Chapter 32
Aaron’s voice grates as he follows the label executives out of the conference room. It’s warm and polished, the way it always gets when he’s performing the part of attentive manager, but it irritates me more than usual today.
A few handshakes and back slaps before the soft click of the door closes behind them and his attention is back on me.
I don’t move from my seat.
The meeting ran an hour and forty-three minutes.
I know because I watched the clock on the wall the entire time—the second hand making its slow, indifferent lap while three people walked through marketing rollouts, streaming projections, and a tour schedule I’ve seen a dozen times before.
They were important things, things that needed to be discussed, agreed on, and finalized.
But not a single one of them required me to be sitting in this room, in this city, instead of hearing about them from the comfort of Stonebridge Hollow.
Aaron turns back to me, already loosening his tie and settling into his let’s debrief posture I’ve watched him assume for almost twenty years. He opens his mouth to say something I don’t care about, but I don’t give him the chance.
With a calmness I don’t feel, I ask the question that’s been running through my mind for the last hour and forty minutes. “Why did I need to be in the city for that?”
He pauses, his hand still on his tie. “What?”
“That.” I gesture at the now empty conference table still littered with half-empty water bottles and crumpled napkins from the pastries Aaron provided. “Tell me what part of that meeting required me to be in the city so urgently.”
Aaron pulls out the chair at the head of the table, falling into it and folding his hands on the surface—the way he does when he’s about to manage me. “It’s important for the label to see you in person, Beck. It shows engagement, commitment—”
“I’ve been with the same label for fifteen years. Worked with those exact people the last five.” The words come out flatter than I intend, but I don’t correct them. “They know me and my work. They know I’m not going anywhere. They don’t need the face-to-face time a new client requires.”
Aaron’s jaw tightens—just slightly. He shifts tactics, and I watch it happen in real time in the way his expression recalibrates. “It’s not just about the meeting.”
“Then what’s it about?”
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve pushed back on Aaron over the entirety of my career. I can’t pinpoint what it is about this particular situation that has me so angry with him, but he’s gone too far this time.
“The stalker.” He says it carefully, as if balancing the scales of justice. “Stonebridge Hollow clearly isn’t as safe as you think it is if your stalker can find you there.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “It’s not your place to decide what is or isn’t safe for me. That’s what I have Ian for.”
“Ian is a security consultant, not a—”
“Ian has a background to support every decision he’s ever made,” I interrupt. “I trust him to do his job. You’re my manager, Aaron. You manage my career, not my life.”
The silence that follows is thick. Aaron looks at me, something shifting behind his eyes, and I don’t bother trying to name it.
I let my gaze drift to the window, the city stretching out twenty stories below.
It’s gray and cold and indifferent, nothing like the place I left.
My eyes fall to my phone and I think about the text sitting there.
It came in just before the meeting started. I saw it light up the screen and almost didn’t look, but something in my gut told me not to wait. Something in my chest loosens every time her name shows up, and it’s a reflex I stopped trying to fight weeks ago.
Madison
So…one of your songs came on the radio on my way into town and the baby wouldn’t stop kicking. Looks like you’ve got another fan.
I couldn’t stop staring at the words, the image so clear in my mind I felt like I was right there next to her. Madison behind the wheel, one hand resting on her stomach, my voice filling the cab while the little nugget kicks against her palm.
I don’t know when I started calling him little nugget, but I like that I have a nickname for him, one that no one else has. It’s easier than thinking of him as anything else, than thinking of him the way my heart calls for me to think of him.
Very little about my life has changed, and yet everything is different.
I still love music, still feel it as part of my soul.
These last two months in Stonebridge Hollow have felt more like the early days than anything has in a long time.
It reminds me of the way I used to write.
The way songs used to show up uninvited, demanding to be played.
I’ve written more in the cottage than I’ve written in the last two years.
Music isn’t the problem.
But producing at this volume? Touring at this pace? Living my life as if music is the only thing keeping me alive? That’s not what I want anymore. I don’t know why it stopped being enough, but I don’t care.
My eyes meet Aaron, not an ounce of uncertainty in my mind or body. “After this album and tour, I’m slowing down. Taking a real break.”
“Beckett—”
“I’m not discussing it.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can, and I am. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.” I keep my voice level. I’m not angry—not anymore. I know what I want and I’m not willing to compromise that. “I’ve done a lot with my career. More than enough, I think. I want to focus on something else for a while.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table. I see the way he tries to mask the panic in his eyes, but it doesn’t work. “There’s still more music for you to write. More songs for you to share with the world. You’re not done. You can’t be done.”
“You’re right. I’m not done.” I place my hands on the table and push my seat back, standing tall. “I’m not giving up my career. I’m just taking a step back, slowing down. Living life.”
“Beckett…” The word is so soft I’m not sure he meant to say it.
I hold his gaze, making sure he hears my words. “If you’re not careful, you’ll lose me altogether.”
