Unlocking Melodies (Oakwood Grove #3)

27. A Harvest of New Beginnings

A month had passed since our little adventure in amateur hostage drama, but the memories felt razor-sharp. Not that anyone would let me forget - the town had basically turned it into their own personal Netflix series, complete with weekly reenactments at The Watering Hole's trivia night.

Watching Moretti’s perfectly manicured world crumble around his designer shoes. Mr. "I'm-So-Mysterious-With-My-Open-Collar-Villain-Aesthetic" hadn't counted on one crucial detail. Nobody messes with a Cole when they're protecting family. And somehow, against all odds and social class divisions, that's what I'd become.

Ethan's family unleashed corporate hell on Cortez's empire. Turns out those encrypted files on his laptop weren't just about using our small-town venues for money laundering - they were the key to his entire operation. I had to admire the irony: all that drama over files hidden behind the world's most pretentious password (seriously, who uses "MachiavellianPrince123"?).

The trial in New York was something else. Picture it: Ethan in full CEO mode, delivering testimony with the kind of precision that probably made his board members weep with pride. He didn't just present evidence - he performed corporate surgery, dissecting Moretti’s schemes with surgical strikes of irrefutable proof.

I had to sit there trying not to grin like an idiot while my boyfriend systematically destroyed a criminal empire in a suit that probably cost more than my yearly rent. It was oddly hot, if I'm being honest.

Watching Moretti’s face when the verdict came down was better than any Netflix finale. Life without parole - turns out even the best lawyers money can buy can't spin "kidnapping and attempted murder" into a feel-good story. His perfect suit couldn't hide how he deflated like one of Nina's failed soufflé experiments.

The best part? Martha the Attack Chicken got a special mention in the court transcript. Apparently her "tactical intervention" during the arrest was considered relevant evidence. I'm pretty sure she's now got a fan club in the New York DA's office.

The whole town showed up for the verdict, because of course they did. Mrs. Henderson led what she called a "casual observation squad" but was really more like a tactical support team armed with opera glasses and stress-baking supplies. Even Clark was there, somehow managing to look both completely ordinary and vaguely supernatural while serving cat-themed lattes to the courthouse staff.

"Justice is served," Ethan had said afterward, looking unfairly gorgeous in his court-appearance suit. "Though I have to say, your town's version of a victory celebration is... unique."

He wasn't wrong. Nina had organized what she called a "small gathering" at The Watering Hole, which turned into the kind of party that would probably become local legend. Jake and Dawn did dramatic reenactments of the arrest, complete with Luna playing the role of stern judge. My cat's apparently got range.

But it wasn't just about winning the case. Something shifted in me during those weeks - like finally finding the last piece of a puzzle you didn't even know you were solving. The memories were back, yeah, but it was more than that. It was about knowing who I was, who had my back, who'd show up with bulletproof vests and questionable superhuman abilities when things got rough.

Speaking of which, Clark still wouldn't explain how he'd managed those moves during the rescue. Every time someone asked, he'd just smile mysteriously and offer another cat-themed pastry. The guy definitely had some explaining to do, but considering he'd helped save our lives, I figured he'd earned his secrets.

Luna's purr brought me back to the present as she claimed my lap, probably sensing my deep thoughts or just demanding her evening treats. From inside, I could hear Ethan on a business call - something about hostile takeovers and quarterly projections that sounded way too complicated for my small-town brain.

But that was our life now. Corporate empire meets local charm, bulletproof vests meet cat cafés, perfect suits meet Martha's special brand of chicken-based justice. Somehow it worked, in the beautifully chaotic way that only Oakwood Grove could manage.

"You know," I said one evening as we sat on my porch, Ethan's tie loose and my feet in his lap, "now that I remember everything, we should probably talk about Rosewood. About why you left."

His hand stilled where it had been absently tracing patterns on my ankle. "Jimmy, I-"

"No, let me finish." I sat up, needing him to understand. "I get it now. Your father threatening my career, the board's pressure, thinking you were protecting me by staying away. You were trying to do the right thing, even if it was completely misguided and dramatically self-sacrificing."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "Dramatically self-sacrificing?"

"Very on-brand for you." I poked his chest. "Mr. 'I'll-Get-Shot-Saving-You.'"

His laugh turned serious as he caught my hand, pressing it over his heart. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "For thinking I knew what was best, for not trusting you enough to make your own choices. For eight years of regret when we could have had this."

"Hey." I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his. "Maybe we needed those years. To become who we are now. To be ready for this version of us."

"Look who's getting philosophical," he murmured, but his eyes were suspiciously bright.

