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“The only thing I’m sure about,” he interrupted, “is that I want you in my life. And that I’ll do anything, be anything, change anything, to be with you again.”
Ten years ago, five years ago, maybe even three years ago, she’d have softened at those words and taken them at face value. But she hadn’t realized until this very moment how much all those years had strengthened her.
“I’m not a naive nineteen-year-old anymore. I know promises can be broken, and I have a whole life here that I love.” All the anger had left her voice by now, but any tentative hope for what might come was tamped down by the unknown that hovered around them like a cloud. “Being with you is wonderful in so many ways, but it’s also scary, and risky, and...” She crossed her arms, bracing to be strong—just as she had ten years ago. “I need time to process everything. I need time to think.”
“I’m not a stupid kid anymore, Reese. I will prove that to you. I will win you back. Our love is too strong for this to be anything but true love. I screwed up royally—maybe we both did—but I’m not going to let our past ruin what could be the best part of the rest of our lives. I love you, and I don’t expect you to tell me that back tonight. But I hope you’ll continue to open yourself up to the possibility of us. I promised to always love you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you. And when I do, I’m praying that the only ‘Dear Trent’ note you’ll want to write in the future will be to tell me how much you love me. Just as much as I love you.”
Chapter Fifteen
STANDING ON THE dewy grass beside the resort the next morning, Reese pulled her hair back and secured it with an elastic band, thinking about Trent. Last night he hadn’t tried to hide from his faults, or gloss over them. He’d simply been the same open, honest, and loving man she’d fallen in love with. The one she’d thought she’d lost forever ten years ago...
But today Trent wasn’t the only one she was thinking about. Not when she knew she had to take a good, hard look at herself, too. She’d meant it when she’d told him she wished she’d been better able to stand on her own two feet during their marriage. And even though he’d told her she didn’t have anything to apologize for, she knew that she did.
When they’d lived in New York City, Trent had never been able to take a full lunch hour, but he’d asked her more than once if she could come to his office to share a brown-bag lunch on a nearby park bench. At the time, those fifteen minutes didn’t seem like they could make or break their relationship. But now she could see that even a quarter of an hour would have been enough to at least share a few kisses...and to remember how important they were to each other. It wasn’t that she hadn’t had the time—the truth was that she’d been scared. The subway had seemed daunting and unsafe, no matter how many times Trent assured her it wasn’t. And the cabs drove so fast and crazy that she was always sure they’d crash.
A decade ago, he’d been way too busy building his career, and she’d been afraid of her own shadow. Ten years older and wiser, Reese was no longer that scared nineteen-year-old. Not even close. And hadn’t Trent told her the same thing about himself? That he’d grown beyond the twenty-six-year-old she’d been married to?
Seabirds flew overhead, and Reese watched them swoop down toward the beach. With a long inhalation, she tried to push away her endlessly swirling thoughts about love and forgiveness for a while and turned her attention to the wall that would become her canvas. Being with Trent last night had caused a surge of inspiration that had driven her out of bed before the sun had even risen—the same kind of eruption of creativity she’d experienced when they’d first been together.
This morning, instead of seeing blank white walls before her, she saw flowers swaying in a breeze as it swept across the sandy beach and up the hill, like silent music that only the blooms could hear. She imagined verdant leaves and petals bursting with colors so vibrant and real that she could practically smell their sweet fragrances. She dragged her fingers along the rough surface, tracing the area where the picket fence would be painted. She imagined the grooves of the gray, aged wood, the dots of the nail heads, and the sprinkling of sand that she’d paint, showing how the Cape beaches touched everything around them.
