Page 17 of Unlocking Melodies

“I have a horse?” The word came out embarrassingly high-pitched.

“You don't ride,” Liam quickly clarified. “You just spoil her rotten with treats and call her your therapy horse whenever you're stressed about contract negotiations.”

The casual mention of my job sent another wave of panic through me. Right. Music manager. Whatever that meant.

“Actually,” I set down the musical note mug, “I want to see The Watering Hole.”

“Jimmy, you just got out of the hospital-”

“And sitting here trying to piece together my life from context clues isn't helping. Maybe if I see where I worked...”

They exchanged another look - they did that a lot - but twenty minutes later we were in Caleb's truck, heading into town. It turned into an impromptu tour of my greatest hits, narrated by the world's most enthusiastic docents.

“Oh man, there's the park where you tackled that guy trying to crash Liam's acoustic set,” Caleb said, pointing out the window.

“I did what now?”

“He was trying to grab the mic,” Liam explained. “You went full bodyguard mode. It was impressive.”

“And terrifying,” I muttered. Past Jimmy sounded exhausting.

“That's The Daily Grind,” Caleb gestured to a coffee shop. “Where you had that showdown with the pretentious indie label guy.”

“The one who said that my music was too 'mainstream accessible'?” Liam mimicked air quotes.

“You made him cry,” Caleb said proudly.

“With words,” Liam clarified quickly at my alarmed look. “You're terrifyingly good at verbal takedowns when you're defending your artists.”

Great. So I was some kind of coffee-snob vigilante with a therapy horse and a talent for making music executives cry.

“And that's where you organized the Christmas flash mob!” Caleb pointed to the town square.

“Of course I did,” I sighed. “Because apparently I'm also a festive criminal mastermind.”

“People loved it,” Liam assured me. “They still talk about how you got old Mrs. Henderson to breakdance.”

I stared at them both. “Please tell me you're messing with me.”

“There's video,” Caleb grinned.

“I hate Past Jimmy,” I declared. “He sounds exhausting.”

“Nah,” Liam's voice went soft. “You just care. About everything and everyone. It's kind of your thing.”

The sincerity caught me off guard. Before I could process it, we pulled up in front of a building with a familiar neon sign.

“Home sweet home,” Caleb announced.

The Watering Hole looked exactly like it had yesterday, but somehow more real in the morning light. My old apartment was supposedly above it. My life was supposedly inside it. My memories were supposedly connected to it.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, Past Jimmy. Show me what you've got.”

Nina was waiting at the bar, her bright smile only slightly too wide to be natural. The effort she put into keeping it steady made my chest ache.

“Ready for the grand tour?” She gestured around the space. “Though I guess it's more like a re-tour. Re-introduction? Is there a proper etiquette for showing someone their own workplace when they have amnesia?”

“If there is, I forgot it,” I said, and her startled laugh felt like the first real thing all morning.

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