Page 73 of Marry Me Tomorrow
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.”
