Chapter Twenty-Eight
OMG is anyone else catching how Jake’s eyes keep glancing off-camera toward someone? Who’s he looking at like that? #USLiveStream
—Ultimate Dropped Call Fan [@kissmephillip]
Hearing a song over your phone has nothing on hearing music live. It’s a different experience entirely, like walking by a window and catching a glimpse of the party going on inside, versus actually being at that party—right in the center—and feeling it all spin around you.
As the bandmates’ voices and the guitar blended together in harmony, I understood what Jake meant when he said he loved the moments that made music feel like it’s part of him. I could feel each chord reverberating into my soul, slipping along my skin and sinking into my bones.
The music was so distracting, I nearly forgot to look back down at my tablet.
But it was a mind-blowing sight too.
Donations were pouring in. At first, when the concert began, they trickled in slowly, one at a time. But by the fourth song, multiple donations started coming in so fast, I couldn’t keep up.
It wasn’t just money either. I’d posted links to both The Tiny Tiger and the local shelter’s list of items needed to help abandoned cats—like beds and food—and viewers were generously gifting those too, some even adding their own stories about rescue cats they’d adopted in the notes.
“We’re so going to get these cats good homes. People are emailing and tweeting The Tiny Tiger asking if they’re still available,” Amber whispered, the giddiness in her voice coming across despite how quiet she spoke. “This whole thing’s like one giant cat commercial.”
It really was. While US performed, Bubbles played with Leon’s shoelaces, tugging the knots undone as he sang the bridge.
Phillip and Aspen competed to see who could get the most cats to pay attention to them while they harmonized.
Mittens curled up on Jake’s lap, her tail circling around his wrist as he swayed to the music.
A more perfect promo didn’t exist.
Elated, I turned to Mom. “This is—”
I stopped speaking when I noticed Mom’s eyes were glassy as she read something on her tablet.
“Mom?” I asked, lacing my fingers together anxiously and tucking them under my chin. “What’s wrong?”
But then Mom smiled, and I realized her tears weren’t sad, they were happy.
“We’re booked all the way through till the end of the year,” she told me, turning the tablet toward me. I gasped at the full calendar. “Look, even our loan officer booked a reservation. In October.”
“October,” I echoed. “That means he knows the place will be here then.”
“You won’t be, though,” Mom said, pulling me down into a hug. “You’ll be off at college, not worrying a bit about the café. This will be enough to take care of the cats and hire extra help if I need to.”
“We won’t have to close,” I whispered into the hug. It felt good to actually say those words out loud.
“Everything will be safe and waiting for you when you come home,” Mom confirmed. “You did it, Lucy.”
My arms tightened around Mom, too happy to form a proper sentence. Then I turned to hug Amber.
She bounced, delightedly jostling me around. “You’re getting everything you wanted, Lucy.”
Everything I wanted.
That’s what Jake wished for, that night with the dandelion puffs.
All this time, I thought things couldn’t work with Jake because I needed someone who wouldn’t forget about me—someone who’d be there for me. I thought Jake wasn’t that person, but I was wrong.
He’s been there for me this whole time—reaching out when he thought I was still mad. Sticking around after I didn’t welcome him back. Brainstorming a plan after Marie canceled the performance.
What Mom told me was true too—being there for someone didn’t mean being with them physically 24/7.
That was impossible. I had to learn that.
But what counted was how much you cared and made things work with what chances you were given.
Jake had been showing me again and again that he cared, that I’d been in his thoughts all along.
He proved he’d support me in all the little ways—even when things went wrong.
And it meant everything.
As I thought this, Jake began his solo verse in the final song, and his voice captured my attention, the way it always had.
The way it always would.
The smooth cadence of his voice soothed my senses like a cool evening breeze at the end of a hot summer’s day, or that first drop of rain after living in a drought for months.
Siren, I thought again, just like I did four years ago. Unable to help it, I lifted my eyes from my screen to look over at Jake, wondering if I’d see him concentrating on the camera.
But he was looking over at me.