Page 58 of Unlocking Melodies

Ethan's expression turned serious, thoughtful. “You were trying to save places like this,” he said, gesturing to the town square around us. “While I was building tech empires, you were protecting something real.”

The fairy lights caught his profile, making him look softer somehow. More like the boy from those yearbook photos and less like the CEO who first arrived in town.

“It's strange,” I admitted, watching shadows play across the gazebo's white paint. “Reading these plans, seeing this vision that I apparently had but can't quite feel anymore. Like watching a movie about someone else's dreams.”

“They're still your dreams.” His voice was gentle. “Maybe just waiting to be remembered differently.”

A breeze carried the scent of spring flowers and distant music – someone practicing for the festival in the community center. We'd stopped walking without realizing it, standing in a pool of light from the festival decorations.

Without really thinking about it, I reached for Ethan's hand. It felt natural, like my body remembering something my mind had forgotten. His fingers intertwined with mine automatically, like we'd done this a thousand times before.

We noticed the gazebo which glowed like something from a fairy tale, festival lights turning the simple white structure into something magical. Music drifted from the community center where someone was practicing for the upcoming festival– something slow and sweet that made the moment feel orchestrated by the universe itself.

“They went all out with the lighting this year,” I said, trying to sound casual while my heart did complicated things in my chest.

“The ambiance committee takes their job very seriously.” Ethan's smile was soft in the gentle light.

As if on cue, the music shifted to something more deliberate – definitely not practice anymore. Someone was choosing songs with purpose.

“Is that... Jazz?” I asked, recognizing the tune even if I couldn't remember learning it.

Ethan held out his hand with exaggerated formality. “May I?”

I should have felt awkward. Should have worried about looking silly or not remembering how to dance. Instead, I found myself taking his hand, letting him pull me into a gentle sway.

“I should warn you,” I said as we moved across the gazebo's wooden floor, “Current Jimmy has no idea if he can dance.”

“Good thing I do.” His hand was warm on my back, leading with subtle confidence. “Though Past Jimmy was terrible at following. Always trying to lead.”

“Some things don't change, I guess.”

We moved together like we'd done this before, finding a rhythm that felt familiar even if I couldn't remember learning it. The festival lights cast shifting patterns across his face, making him look younger, more carefree than I'd ever seen him.

“You're staring,” he murmured, spinning me gently.

“Just trying to figure out how many dance lessons it took to make a person move like this.”

His laugh was warm against my ear. “Family tradition. Every Cole child learns ballroom by age ten.”

“Of course they do.” I let him pull me closer as the music slowed.

“You'd be surprised how many corporate deals happen on dance floors.”

We were barely moving now, just swaying together while the music played. The moment felt suspended, magical – like we'd stepped out of time into somewhere that belonged just to us.

Somewhere nearby, I was pretty sure I heard muffled squealing that sounded suspiciously like Nina. But for once, I didn't care about our not-so-subtle audience. Let them watch. Let them see how sometimes muscle memory was better than actual memory – how sometimes your body knew exactly where it belonged, even if your mind couldn't remember how it got there.

“We had our first date in Practice Room C,” he said softly, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm. “You packed this ridiculous midnight picnic – sandwiches and fancy coffee that you definitely couldn't afford but bought anyway because you knew I liked it.”

“Let me guess – I burned the sandwiches then too?”

His laugh was warm. "No, they were perfect. Everything was perfect. We played piano until sunrise, just... creating something together."

The story should have felt distant, like watching someone else's home movies. But something about the way he described it resonated deeper than memory – like my heart recognized things my mind couldn't quite grasp.

We stood there in our circle of fairy lights, the moment suspended between us. Ethan's eyes caught mine, green and warm in the gentle darkness, and suddenly breathing felt like a complicated task. He moved closer, one hand coming up to cup my cheek with a gentleness that made my heart stutter.

When he kissed me, it felt like coming home to a place I couldn't remember but somehow knew by heart. Soft and sweet and perfect, like we'd done this a thousand times before. Maybewe had. His fingers tangled in my hair as I pressed closer, and something clicked into place – not a memory exactly, but a certainty. This was right. This was where I belonged.

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