“I like dandelions,” says Mara.
“I’m sure we’ll be able to find dandelions.”
I’m so focused on driving toward the hill that I forget this is also the way to Cassini Brewery until I see the flat roof and the garish new sign on the building. It’s a small specialty brand, not distributed nationally, however sometimes I would see it sitting on store shelves in the city. I never bought any. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’ve never tasted Cassini Beer in my life.
Trent sits up straighter and glares at the building until we’ve passed it by. Then he seems to relax and turns around to tell the girls that he and their Uncle Danny used to come up to Rosebriar all the time when they were in high school.
“This is a PG-rated trip,” I joke and give him a look.
He fakes innocence. “Yeah, just like when Danny and I used to go up there. We’d hike, we’d have picnics, sometimes there would be campfire singalongs. Nothing remotely unwholesome.”
“We should have a picnic!” shouts Caitlin.
“Next time,” Trent promises her and slides me a grin that wreaks havoc on my ability to concentrate.
The road to Rosebriar is a little bumpy but clear, just as Trent said it would be. We pass an ancient sign still clinging to a wooden post and it’s a strange sight to me. I would compare it to visiting a fictional land that I’ve always heard stories about and have now discovered really exists.
We’re not the only ones who had the idea to visit Rosebriar today. The crunch of the minivan’s tires interrupts a teenage couple who were clearly in the middle of a private moment. They are still hastily rearranging their clothes when they emerge from the amphitheater and scamper toward the grey sedan parked beside the fallen recreation center. They throw us worried looks but slow down their frenzied exit when they realize we aren’t the cops or their parents or anyone else who might tattle. The boy flings a skinny arm around the girl’s shoulders and they laugh together.
“You both need to hold my hand,” I say to the girls. They nod as I unbuckle their seatbelts, my mind preoccupied with fears of rusty old nails and diseased rodents.
They each claim one of my hands while Trent waits at the edge of the crumbling amphitheater, staring into the distance and perhaps lost in memories of his own.
There’s a hushed tranquility about the place now but I can envision how it must have been back when the forsaken bungalows were occupied and well dressed families roamed the grounds, perhaps on their way to see Abigail Fisher perform at the amphitheater. My sudden shiver is not thanks to the cool air but something less tangible, a feeling of deep connection to the place where I stand.
I shake the feeling off. If I don’t watch it, I’ll start waxing poetic about long lost Rosebriar just like my father.
Trent joins us and Caitlin slips her free hand into his. We take a short walk around the immediate area and the girls plead to go inside the deserted buildings, but I have no faith in the integrity of the deteriorating structures.
“How about I take all of you out to dinner?” Trent says in an obvious effort to distract the twins from the urge to explore danger zones. “There’s a brand new restaurant down the road in Dupont and I hear they’ve got a giant aquarium that you can look at while you’re eating.”
Caitlin claps. “I saw that on TV!”
“They have shark-shaped nuggets there,” Mara adds. “I want those. But with no sauce. I don’t like sauce.”
“I think they’re sold on the aquarium restaurant,” I inform Trent and we lock eyes for a moment over the heads of the twins.
He won’t look away.
My belly flutters.
I hope I’m not getting unreasonably attached to sharing my time with him. From what Trent has said about his romantic history, he’s not a relationship kind of guy. I can’t exactly fault him for that when I’m not known for long term commitments either.
At twenty-three years old I’ve never been in love before. Now here I am falling head over heels for my brother’s best friend. And I don’t even want to pump the brakes.
The restaurant is loudly chaotic and filled with rowdy families. I’m still amazed that Trent, who by his own admission has nothing to do with children, is content to dine on fish sticks and color a paper placemat when the twins push a pile of crayons in his direction. I watch him carefully and see no sign of impatience or irritation. He smiles when Caitlin compliments him on what a great job he’s done staying inside the lines after he scribbles on a starfish with a yellow crayon.
Trent Cassini truly is a prince.
The girls are given balloons at the end of the meal and Mara cries when she accidentally releases hers in the parking lot. Trent jogs back to the restaurant and quickly returns with a replacement.
Mara gazes up at him with awe. “I love you, Trentcassini.” She hugs his arm.
He says nothing and I’m touched to see that he appears to be kind of emotional. He lifts her up and sets her carefully inside the van, snapping her seatbelt on and then repeating the process with her sister.
We listen to the soundtrack from Frozen on the way home, the girls in perfect sync to every lyric. I don’t even need to ask Trent if he plans to stay the night. I know he does.
Trent waits downstairs while I get the girls bathed and put to bed. As always, I’m excited by the night ahead. I’m not a stranger to great sex and have no trouble getting off with abandon, but sex with Trent is just off-the-charts INSANELY hot every single time.
It’s a tossup what I love more; the intense physical pleasure or the soft contentment of curling up in his arms when it’s over and knowing I’ll be waking up in the same place.
He’s in the bedroom, already stripped down to a pair of black boxers and in the middle of brushing his teeth. At my suggestion, he’s taken over one of the smaller vanity drawers in the bathroom.
I stand behind him and pull my shirt off. He watches me in the mirror, spits into the sink and waits for me to continue undressing.
I won’t disappoint him. I slide my jeans down and kick them off. He keeps watching in the mirror, except now he’s casually running his right hand over his dick, which is ready to break through those silky boxers and have a good time.
With a smirk on my face, I unhook my bra.
Trent pushes the waistband of his shorts down. He’s still facing the mirror.
And my eyes land on the scars on his back. They aren’t unsightly. They might be overlooked completely at a glance. But I know they weren’t there before Tavington and I know whatever caused them is not something he’s willing to talk about.
Trent remains a mystery in some ways. I pour my heart out to him with no reservation and wait for him to do the same but he tends to hold back when the topic is especially painful.
The scars on his back are low, near the base of his spine; thin lines of tissue over skin that was once split open in a way that had to hurt.
He keeps watching as I approach from behind and run my fingertips over his back. I kiss between his shoulder blades and trace the heated muscle beneath his skin.
“You can talk about it,” I whisper and to my surprise, he stiffens. I kiss his back again to let him know I only want to feel close to him. “You encourage me to talk to you about Jules. You’ve let me cry in your arms when I’m overwhelmed by the grief and feeling the pressure that comes with being the guardian of two little girls. You listen and you hold me. Let me do the same, Trent.”