Page 30 of Unlocking Melodies

Through the window, I could see the coffee club had acquired opera glasses. Actual opera glasses. My father would have an aneurysm if he could see his heir apparent being surveilled by a group of elderly women with more determination than most corporate spies.

But Sarah's words kept echoing: Some things are worth learning twice.

The universe, I decided, had a twisted sense of humor. My sports car - a masterpiece of engineering that could practically drive itself - was currently being defeated by Oakwood Grove mud. Apparently, last night's rain had turned the ranch's access road into something better suited for monster trucks than luxury vehicles.

I stared at my ruined designer shoes, now caked in red mud, and contemplated how many board members would have strokes if they could see me now attempting to push his own car.

“Well,” a familiar voice drawled, “this is a new one for the town gossip mill.”

I looked up to find Liam and Caleb watching me with barely concealed amusement. Perfect. Just what this moment needed - an audience.

“I don't suppose,” I said with what dignity I could muster while knee-deep in mud, “either of you has a tow truck?”

Instead of answering, they both moved to help push. The gesture was unexpected enough to leave me momentarily speechless.

“What's going on out here?”

My heart stopped. Because of course Jimmy would show up now - while I was covered in mud, my carefully maintained image literally stuck in the dirt.

“Mr. Cole's car had a disagreement with gravity,” Caleb explained, and I caught the way Jimmy's mouth twitched, fighting a smile that felt achingly familiar.

“Need a hand?” he offered politely. The formal tone felt wrong in every way, like hearing a favorite song in the wrong key.

Before I could answer, one of the horses whinnied from the nearby paddock. Jimmy turned automatically, his whole demeanor shifting as he called back to the mare. The confidence in his movements, the easy way he handled the horses - it was like watching him find pieces of himself he didn't know he'd lost.

“Melody's getting impatient for her afternoon check,” he explained, still with that polite distance that felt like sandpaper on my skin. “But these two should be able to help with the car.”

I watched him walk away, the sight of him so at peace here - finding the kind of simple happiness I'd once promised him - feeling like some sort of cosmic joke at my expense.

With a final push and some creative engineering from Caleb, we freed the car. I was attempting to salvage what remained of my professional appearance when Caleb lingered, watching me with an unreadable expression.

“You know,” he said quietly, “he hasn't had a panic attack since starting work with the horses.”

The information felt like both gift and warning. “I'm glad he's found something that helps.”

“The accounting software you sent? He took to it immediately. Muscle memory's a funny thing.” Caleb's tone was casual but his eyes were sharp. “He can't remember learning bookkeeping, but his hands know exactly what to do with numbers. Makes you wonder what else his body remembers, even if his mind doesn't.”

The comment hit like a physical thing, leaving me off-balance in ways that had nothing to do with the mud. Because I remembered teaching Jimmy those exact bookkeeping skills during late-night study sessions, watching his hands move confidently over keyboards while complaining about accounting standards.

“I should go,” I managed. “I have calls-“

“You might want to take the main road next time,” Caleb suggested. “Less scenic, but better for Italian leather.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Through the paddock fence, I could see Jimmy with Melody, his movements sure and natural, like he'd found a piece of home he didn't know he was looking for.

Mia's text about my father's imminent arrival had left me restless. I needed somewhere to think, somewhere that wasn't my hotel room with its judgmental floral wallpaper and Mrs. Henderson's roosters providing commentary. That's how I found myself back at The Watering Hole, claiming what had become my unofficial corner booth.

The truth was, I wasn't really working, though my laptop provided excellent cover for what I was actually doing - watching Jimmy help Nina with inventory. My screen filled with urgent emails, piling up like digital accusations.

Mia's latest message was particularly pointed:

Mia

Either come back or admit why you're really there. Also, your shoes are trending on local social media. #MuddyBillionaire

I was composing a suitably vague response when Jimmy's laugh cut through the bar noise - that familiar sound that made my hand tighten on my glass. He was grinning at something Nina had said, the expression so achingly like his old self that for a moment I forgot to breathe.

“I just don't think I can handle the festival finances,” Jimmy was saying, his voice carrying to my booth. “The spreadsheets make sense, but coordinating vendors, managing cash flow... it's like looking at a puzzle with half the pieces missing.”

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