Page 124 of California Wild

It was supposed to be a joke—Zach egging him on, Isaac giving him that cool, laid-back smirk that probably meant this is happening, bro. It was supposed to be funny. Casual. A dare.

But it wasn’t.

Not when Jesse slung that guitar over his shoulder like it belonged there. Not when he cracked a joke into the mic, dry and low, voice cutting through the noise like it was meant to be heard. Not when he strummed the opening chords of “Country Roads” and the entire place lit up like a bonfire had just caught flame.

God, it wasn’t a joke at all.

Not when she saw him smile.

Really smile.

Not the smirk, not the wry twist of his mouth when he was flirting or deflecting or brushing something off. This was different. Open. Unburdened. Lit from the inside out.

And it hit her—this was the part of Jesse no one ever saw.

Maybe not even him.

Hayley had seen him in a lot of places. In her bed. In greenrooms. On curbs outside shitty dive bars. She’d seen him strung out and soft and shattered.

But this?

This was new.

This was Jesse alive.

She didn’t even know who pushed the mic into her hands. Didn’t register whose voice dared her forward or whose laughter broke around her as she stepped up onto the stage, barely remembering how to breathe.

But when she looked at him—and Jesse looked back, surprise flickering across his face, quickly replaced by something darker, deeper—she knew.

He wanted her there.

So she leaned in, right up to the mic, and picked up the next line like it was nothing.

Like this was what they did.

And then—God.

He looked at her like he’d never seen her before.

Like he was watching a future he didn’t believe he deserved unfold right in front of him.

Like she’d walked out of some dream and just started singing beside him.

Her voice folded into his, smooth and certain, like a puzzle piece falling into place. The bar was chaos—cheering, stomping, off-key singing—but she only saw him. The way his lashes dipped when he focused. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes when she hit harmony. The slow, breathless smile that tugged at his mouth when she nailed the last chorus.

And maybe that was the moment.

The moment she let herself fall.

Back in love.

Harder than the first time.

Because this wasn’t the version of Jesse she used to chase.

This wasn’t reckless, midnight, too-fast Jesse.

This was the man who made her tea.

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