"Well, one of us has to be the wise one in this relationship. Clearly not you, Mr. 'Helicopters-Are-Valid-Date-Transportation.'"

His kiss tasted like forgiveness and future and the kind of love that survives memory loss and dramatic rescues and eight years of careful distance. When we pulled apart, something had settled between us - the last piece of our past finally finding its place.

Speaking of chaos - the delayed Harvest Festival had transformed our little town into what Mrs. Henderson called a "seasonal extravaganza" but looked more like autumn had exploded everywhere. Not that I was complaining, especially since the delay had given everyone (namely me and my collection of dramatically injured loved ones) time to properly heal.

The golden afternoon light painted everything in Instagram-worthy hues, which Nina was definitely documenting for the bar's social media. Kids zoomed past in sugar-fueled orbits, sticky with caramel apple evidence. Tommy, Jake and Elliot's ridiculously energetic eight-year-old, had appointed himself Luna's official playmate, chasing her through pumpkin displays while she pursued a particularly ambitious butterfly.

"Got you!" I scooped Tommy up mid-sprint, his delighted squeal probably registering on seismic monitors.

"You're it!" He tapped my shoulder with the kind of authority only kids can manage before launching himself back into the festival chaos. Luna gave me a look that clearly said "well, aren't you going to chase us?" before bounding after him.

"Jimmy!" Elizabeth Cole's voice carried across the festival grounds. Ethan's mom stood with her husband and Mia, waving a plate of what looked like her famous apple pie. She'd arrived yesterday and immediately adopted the entire town, treating everyone like long-lost family. The way she'd hugged me - warm and real and accepting - had definitely not made me cry. Much.

"Jimmy!" Elizabeth Cole waved that plate of pie like it was a homing beacon. Honestly, the way she'd taken to small-town life made me wonder if she'd secretly been practicing for this role. Here was a woman who usually attended charity galas with names I couldn't pronounce, and she'd shown up to our festival wearing a hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Henderson's craft circle.

"You have to try this," she insisted as I approached, practically radiating mom energy. "I used your mother's recipe - the one with the secret ingredient. Gary shared it with me last night."

That stopped me in my tracks. "Mom's apple pie?" My voice definitely didn't crack on those words. "With the vanilla bean and..."

"And cardamom," she finished, her eyes soft with understanding. "He said it was your favorite. That she'd make it every fall."

I took the offered plate with slightly shaky hands. The first bite hit me like a memory - Sunday afternoons in our tiny kitchen, mom dancing while she baked, dad pretending not to sneak pieces when she wasn't looking.

"It's perfect," I managed around the lump in my throat.

Elizabeth pulled me into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and freshly baked pie. "You know," she said quietly, "I always wanted another son. Though I have to say, your timing could have been better. Eight years of watching Ethan mope around his penthouse was a bit excessive."

"To be fair," I couldn't help grinning, "your son's not exactly great at emotional communication. He sent me a cat before he could say 'I love you.'"

Her laugh was warm and real. "Oh honey, you should have seen him practicing that in front of his mirror. Harrison caught him once - I thought poor Ethan would spontaneously combust from embarrassment."

"Mom!" Ethan's protest carried across the festival grounds. "Are you telling embarrassing stories again?"

"Always," she called back cheerfully. "It's in the mother handbook. Chapter three: How to Lovingly Mortify Your Children.

I watched them banter, something warm blooming in my chest that had nothing to do with perfectly spiced pie. Elizabeth caught my expression and squeezed my hand.

"You're family now," she said softly. "All of this - the town, your father, that terrifying chicken that keeps attacking Harrison's Italian loafers - it's part of us too. Though I have to say, I never expected my son's love life to involve quite so many surveillance operations."

"Mrs. Henderson's very thorough," I admitted. "Pretty sure she's already planning our wedding. With color-coded spreadsheets."

"Oh, I know." Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with mischief. "We had coffee this morning. The venue suggestions are... extensive."

I nearly choked on my pie. "Please tell me you're joking."

"What kind of mother would I be if I didn't help plan my son's happily ever after?" She patted my cheek. "Now, about the floral arrangements..."

"Elizabeth." Harrison's voice cut through the wedding planning ambush with perfect timing. "I believe you're terrorizing our future son-in-law before he's even officially part of the family."

He appeared at my side like a corporate guardian angel, looking surprisingly at ease in what had to be the most casual outfit I'd ever seen him wear - though his idea of "festival casual" still probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"I'm not terrorizing," Elizabeth protested. "I'm planning. There's a difference."

"The color-coded binder under your arm suggests otherwise, dear." Harrison's smile held genuine warmth as he turned to me. "Jimmy, I believe Ethan's looking a bit lost trying to judge the pumpkin contest. Perhaps you could rescue him before Martha decides his shoes are offensive again?"

