Page 51 of Strings Attached
Rachel leans against the wall. “Alex was discussing you moving here, and I had an idea. Grant and I are stretched thin between my teaching and leading the music program and hisice cream empire…” She chuckles. “We could really use someone to run the summer music camp for us.”
I straighten, something like hope thrumming beneath my ribs. “I’m all ears. And desperately in want of a job that doesn’t involve playing wedding marches for tourists at the bed-and-breakfast.”
Rachel grins. “I thought you’d be the perfect fit. Someone passionate, someone who really understands both the technical side and the heart of music. Someone who can nurture young talent while keeping the magic of music alive.”
The more she speaks the faster my heart beats and I’m clutching sugar packets so tight I’m going to crush them, spilling crystals over the peeling linoleum.
This job is perfect for me. Winter would be mine for composition, those long quiet months when the island wraps itself in stillness and possibility. I could pour my soul into creating without the pressure of performance deadlines or critics’ expectations. Spring would bloom with preparation, and summer… summer would be for sharing music’s magic with young minds, watching talent unfold.
“Oh my god, that would be amazing.”
“Really?” Rachel grabs my hands and now we’re both crushing the sugar.
“Yes, I’d really, really love to.”
“That’s so great! I can’t wait to tell Grant.” She snorts. “He’s hoping we might actually get a vacation in one of these days.”
I open my mouth but before I can respond, the first notes of a guitar cut through the diner’s chatter. The sound is achingly familiar—not a precise classical arrangement, but something rawer, more honest.
My heart recognizes the melody before my mind catches up. “Beyond the Sea.” I turn slowly, already knowing from the sound who I’m going to find but needing to see him, anyway.
Dean stands just inside the doorway, his black leather jacket a stark contrast to the diner’s cheerful colors. His fingers move over guitar strings with careful grace, and when he sings, his voice echoes through the quiet. Quiet because the entire diner has fallen silent, watching their stern, distant Head Warlock transform—like a caterpillar emerging as a butterfly, something almost unrecognizable and utterly impossible to ignore.
Zoe’s mouth hangs open, Tom’s coffee cup is frozen halfway to his lips, and even Alex’s eyes are wide. Hazel, who’s seen five decades of drama unfold in this diner, has stopped wiping down the counter to stare. This is Dean as they’ve never seen him—vulnerable, his carefully maintained facade falling away note by note.
His eyes find mine across the distance, and the world narrows to this moment—this impossible, beautiful collision of everything I thought I had to choose between. Magic and music. Duty and desire. Perfect and real.
When he reaches me, the last notes hang in the utter silence of the diner. “Dean?”
“Missy.” He swallows hard, glancing around at our frozen audience before focusing entirely on me. Gone is the carefulcontrol, the stern facade. This is Dean stripped to his essence, as vulnerable as a song played in darkness echoing off lighthouse walls. “I’ve been prideful and foolish. I wanted to protect you from everything—judgment, my own fears, and the complications of being with someone like me. But I’m tired of letting fear orchestrate my life. I’m in love with you, Missy Sinclair.”
A gasp escapes me, the sound almost lost in the profound silence of the diner. Someone—probably Grammie Rae—whispers, “Finally!” followed by several sharp shushes.
“What about your family?” The question comes out barely above a whisper.
“I spoke with them. They understand—enough at least.” A smile tugs at his mouth. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said, and I’ve decided I like records, even if the melody doesn’t perfectly capture the moment. Some songs do last forever. And this?” He gestures between us. “It’s the most important melody I’ve ever known.”
My heart thunders, keeping time with hope and possibility. Dean continues, words tumbling out faster now. “I know you’re leaving for the tour, but we can make it work if you want that. I can wait, I can?—”
“I’m not.” I take a step closer to him. We’re like actors on a stage, but for the first time in my life, I’m not performing. The familiar weight of an audience’s attention rests on my shoulders, but this moment strips away every practiced smile, every polished gesture I’ve spent years perfecting. This is just me and Dean, creating something raw and real in the space between heartbeats. It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever done, because it isn’t a performance at all—it’s simple truth, set to the melody of my racing heart. “I’m not going on tour. I didn’t sign the contract.”
“You’re not leaving?” His voice breaks on the last word.
“I’m staying here.” I step closer still, close enough to see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. “Actually, I just agreed to run the summer music camp. I was plotting how to avoid running into you and making things awkward.” A small laugh escapes me, genuine and breathless. “But Magnolia Cove is a pretty small town. It might be easier if I didn’t need to do that after all.”
He grins, and judging by the raised eyebrows around us, I’m pretty sure people are just as stunned by that as they were by him singing and playing the guitar. But my attention snaps back to him as he speaks, his voice light as a feather. “You’re staying here?”
I smile, my voice soft but sure. “I’m staying. For good. For me.” My fingers find the edge of his leather jacket, anchoring myself to this moment. “And maybe, if you want, for us.”
Dean’s free hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch reverent as though he’s handling something precious and rare. The calluses on his fingertips from years of secret guitar playing graze my skin, and the sensation sends a shiver through me. “I want that more than anything.”
Around us, the diner holds its collective breath. The neon signs cast their gentle glow, painting Dean’s dark eyes with hints of electric blue, and in them I see every possibility I’d been afraid to hope for. This is what Alex sees when she looks at Ethan, I realize. Not perfection, but something better—something real.
“Well?” Grammie Rae’s voice cuts through the silence. “Are you two going to kiss already or do we have to wait another six months?”
Laughter ripples through the crowd, breaking the spell of silence. Dean’s ears turn pink, but his smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows wider, more certain. His guitar shifts to his back as he pulls me closer.
“What do you say?” he breathes against my lips.
