20. Another Message
GIGI
It’s the Fourth of July and the heat is stifling. A fan relentlessly blows cool air over my desk in the office as I put the final touches on the latest Buzz issue, getting it ready to print the next day.
Just as I’m about to leave the office, my phone buzzes with a message from Belle.
Belle: Are you coming or not?
Lately, she’s been in one of her moods, dealing with the final days of being heavily pregnant and on the verge of giving birth.
Gigi: Locking up the office now.
Belle: Good. Hurry.
Gigi: Why? Are you going to melt before I get there?
She doesn’t reply, and I brace myself for her irritability on the drive to Beau and Jackson’s grandparents’ stunning old southern mansion, perched on cliffs that overlook Passion Cove.
As always, my thoughts wander back to the events of this past spring—especially my brief time with Jackson. I haven’t heard from him since the day he left me on the pier. My worry for him has been overwhelming, and I’ve even shed a few tears. Waiting for him to return, as he promised, has been the most excruciating experience of my life.
Work keeps me occupied, and gradually, I sense that the people of Love Beach have started to respect me more. The Buzz now prints twice as many pages as before and covers a broader mix of county and national news than it did back when Dad was at the helm. This growth fills me with pride. And Dad admits he likes the changes, too.
I even got an offer from a major publication in Georgia—but I could never leave Love Beach. This is my home. I cherish its ups and downs, the celebrations of local festivals, the lively community, and even the occasional big news story. Yet, the only thing that would truly complete my happiness is Jackson.
Today, friends and family are gathering for our beloved Independence Day tradition, watching fireworks from the cliffs. Beau is in his element orchestrating the perfect party, complete with a roasting pig in the ground. He’s in his off-season with the Charleston hockey team, so he has nothing but time right now to tend to it and his family.
Pulling up the long driveway to the mansion and parking, I notice the celebration taking place on the expansive front lawn beneath a large tent providing shade. The Dawson boys are tossing a football around, and the twins, who just secured full-ride football scholarships at two different colleges, are here with their girlfriends. Beau and Addie are currently fostering these four boys, so their house is buzzing with energy—and Addie has made sure there’s a generous spread of food at all times. Those boys will never go hungry as long as they are with them, but I can tell their hearts are still processing what Dawson did. Hopefully time will heal all wounds.
Kelsea, in her wheelchair and cared for by Jackson’s grandmother, is also here. The two have grown close, and everyone in the group stops by to check on her regularly. Every week, without fail, she visits both Parker and Dawson as they await their hearings. She’s also slated to take the bar exam in the fall and spends several hours studying each day. I regret how circumstances drove her and Parker apart, but her determination and strength now inspire me.
I’m uncertain if she will ever forgive Dawson. Who knows if the rest of us can either. Yet he remains a friend—and we’ll have to work on mending broken trust. But it’ll take time.
Belle waves at me from a distance, one hand keeping a fan aloft as she braces herself for her upcoming labor; I doubt her stomach can expand further. I expect a twenty-pound baby from her any minute now. Davis, ever the caring husband, brings her a cold glass of iced lemonade.
I take in the scene: everyone laughing and celebrating the day, while an ache lingers in my heart for Jackson.
Sighing, I slip off my sandals and stroll barefoot through the warm grass until I reach the tent. Beau and Addie are huddled together in conversation with someone. They break apart, revealing?—
A handsome man with his arm in a cast.
“Jackson?” I whisper, blinking to make sure I’m seeing clearly.
He beams at me. “I’m home, darlin’.”
I rush toward him, nearly toppling him over as I burst into tears.
“Oof. Careful, G. I’m home, but I’m hurt.”
“Oh my God,” I exclaim as I examine him closely—realizing he’s also leaning on a cane.
“Broken ribs, arm, a twisted ankle, and a mild concussion. Don’t ask how it happened—though I suppose I should tell you because I see fifty questions in your eyes anyway. I fell out of a tree while surveilling some smugglers. Out of all the ways I could have gotten injured, that was it. Not very heroic. And it happened just a few days before I was discharged. But none of that matters now. I’m here, and I could certainly use a good-looking woman to take care of me—none of the VA nurses quite appealed to me,” he adds with a wink.
“Good thing, soldier. If anyone’s going to care for you, it’ll be me,” I retort, pressing a thumb to my chest before wiping away my tears. “Do your lips work at least?”
“Hell yes, they do. Come here.” He opens his arm wide and pulls me in. Our bodies meet and lips reconnect in a long, passionate kiss.
“Damn, darlin’, you’re a sight for my sore eyes. I’m done with the military. I’m never leaving again, Gigi. I’m home—you’re my home,” he declares, leaving me breathless.
We spend the entire day like that—clinging to each other, hardly speaking to anyone else, completely content in our own new world, talking about everything and sharing a million kisses.
The following spring, during our annual friends’ spring break party, Jackson and I slip away for a quiet walk down to the pier. Halfway there, he stops, draws me into his arms, and sways as if a melody plays only for us—the rhythm perfectly matching the gentle lapping of the waves.
“This is sweet,” I murmur, savoring how each day with Jackson only gets better. We had just returned from our first vacation together in Bora Bora, a truly fabulous escape. But come Monday, it’s back to our routines—me at the Buzz, him at the police station.
Our life together is better than I ever imagined. Sure, we bicker and tease each other relentlessly at times, but we always reconcile—and that’s what matters.
Suddenly, he pulls away. “Oh, wow. Is that a message in a bottle floating toward shore?” he asks, pointing behind me.
I follow his gaze. “It is!” I exclaim, dashing over to retrieve it. I flip it over in my hand until I spot a name. “Gigi?”
Jackson takes it, and curiously pulls out the cork with surprising ease, along with the paper scroll that comes with it.
“Read it, G.” He plants a kiss on my forehead.
I unroll the note, read the question there, and gasp. “It’s a marriage proposal?”
“Gigi Baymont, would you honor me by being my wife and staying with me here in Love Beach forever?”
I laugh, smile, and cry all at once, answering him by taking the bottle and drawing a huge YES in the sand.