Cape Cod Promises (Love on Rockwell Island 2)

The same way that Trent touched every part of her when he was near.

It had been easier to repress her feelings and deny them completely when he was living in New York all these years. But now, knowing he was staying in the resort—and that he was never more than a few minutes away—made it impossible to keep pretending that her feelings for him weren’t hovering just under her skin, vying for release.

She hadn’t planned to make love with him last night. She’d planned to take it slow, to let her feelings simmer as she explored whether or not they were capable of a more mature love.

But even as she thought it, she couldn’t keep from rolling her eyes. It was yet another truth she had to face this morning—she couldn’t have put the brakes on last night if her life had depended on it, simply because she had no self-control when it came to Trent. Being in his arms again, being that close to the man she’d always loved, hearing her name roll off his tongue—it was sensation overload.

The very best kind of sensation...

She lifted the wooden box of pencils he’d given her and slid her palm over the sleek finish. He knew her so well. To think that he’d bought it because he’d recognized the image she’d sketched made it even more special. She opened the lid, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of her favorite photograph of the two of them.

She hadn’t seen the photograph since returning home. She’d left it beside the note telling Trent she’d left him, hoping it would be enough to spur him into wanting to make things right between them. Her heart ached with the memory.

Ten years ago it hadn’t been enough. What did it mean that he’d given it back to her now?

She lifted the photograph with a shaky hand and remembered the lovely afternoon at his parents’ house when his mother had taken the photo.

They’d been unaware that Abby had taken the picture. Then again, when Trent and Reese were together, their love and connection had always overshadowed anything and everything. It didn’t matter where they were or how much they loved the people they were with. Their love was boundless.

Or at least it had been for a little while.

The picture’s edges were frayed, and her image was slightly faded, as if Trent had rubbed a thumb over it many, many times. In the photo, Trent was sitting on the grass, and Reese was sitting on his lap, facing him. He had one arm beneath her knees, holding her leg in place like he didn’t want to take a chance of her running off. They were both smiling so broadly that her heart squeezed even now, as she remembered the feel of their foreheads touching. If she concentrated hard enough, she could still hear his voice when he whispered, I can’t wait to marry you, Dandelion.

Goose bumps shivered up her limbs with the memory. Dandelion. When he’d called her that last night, it had left her breathless. How could one word, one voice, one man, feel like everything?

She set the photo in the top of the box and tried to stop thinking about how unbelievably good, how perfectly right, it had felt to make love with him again. She could still feel the press of his thighs against hers, his big hands clutching her hips, and the heated look in his eyes…

She’d never needed words with Trent, because his eyes never lied. The day they’d gotten married, she’d known how much he loved her. Their first morning in New York City, when he’d forgotten to kiss her goodbye, she’d seen just how preoccupied he was with his new life and career. And then, just one week ago, she’d known the moment she’d looked into his eyes outside of Shelley’s that he still loved her...and that he wanted them to go back to the way they used to be.

But was love enough? And even if it was, how could they possibly go back to the way they used to be when at least she was a totally different person now?

Reese picked up the sketch pad and, fortunately, despite her endlessly swirling thoughts and questions, it didn’t take long for her to become absorbed in defining the elements in her sketch. Short, continuous strokes gave way to M-strokes, changing direction constantly to create grass in motion, as if the wind were blowing. Her hands moved without thought, creating jagged lines for bushes and shorter, more refined strokes for the roof of the cottage behind the gardens.

The flowers represented new life, and the stable cottages anchored each side of the drawing, giving way to the fluid movements of the bay, which was watched over by the lighthouse in the distance. The Rockwells wanted the mural to represent the island and the community, and this would be an ideal representation, the perfect blend of warmth and promise.