I shot him a grateful look. "Thanks. I mean, for the rescue. And the..." I gestured vaguely at the festival, at his acceptance, at everything.

"Go," he said softly. "Before she breaks out the Pinterest boards."

"I heard that," Elizabeth called after me as I made my strategic retreat. "This isn't over, young man! We still need to discuss centerpieces!"

Harrison's laugh followed me as I escaped. "Let the boy breathe, love. At least wait until after Ethan actually proposes."

If only he knew what his son had planned for later. But that was one secret I was happy to keep - at least for a few more hours.

But the sight that really got me was my father, deep in conversation with Ethan near the cider stand. They were actually laughing together, looking relaxed in a way I'd never imagined possible. The road to rebuilding trust had been bumpy (and occasionally involved hospital visits), but moments like this made it feel worth it.

My boots crunched through fallen leaves as I approached them. Ethan's eyes lit up when he saw me - still that same look from Practice Room C, like I was his favorite song. I couldn't help myself; I pulled him into a kiss that probably scandalized half the festival committee.

"Public displays of affection?" he murmured against my lips, his cheeks adorably flushed. "What will Mrs. Henderson's surveillance team think?"

"That her matchmaking skills deserve a raise," I shot back, before turning to my father.

For a moment we just looked at each other - so much history between us, good and bad and everything in between. Then I did something Past Jimmy would never have believed possible - I hugged him.

"Thanks for coming, Dad," I said softly, meaning more than just the festival.

His arms came around me, solid and real. No grand speeches, no elaborate explanations. Just a father and son, finding their way back to each other among pumpkins and fairy lights and the kind of love that builds itself piece by broken piece.

Evening settled over the festival like a cozy blanket, lanterns flickering to life in perfectly timed sequences (because Mrs. Henderson's lighting committee took their jobs very seriously). Ethan's hand found mine as we wandered through the transformed grounds, the music and laughter creating a soundtrack that felt almost magical.

"Nice night." Clark materialized beside us with his usual disregard for physics, casually munching on a candied apple like appearing out of thin air was totally normal. "You two look good together. Very storybook ending."

"You know," I couldn't help grinning, "for a guy who runs a cat café, you've got an impressive flair for dramatic timing."

He just winked, that mysterious smile playing at his lips before he drifted away into the crowd. Something about the way he moved still made me wonder exactly what kind of supernatural being was serving our town lattés, but hey - after everything we'd been through, a maybe-superhero barista seemed pretty on brand.

Ethan tugged me to a stop under the canopy of lights, his expression doing something complicated that made my heart skip. I knew that look - it was his 'about to make a major business decision' face, but softer somehow. More vulnerable.

"Jimmy," he started, then paused. His hand trembled slightly as he reached into his pocket, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. Because that was definitely a ring box, and that was definitely Ethan Cole - corporate titan, nightmare of board rooms, and occasional victim of waterfowl attacks - dropping to one knee in the middle of our small-town festival.

"I had this whole speech prepared," he admitted, looking up at me with those impossible green eyes. "Very corporate, very polished. But that's not us, is it? We're midnight piano sessions and small-town adventures and finding each other even when memory fails. You make me better - not just as a CEO or a son or any of the roles I'm supposed to play. You make me better as me."

I tried to form words, but everything got stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat.

"So here I am," he continued, opening the box to reveal a ring that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, "asking the guy who can't cook without setting off smoke alarms, who made me fall in love with him twice, who somehow got my mother addicted to small-town gossip... will you marry me?"

"You know Mrs. Henderson's probably live-streaming this," I managed through tears I couldn't quite control.

"Is that a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes, you ridiculous man." My laugh came out watery but real. "Like I'd trust anyone else to appreciate my culinary disasters."

His hands shook slightly as he slipped the ring onto my finger, then he was standing and I was in his arms and nothing else mattered. Not the festival chaos around us, not the definitely-not-subtle chorus of happy sobs from our various observers, not even Martha's victory crow from somewhere nearby.

Just us, finding our way back to each other under autumn stars and fairy lights, writing our own kind of happily ever after.

"I love you," I whispered against his neck, breathing in expensive cologne and pure joy.

"I love you too," he murmured back. "Memory loss, cooking disasters, overprotective towns and all."

From somewhere in the crowd, I distinctly heard Mrs. Henderson declare "Operation Engagement: Success!" followed by what sounded like high-fives and the shuffling of betting slips.

But with Ethan's arms around me and a future stretching out bright and beautiful ahead, I couldn't bring myself to care about anything except this moment. This love. This perfectly imperfect life we'd built together.