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“You think Chandler will come to Shelley’s grand opening?” Derek asked. “Isn’t that a little bit beneath him? Making time for a celebration?”
All of them had a complicated relationship with their grandfather. Mostly because he was a prickly, stern man who rarely smiled and always seemed to be trying to control everyone and everything.
“Derek,” Abby said, “I know Chandler isn’t the easiest man in the world to get along with, but he is your grandfather, so please show a little respect. He cares about this island, and I’m sure he’ll want to celebrate with Quinn and Shelley.”
“Cares about the island?” Derek didn’t look the least bit chastened by their mother’s uncharacteristic lecture. “He was going to sell the resort and didn’t care that the new owners would fire the local staff, who rely on the income to survive. The locals are the island, Mom.”
As Griffin spoke, Trent found himself comparing his warm and loving father to his cold and distant grandfather. Even after all these years, he had a hard time putting Chandler and Griffin together as father and son. Griffin was just as shrewd a businessman as Chandler, but he treated every person he met as if they were as important as the next, no matter what their social status.
Griffin was the type of man Trent had always striven to be, but the truth was that he’d acted more like Chandler during the decade he’d lived in New York. He’d been aggressive and competitive, and the cost had been the highest he’d ever pay—losing the love of his life. Only he’d been too consumed with succeeding to see it. He hadn’t even seen their separation coming. And then, over the next ten years, instead of spending time relaxing with his family over the holidays, he’d come home for a mere two or three days, then rushed back to work.
How had he gotten so far away from the man his father had raised him to be?
“Before we all head out,” Quinn said as he set a folder on the table, “we still need to discuss the community-outreach program.”
Trent gazed out the window behind Quinn, where sunlight glistened off the inky water and a sailboat made its way across the bay. In his mind he saw himself and Reese sharing a boat ride all those years ago. Back when she looked at him like he was the only man on earth she could ever love. His heart ached with the memory. Was Reese looking out at the same view and painting it? And was she thinking of him the way he was thinking of her?
He’d never believed in love at first sight—not until he’d seen her painting at the top of the dune during his morning run ten years ago.
He’d run up the dune steps faster than he ever had before, hoping that she wasn’t going to pack up her things and leave before he reached her. When he’d finally made it to the top, she’d looked like an angel dropped from a cloud just for him. And when she’d turned to look at him, her eyes had gone wide and her paintbrush had dropped to the sand.
He’d closed the distance between them, introduced himself, quickly learning that she was not only smart and funny, but also a passionate and talented painter. When he’d picked her up for their first date that night, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. They’d made love right there in the foyer of her apartment. It had been breathless. Reckless. Sexy as hell.
And perfect. It had been perfect.
Had he known he was going to be her first lover, he would have taken his time and made sure everything was romantic for her. Hell, he hadn’t planned to make love to her that first night, on their first date. But they’d never been able to keep their hands off each other—not for a minute, much less enough time for him to plan something like that. Two nights later they’d sailed out to the middle of the bay, anchored the boat, dove in, and made love in the water. He could still hear Reese’s sweet giggles as he’d kicked his powerful legs to try to keep them afloat while their bodies moved together with youthful exuberance.
“Honey.” His mother touched his arm. “What do you think about Quinn’s question?”
Trent looked around the conference table at his family and realized that they were all waiting for his response. “Sorry. I’m a little distracted today.” Trent forced himself to focus on the discussion again. “What were you wanting to know?”
“Quinn was saying that Reese is going to be painting the mural,” Sierra told him as Quinn slid the folder with the information about the community-outreach program toward Trent. “She is such an amazing painter that we know she’ll create something beautiful to represent our close-knit community and the magical feel of the island. We want to know if you’ll manage the project.”
