Page 84 of Unlocking Melodies

“It was just a flash,” I continued, wanting him to understand. “But it felt so real. Like muscle memory but for feelings instead of music.”

Ethan pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me with careful certainty. “We'll figure it out,” he whispered against my hair. “Together this time.”

I nodded against his chest, breathing in the familiar-unfamiliar scent of his ridiculously expensive sweater. The weight of all my missing memories, all the pressure to be someone I couldn't quite remember - it felt lighter somehow. Like maybe the gaps in my past didn't matter as much as the possibility of this future.

“Though I have to say,” I mumbled into his shoulder, needing to break the intensity before I completely lost my composure, “I think we just gave Riley enough material for a three-part feature series.”

Ethan's laugh rumbled through his chest. “Pretty sure Mrs. Henderson's already called the local paper. And possibly several wedding venues.”

“Only several? She's losing her touch.”

We stood there in our circle of fairy lights, holding each other while the lake painted silver paths across dark water and our surveillance squad probably updated every social mediaplatform in town. The moment felt perfect - not because I remembered everything, but because maybe I didn't need to.

I pulled back just enough to see his face, which was doing complicated things with hope and happiness that made my chest tight. “Past Jimmy probably overthought this whole thing. Tried to make it perfect, worried about every detail.”

“He did.” Ethan's smile was soft, remembering. “He planned our first real date for weeks. Color-coded spreadsheets and everything.”

“Of course he did.” I couldn't help but laugh. “Meanwhile, Current Jimmy just went with it and got a perfect moment anyway.”

“Maybe that's the point,” Ethan said thoughtfully. “Sometimes the best moments are the ones we don't try to control.”

A branch cracked somewhere behind us, followed by what sounded like Nina attempting to prevent Mrs. Henderson from documenting our emotional breakthrough for posterity.

“Though I have to admit,” I added, “the audience participation is a unique touch.”

“They care about you.” Ethan's hand found mine, squeezing gently. “About us. Even if their methods are a bit...”

“Enthusiastically invasive?”

“I was going to say passionate, but that works too.”

Standing there under our canopy of lights, surrounded by probably half the town's population poorly hiding in various foliage, I felt something settle into place. Not a full memory, but a certainty - like my heart knew something my mind was still figuring out.

Maybe this was the start of something extraordinary. Not because it was perfect or planned or exactly like before, but because it was ours. New and old all at once, familiar and fresh, full of possibilities we could discover together.

Even if those discoveries came with commentary, betting pools, and an entire town's worth of enthusiastic supporters hiding in bushes.

Some stories were worth an audience, after all.

Chapter 21

Promises and Goodbyes

The walk to Jimmy's door felt both too long and too short, every step carrying the weight of possibility and uncertainty. Our laughter from the evening still echoed in my ears. He'd always had that effect on me, drawing out the person I tried so hard to hide behind boardroom masks.

Mrs. Henderson's strategically positioned fairy lights (when had she even found time to install those?) cast a warm glow over the porch, turning everything soft and dream-like. Through the trees, I caught glimpses of what had to be half the town's population attempting to be subtle about their continued surveillance. The rustle of bushes suggested our audience was still heavily invested in this unfolding story.

“Well,” I started, shoving my hands into my coat pockets to stop myself from reaching for him, “I should probably?—“

The words died in my throat as Jimmy grabbed my hand, his touch firm and sure. No hesitation, no uncertainty—just the kind of confidence I remembered from before.

Before my brain could fully process what was happening, he was leading me through his door, past the living room with its carefully arranged furniture, and toward his bedroom.

I paused just inside the doorway, my heartbeat loud enough to drown out every other sound. The room was a snapshot of who Jimmy was—meticulous, thoughtful, but never sterile. There were little touches of personality everywhere: a framed photo of his mother on the nightstand, the perfectly made bed with a throw blanket folded at the end, and a guitar leaning against the far wall. It was lived-in, like him.

Jimmy let go of my hand and turned to face me, his expression serious but not heavy. His eyes—those familiar, devastating eyes—searched mine. For what, I couldn’t say, but whatever he saw must have been enough because he stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his warmth.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice low, almost hoarse.

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