Page 67 of Marry Me Tomorrow
My Trent? Yes, he is, isn’t he?
The thought fills me with warmth, even as a nervous flutter stirs in my chest. It hasn’t been the same sleeping in our little studio apartment without him. I know it’s only been one night, but it feels longer—achingly longer.
I want to tell Trent how I feel, but I’m scared. Will it scare him away? He hadn’t wanted to get married to me when we started this relationship. It was all my idea. Circumstances forced his hand, his love for the marina outweighing everything else.
But could his heart belong to me too? Mine certainly belongs to him.
I don’t want things to end. I’ve fallen in love with my husband, and now I have to summon the courage to ask if he might stay married to me—not just for now, but for the long haul. For forever.
The shrill ring of my phone breaks my thoughts, making me jump. I hurry to pick it up, my heart thudding against my ribs.
“Hi,” I blurt, not even giving the caller a chance to speak, “is everything okay?”
A warm chuckle comes from the other end of the line. “Yes, dear,” Mrs. Hughes says, “everything is fine. We just wanted to thank you again for letting Trent stay at the hospital with us. Grandfather was happy to see him there too. And Trent has felt so relieved not having to worry about the marina, knowing it was in such capable hands. Edmund is also so impressed with how you’ve been with managing everything in Trent’s absence.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say shyly, heat rising to my cheeks. “It was nothing, really.”
“It was most certainly not nothing, dear. It was everything,” she replies, her tone both gentle and emphatic.
Mr. Hughes voice crackles through the line. “Jenny, I want you to know—there’s no way I could have picked a better girl for my son in a million years. You’re just what this family needed.”
“Thank you,” I manage to squeak, barely finding my voice.
“I also wanted to call and tell you Trent is on his way back,” Mrs. Hughes says. “It’s going to take him a bit to make his way around the lake, but he’s heading your way.”
My heart skips a beat knowing Trent is heading home, my cheeks warming again as my pulse quickens.
“That’s good to hear,” I manage. “So that means Samson has settled in at your place?”
“Yes, he has,” she says, then hesitates, her voice soft and heavy with emotion. “I also wanted to say . . .”
“Yes?” I prompt gently, sensing something important.
There’s a pause before she continues, her voice thick with feeling. “I’m just so thankful that Trent has you in his life. I’ve never seen my boy so happy and at peace. You’ve lifted a burden off his shoulders—and mine as well. Plus, now I finally have the daughter I’ve always wanted. We weren’t blessed to have more than one child, and while I love my son dearly, I’d always hoped for a daughter too.”
Tears prick my eyes at her heartfelt words. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Hughes. You all have been so welcoming. I appreciate you all so much.”
“Maureen, dear. Please call me Maureen.”
When we hang up, the tears spill over, sliding down my cheeks. Maureen and Edmund’s kindness is overwhelming. How much more of this can I take, knowing there’s an expiration date hanging over Trent and me?
After closing up the shop, I race upstairs to our little apartment, my mind buzzing with nervous energy. I hurriedly tidy up, straightening cushions and wiping down the counters before throwing on an apron.
In the kitchen, I chop, stir, and season, determined to put something special on the table. I’m not the most skilled cook, but I can manage a few decent dishes, and tonight feels important—like it should be just right.
The apartment smells warm and inviting. Dinner is ready, the little kitchen table is set, and two candles flicker softly in the dim light. And then Trent steps through the door.
Chapter 31
Trent
“What’s all this?” I ask, stepping into our cozy place above the lodge.
Jenny is standing by the small kitchen table, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. The flickering light from the candle casts a warm glow over her face, and she nervously wrings her hands on her apron.
“I thought you might like a dinner with real food after eating at the hospital for the last two days,” she says shyly, her voice barely above a whisper.
The scent of buttery rolls and baked chicken fills the room, wrapping around me like a comforting hug. My stomach growls in response, and I take a step closer to her.
