Page 62 of Unlocking Melodies

The domesticity of the moment struck me hard – Jimmy in his kitchen, making tea like we weren't in the middle of a crisis, handling revelations about his father with more grace than I was managing. While I'd been busy trying to protect him, he'd been quietly demonstrating a strength I'd never fully acknowledged.

"I'm meeting him," Jimmy said finally, sliding a cup across the counter to me. The certainty in his voice felt like a door closing. "And I need to do this alone."

"Jimmy, please." The words came out more desperate than I intended. "Let me come with you. After everything that's happened..."

"I can handle this," he insisted, but I could see the uncertainty flickering behind his determination.

"I know you can. That's not..." I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Last time I tried to protect you by making decisions for you. This time, I'm asking to stand beside you. There's a difference."

He studied me for a long moment, and I could almost see him weighing the choice. Finally, his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Maybe it's time we both learned how to do this differently. Together."

The last time I'd tried to protect him by controlling everything, it had cost us everything. The memories pressed down – that final night at Rosewood, the letter I'd left, the years of careful distance that followed. But this was different. This was Jimmy choosing to trust me, choosing to let me be part of his story rather than trying to write it for him.

“When and where?” I finally asked.

His smile then – quick and genuine and relieved – made me realize something important: sometimes real strength wasn't in protecting someone from making choices, but in standing beside them while they made their own.

Even if those choices made your corporate-trained heart want to implement immediate risk management protocols.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said, sipping his own tea. “The diner. Very public, lots of witnesses.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Plus, Sarah makes a mean French toast. Might as well have good food while dealing with family drama.”

“The diner has excellent sightlines,” I found myself saying, CEO brain already mapping exit strategies. At Jimmy's raised eyebrow, I added, “What? I can support your choices while still appreciating good tactical positioning.”

His laugh felt like forgiveness, even if he couldn't remember what he was forgiving. “I'm pretty sure Mrs. Henderson alreadyhas a seating chart mapped out. Complete with color-coded escape routes.”

“I might not remember everything about who I used to be, but I'm starting to understand why I chose this place. These people.” He glanced at me. “Sometimes protection looks like letting someone choose their own path, then just being ready to help if they stumble.”

The wisdom in his words made my throat tight. Here I was, supposedly the successful business man, learning about true strength from someone who couldn't even remember all the battles he'd already won.

“And we tell Jake,” I added carefully. “Not to interfere, just to know.”

Jimmy considered this over his tea, then nodded. “Fair enough. Though something tells me he already knows. Small town telegraph system seems pretty efficient.” He gestured toward the window where Officer Dawn was making another suspiciously slow patrol pass.

Watching him there, backlit by his kitchen lights, something clicked into place. The Jimmy I'd left behind at Rosewood and the one sitting here now might not share the same memories, but they shared something more fundamental – a quiet strength that ran bone-deep. I'd been so focused on mourning what he'd lost, I'd almost missed seeing what remained.

“You still hold your cup the same way – kind of sideways, like you're conducting an invisible orchestra with your tea.”

His smile was soft, curious. “I do?”

“Yeah. And you still tap your fingers when you're thinking – same rhythm, like you're playing piano in your head. These little things that are just... essentially you. Memory or not.”

He looked down at his hands, one finger indeed tapping against his cup in a familiar pattern. “Sometimes I feel like mybody remembers things my mind can't access. Like it knows exactly who I am, even when I'm not sure.”

“Your body remembers kindness,” I said quietly. “The way you still help everyone who needs it, still fight for what matters. That's not memory – that's just who you are.”

Through the window, Mrs. Henderson was apparently conducting a tactical briefing using Winston's tennis ball as a visual aid. The pug remained supremely uninterested in his role as demonstration model.

“I wanted to protect you,” I admitted, watching Jimmy hide a smile at the scene outside. “But maybe I was so busy looking for the person I remembered, I almost missed seeing who you still are – someone who never needed protection as much as he needed support.”

“Support that comes with elderly surveillance teams and color-coded escape routes?” His eyes sparkled with amusement as Riley attempted to casually document the impromptu security meeting while pretending to be fascinated by a nearby tree.

“Support that comes however you need it,” I corrected. “Even if that means watching you walk into something that scares me, just because you need to do it your way.”

The moment hung between us, weighted with understanding. Outside, Mrs. Henderson's tactical planning had evolved to include what appeared to be synchronized watch checking, but their dedication felt right somehow. Like maybe this was what love really looked like – showing up in force, ready to help but letting the person you care about choose their own battles.

---