Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

Patience, Tremaine, patience.

“I think it’s those little details that matter. Instead of just a card that the guest can place on the bed when they don’t want their linens changed, we could put like a ceramic blue hen or . . . we could have Dahlia McGuire, the silversmith at the gift shop, custom-make something that guests can put on the linens instead. What do you think, sir? Mr. Tremaine?”

Vaughn stared through Graham, forcing himself to focus and let his brain play catch-up. “I like it,” he said. “Talk to Miss McGuire. Get her to draw up some designs.”

Once Graham left his office, Vaughn rested his head on his chair and picked up his phone. He opened his messages to Bailey, his fingers hovering over the buttons. How much time should he give her before he had to raise this as an issue? He couldn’t go through with marrying Camille because she didn’t trust him.

He definitely couldn’t see his relationship with Bailey going where he wanted it to go if she didn’t trust him. Yet, he was itching to have her. For good.

The idea of her not believing in him, believing that he would hurt her, scared the shit out of him. It had taken him forever to start believing he loved her enough to overcome his fears; to believe in himself when it came to protecting her and making her happy.

Her distrust was fucking all that up.

They should talk.

The phone jumped in vibration in his hand, causing him to jump.

Dad Calling.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Vaughn said in lieu of hello.

“How did I manage that?” William sounded amused.

“I had the phone in my hand about to make a call.”

“Let me guess. To a certain redhead?”

“Maybe.”

His dad chuckled. “I was just calling to check in. It’s been two weeks since you two decided to pull your heads out of your ass.”

Rolling his eyes, Vaughn sighed. “You’re not expecting weekly updates, are you?”

“While it’s new, yes. I want to make sure you don’t fuck it up.”

“Nice. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Okay. Something’s up. I can hear it in your voice.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Vaughn.”

He sighed, knowing his father would just hound him until he told him. “She . . . she hasn’t said she loves me back yet. I think I know that she does but it’s like she still doesn’t trust me yet. Should I be worried?”

“Son, it’s been a couple of weeks. Give the poor girl a chance.”

For some reason his dad’s matter-of-fact response soothed him. He laughed at himself. “You’re right. Jesus. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You love her. That’ll make a man act like a fruitcake. Speaking of . . . I . . . um . . . well . . . I was going to wait to tell you in person but I don’t see you getting out here for a while now that you and Bailey . . .”

“Dad, spit it out.”

“Diane left me for good. I . . . blew it.”

He was disappointed for his dad, and for Diane. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t change how I feel,” he explained. “I’ve felt this way too long. I don’t want to remarry. My wife is gone.”