Page 86 of Unlocking Melodies

“Why did you leave?”

The question hung in the air between us, soft but heavy with all the weight of our shared past. I'd been dreading this conversation since the moment Liam called about Jimmy's accident, but somehow, lying here in the gentle darkness, it felt right to finally face it.

I took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling as memories I'd tried so hard to bury resurfaced. “My father,” I started quietly, the words tasting bitter even now. “He called me one day. Told me to end things with you. Said if I didn't, he'd handle it himself.”

Jimmy's fingers stilled momentarily before resuming their gentle motion, grounding me in the present even as I spoke about the past.

“He didn't mean for things to turn out like they did,” I continued, the old anger mixing with newer understanding. “He was worried about the board, about public perception. About what they'd say if they found out I was dating someone who didn't fit their narrow definition of acceptable.” My laugh held no humor. “I hated him for it. But I hated myself more for listening.”

“Is he trying?” Jimmy's voice was carefully neutral. “To make things right?”

“Yeah.” I thought about my father's recent visit, his attempts to bridge the gulf between us. “It's complicated. We're both learning how to have a real relationship after years of just having a business one.”

Jimmy hummed thoughtfully, his head resting on my chest in a way that made my heart ache with how right it felt. “What do you actually do? I mean, besides getting bullied by judgmental ducks and organizing elaborate lakeside dates?”

The attempt to lighten the mood made me smile despite the heaviness of our conversation. “I run Cole Tech - it's a technology company my family built. Lots of meetings, endless email chains, and trying to stop the board from staging coups every other Tuesday.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, absolutely. Nothing says 'living the dream' like quarterly profit projections.”

He lifted his head slightly, meeting my eyes in the moonlight. Something in his expression made my chest tight. “Do you need to go back to New York?”

The question hit like a physical thing. “Yeah,” I admitted softly. “I need to fix some things there. The company's in a delicate position, and if I'm not careful, everything we've built could...” I trailed off, not wanting to think about the corporate wolves circling in my absence.

“Hey.” Jimmy's hand found my cheek, turning my face toward his. “It's okay. You should go.”

“I'll come back,” I said quickly. “I'm not walking away again. Not from this. Not from you.”

His smile was soft but held an edge of something that looked like doubt. “Ethan, your whole life is there. The company, your family's legacy - you can't just abandon all that for some small town that doesn't even show up on most maps.”

“Watch me.” The certainty in my voice surprised even me. “We'll figure it out. Maybe not all at once, but we will.”

“The great Ethan Cole, commuting to board meetings from Oakwood Grove?” His attempt at humor couldn't quite hide the vulnerability underneath. “What would your shareholders say?”

“Probably the same thing they said about my duck-based investment strategies.” I pulled him closer, needing him to understand. “I spent eight years building an empire I didn't even want, Jimmy. I'm not giving up the one thing that actually matters.”

He didn't respond verbally, just pressed closer, his breath warm against my neck. We lay there in comfortable silence, the moonlight our only witness as promises neither of us quite dared to voice settled into something real.

Sleep found us still tangled together, his fingers intertwined with mine like he was afraid I might disappear. My last conscious thought was that maybe this time, we could write a different ending to our story.

The smell of something definitely not meant to be burning dragged me from sleep. The sun was barely up, painting Jimmy's room in soft morning light that would have been romantic if not for the distinct scent of culinary disaster wafting through the house.

I groaned, rolling out of bed and pulling on my clothes - which somehow looked significantly less pristine than they had last night. Mrs. Henderson was definitely going to have opinions about my “morning after” appearance.

Following the smoke trail led me to the kitchen, where I found a scene that could only be described as breakfast-adjacentwarfare. Jimmy stood amid the chaos wielding a spatula like it was a medieval weapon, smoke billowing dramatically from what might have once been a frying pan.

“Morning,” I drawled, leaning against the doorframe and trying not to laugh. “Should I call the fire department, or is this a private performance?”

He looked up, his hair adorably disheveled and his expression caught between embarrassment and defiance. “I was trying to make breakfast.”

“Trying being the operative word?” I sniffed the air dramatically. “Though I have to say, your smoke signal game is impressive. Is this how you usually communicate with the townspeople?”

“Hey, at least I'm attempting romance.” He gestured with the spatula, sending what might have been eggs (but possibly modern art) flying. “Past Jimmy probably had this whole morning-after thing perfectly planned.”

“Past Jimmy once set off three smoke alarms trying to make toast before learning how to cook properly.” I moved closer, wrapping my arms around him from behind. “Some things really don't change.”

“Great, so I'm consistently terrible at kitchen activities across all versions of myself. That's comforting.”

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