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“Faison.” A deep vee formed between Chandler’s brows. “You didn’t find the deed with the rest of our corporate documents?”
“No, and I’ve been through them all. The deed was never formally transferred to you. You must be receiving tax bills in your father’s name. I mean no disrespect, but didn’t you notice? Didn’t the accounting staff notice?”
“The tax bills always came in his name,” Chandler said as his frown deepened. “I never worried about it.”
“I had hoped that we might have the original documentation, but since we don’t, I’ll get to work putting together new transfer documents. Do you know if your father had intended to transfer the property prior to his death?”
“Of course he did. He signed all of the paperwork. Robert Faison had it, and I assumed they’d been filed. When he died so suddenly—” Chandler stopped his uncharacteristic dithering. “Do whatever needs to be done. I need that deed.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Didi.” Chandler motioned for her to push the button for the elevator.
Trent rode down the elevator with them, and when it opened, he pressed his hand to the door, holding it for Didi to push his grandfather’s wheelchair into the hall.
“Thank you, Trent,” Didi said as she settled a hand on Chandler’s shoulder. “We’re going down to the beach for a walk. Would you like to join us?”
Though Chandler looked surprised at her invitation, he didn’t counter it. And for a moment Trent was tempted to go with them. If only because he couldn’t imagine what a walk on the beach in the middle of the afternoon with his grandfather could possibly be like. Maybe Chandler really was changing his ways, just as Quinn had suggested a few weeks back when he’d overheard Chandler and Didi talking about commitment to family.
“Thanks for the invitation, but I’ve still got to take care of a few things in my office.” And the rest of his day would be all about Reese.
But as soon as he got back to his office and began gathering the documentation he’d need to prepare a new transfer of the deed, he couldn’t stop thinking about Reese—or how seeing himself in Chandler turned his stomach.
He’d apologized to her again and again these past days, but he knew those apologies weren’t good enough. He needed to do something more to make up for his past mistakes. The documents could wait—it was time to take a ride over to her gallery.
Just as he was about to head out, his office door swung open and Sierra walked in, looking pretty in a long wine-colored skirt. She didn’t even waste time on a greeting before saying, “How’re things working out with Reese and the mural?”
“She’s got a great sketch of it already.”
“That’s good.” Her gaze softened as she clarified, “But I was asking about you. Are you okay with working together?”
Trent knew how much Sierra loved the idea of being in love, and she’d been heartbroken when he and Reese had broken up. Hell, they all had been. “I’m more than okay with it, Sierra. I want her back. More than anything.”
“And Reese? What does she want?”
“More time.”
Sierra came around the desk and embraced him. “Love like you two shared doesn’t just go away. I’m sure she’ll come around. Who could possibly resist my loving, smart, handsome oldest brother?”
* * *
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER Trent stood on Old Mill Row, staring up at the sign above Reese’s gallery, wondering how he could have missed seeing the significance of it all these years. He studied the yellow dandelions on the left side of the sign, then followed their metamorphosis as they moved across the painting. The yellow flowers made a textured and graceful transition to parachutes of fluff, the delicate hairs separating and floating away toward the upper-right side of the sign. Below, the word Dandelion was elegantly tucked among the grass.
The endearment had come to him the first time they’d made love. There was something magical and ethereal, beautiful and soft, about dandelion fluff as it was swept away in a whisper of wind. Its beauty was almost indescribable, and there was something so magical and full of hope within its beauty as it traveled in the wind that it made everyone smile.
Just like his Reese.
How could he have spent a decade visiting the island and never put two and two together? He’d been so bogged down by the pain of her Dear Trent letter that he’d never seen the sign hanging above her gallery for what it was—her love letter to him, just waiting for him to return and figure it out.
Renewed hope filled his chest.
Inside the gallery, Jocelyn was busy with a customer, and when he didn’t see Reese, he took a moment to really look at Reese’s paintings for the first time in far too long. Her passion came through in the sexy, dark curves of the images, and he saw her playful side in the lighter paintings. Though most of her artwork was abstract, Trent had always felt that through her art he’d been given a glimpse into her soul. When Reese was happy, she used flowing, delicate strokes, rather than the contrasting, muted, or dramatic flairs that showed her darker moods. But the paintings he loved best were the ones where light and dark overlapped and she painted angular shapes with smooth, fine lines, then filled them with thick, bold colors—or when she created edgy strokes and softened them with pale, earthy hues.
