind wrapped around any one thing, and the only way you have ever been able to center your mind is to paint. Go. I can handle the gallery. Your answers will come through your art. They always do.”

Chapter Sixteen

FINDING THE DEED should have taken Trent an hour, not several days. Fortunately, the kiss Reese had given him had him soaring so high that even the frustrating search for the deed couldn’t dull his mood.

The elevator doors opened on Chandler’s floor, and Trent’s chest tightened. Grandparents were supposed to be doting and loving toward their grandchildren. Or at least warm and friendly. Trent often wondered if perhaps Chandler had once been that way, before his wife died. But all Trent could remember was the way his grandfather had treated Grandma Caroline, like she was all the way at the bottom of his priority list.

As he stepped from the elevator, a memory whipped through him so suddenly that he had to press his palm to the wall to steady himself. I’m last on your priority list—not just second to your job, but seventh or eighth, after your workday, parties, office events, and whatever else might lead to your success. Reese had said this to him ten years ago after he’d chased her back to the island to ask her why she’d left him with nothing but a note saying she couldn’t be married to him anymore. I don’t even recognize you anymore, Trent. What happened to the man I fell in love with? Where did he go? Trent’s father had encouraged Trent and his siblings to strike out on their own, away from the island, away from Chandler, to ensure they could live their lives out from under Chandler’s oppressive thumb. But had Trent taken Griffin’s push too far? Had he tried to prove himself despite all costs—even when he’d been losing the love of his life?

The sound of his grandfather’s wheelchair turning into the hallway pulled him from his thoughts, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to push himself upright. Not when his mind was still drenched in What the hell did I do?

“Trent?” Chandler grumbled as Didi pushed his wheelchair closer.

Trent forced his shoulders back, his stomach knotting. “Grandfather.” He lifted his eyes to Didi but was unable to force a smile. “Didi.”

“It’s nice to see you, Trent.” Didi’s warm tone softened his ache a little. She deserved a kinder greeting than a grumble that reminded Trent of the very person he didn’t want to be.

“You too, Didi.” He finally managed a smile.

Turning back to his grandfather, he said, “I’ve looked for the transfer documentation in the archives and in the office files. I’d like to avoid a trip to the courthouse, if possible, and I’m wondering if you have any idea where else Robert Faison might have put the files.”