Page 72 of Unlocking Melodies

My brain helpfully started reciting statistics from his career – win percentages, lap records, that legendary Monaco finish in '19. I firmly told it to shut up before I embarrassed myself by quoting Racing Weekly articles from memory.

“I saw your car pull up,” Elliot said, and of course his casual observation made my entrance feel comically stiff. “Nice choice.”

I tried not to visibly preen at his approval of my car. This was Elliot Blue – the man who could make a grocery cart look fast if he drove it. The fact that he'd even noticed my car sent my inner fanboy into overdrive.

“Though you might want to adjust your suspension for these country roads,” he added with a knowing grin. “Saw you hit that pothole by Sarah's pretty hard yesterday.”

Great. My childhood racing hero had witnessed me nearly bottom out my fancy car. Perfect. At least I hadn't been wearing one of my “Elliot Blue: Racing Legend” t-shirts. Not that I owned any. Anymore. After college.

“The roads here are... different from Manhattan,” I managed, aiming for casual and probably landing somewhere around 'trying too hard to impress my hero.'

“That's one way to put it.” His easy laugh made me feel like a rookie driver getting friendly advice from a champion. Which, technically, I supposed I was. “Though I hear you're adapting pretty well to small-town life.”

I tried not to think about Mrs. Henderson's surveillance reports, which had probably made their way to Elliot via the town's impossibly efficient gossip network. “The locals make it... interesting.”

“They do that,” he agreed, then gestured toward the house. “Coffee? I was just about to make some. Though probably not up to your Manhattan standards.”

The casual teasing somehow made it worse.

“I've developed a tolerance for small-town coffee,” I said, unreasonably proud that my voice remained steady. “Mrs. Henderson would be devastated if I hadn't.”

His laugh was exactly like it sounded in those post-race interviews I definitely hadn't watched multiple times. “She's quite the tactical commander, that one. Her coordination of the diner surveillance this morning was impressive.”

“Jake's waiting for me back at the station,” Elliot said casually, checking his phone. “Being sheriff keeps him busy, but at least I get to see him at official functions now instead of sneaking around like we did during racing season.”

My brain did a complete reboot. Jake. Sheriff Jake. The rumors I'd dismissed as tabloid fiction about Elliot settling down with a small-town lawman suddenly crystallized into reality. The man who'd dominated international racing circuits, who could have had any high-profile relationship he wanted, had chosen a quiet life with a sheriff in a town that barely showed up on maps.

Something must have shown on my face because Elliot's smile turned knowing. “Amazing what you can build when you stop letting other people's expectations drive your choices.”

The pointed observation hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. Before I could process it fully, movement by the cow pen caught my attention. Jimmy stood with Gary, their heads close together as they looked at something on Jimmy's phone. The sound of their shared laughter carried across the yard, looking for all the world like a normal father and son moment.

Every protective instinct I had surged to life. “Excuse me,” I managed, barely registering Elliot's amused expression as I strode toward them.

Jimmy spotted me first, his face lighting up in a way that made my chest tight. He crossed the distance between us, greeting me with a casual kiss on the cheek and a hand trailing down my arm.

“Hey stranger,” Jimmy said, his smile warm. “Survived the corporate warfare?”

“Barely,” I managed, trying not to melt completely when he kissed my cheek. “Though Reuben might need medical attention after turning that particular shade of purple.”

Gary chuckled, the sound setting my teeth on edge. “Some things never change.”

"Says the man who suddenly traded designer suits for flannel and jeans," Jimmy quipped, and the casual way he teased his father made my chest tight. His father did look jarringly different in casual wear - like he was trying too hard to fit into this rural setting. "Going for that local farmer look now?"

"When in Rome," Gary smiled, tugging at his borrowed work shirt. I had to admire his performance. He played the part of reformed father perfectly.

Jimmy's hand found mine, fingers intertwining naturally. “I was just showing him the plans for the venue network. Dad's got some interesting ideas about community engagement.”

“Just sharing some experience from my New York days,” Gary said modestly. “Though things were... different back then.”

“Speaking of New York,” I cut in, keeping my tone neutral despite the urgency thrumming through my veins. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Jimmy's brow furrowed slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Just some business questions,” I assured him, though the lie tasted bitter. “Boring corporate stuff.”

“Right,” Jimmy's smile turned knowing.

“Lead the way, Mr. Cole.” Gary said smoothly.

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