His mouth opens and closes. I watch him weigh his options, thinking through the arguments, and then I watch him decide not to voice them.
I give him a quick nod before walking out. The elevator ride down is quiet, and when I step through the revolving doors into the January cold, a hat pulled low over my head and my sunglasses reflecting the building around me, I feel lighter than I have in a long time.
I’m soaking in the feeling when someone walks into me.
“Sorry,” I’m quick to say, knowing I wasn’t paying attention to anything around me.
“Nope, my fault,” a familiar voice says.
Wyatt Hawthorne is standing on the sidewalk in a wool coat, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, looking at me like I’m the last person he expected to see on a Monday afternoon in the city.
“Wyatt. What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” He grins, pocketing his phone. “When’d you leave town?”
“I got here this morning. Meeting with the label,” I say, gesturing at the building behind me. I shake my head, still feeling the residual irritation and wanting to be out of this city. “I want to get home as soon as possible.”
Wyatt lifts a brow, something like surprise filling his eyes. “Home?”
I frown, confused by the question, then realize what I said.
Wyatt laughs, a short delighted sound. “Stonebridge is home now, is it?”
I stand with that for a second, turning it over in my head, and decide I like the sound of that—a lot. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“You guess?” There’s no heat behind the question, just simple curiosity.
“It’s the only place that’s felt like home since I lost my parents.” The words come out before I’ve decided to say them, honest and unguarded in a way I haven’t been with anyone other than Ryan and Madison. But it feels right that I’m giving up a piece of myself to one of her brothers.
Wyatt doesn’t flinch. He just nods like he understands, like it makes sense to him in a way I don’t fully understand.
“What are you doing in the city?” I repeat my question from before, both trying to move the conversation past my confession and because I’m genuinely curious.
“I flew a client in this morning. I had something else scheduled for this afternoon, but it got cancelled. I’m officially free for the rest of the week.
I’m actually trying to decide what to do with the unexpected time off.
” He takes a sip of coffee and freezes with the cup raised to his mouth, his eyes studying me over the lid.
Before I can say anything, he straightens like an idea just landed.
“I’ll fly you home first thing tomorrow morning.”
I waver. There has to be a commercial flight I can take this afternoon. I could be home in just a few hours. But then I think about Ian’s face when I tell him my plans, and I know he won’t be having it. Flying with Wyatt will make him feel better than any other way of getting home.
“All right,” I say. “Tomorrow.”
“Perfect.” Wyatt claps me on the shoulder, a grin stretched across his face. “What are you doing with the rest of your day?”
“No one’s supposed to know I’m back in the city, so I’m headed back to my apartment. You going to do anything fun?”
“Not really.” He shrugs. “I was on my way to check-in to a hotel.”
I think about it for less than thirty seconds before the words are out of my mouth. “Cancel the reservation. You can stay at my place. I don’t like how big it feels anymore when I’m there by myself.”
Wyatt laughs, easy and warm. “I never turn down free accommodations. Thanks, man.”
The next morning is unseasonably warm. I noticed it the second we stepped off the plane in Lancaster. The air was soft against my face, nothing like the January we left behind in the city this morning.
Wyatt and I parted ways at the airport, him with a grin and a “good luck” I chose not to examine too closely.
Walking up the porch steps to Madison’s house, it almost looks like spring.
The windows and front door are open, letting in fresh air through the screens and the sound of a piano drifts out to greet me.
I recognize the song before I reach the top step and I realize it’s not a song on the radio.
That’s Madison playing one of my songs, an old one.
It’s a song from my second album, one I wrote sitting on a hotel bed in Nashville when I was nineteen and didn’t know what I was doing.
I smile as I walk across the porch, ready to give her hell for finally looking me up.
Only when I reach for the screen door and it opens without issue, my plans change.
Instead of teasing her about missing me so much she had to look me up, I’m going to give her hell about leaving the door unlocked—again.
But I barely make it step in the house before I freeze.
My hand stays on the handle, the screen door half-shut behind me, and I forget every word I was about to say.
Madison’s voice fills the house, clear and unguarded, and it’s beautiful.
Not the kind of beautiful that’s trained or polished or built for the stage.
It’s the kind that comes from somewhere real, somewhere she probably doesn’t even know is there.
She sings like she’s alone, like no one’s listening, and the honesty of it lands somewhere behind my ribs and stays.
She’s talented. That’s the first clear thought I manage.
She could do this for a living if she wanted to.
Walk into a recording studio tomorrow and turn heads.
The fact that she never has, that she’s spent her adult life running an inn and helping take care of everyone around here instead makes the sound floating through the house feel like something I wasn’t supposed to hear. Something private and rare.
I close the screen door softly behind me and cross the entryway without making a sound. When I reach the living room, I lean against the archway and watch her.
She’s at the piano, her hair loose around her shoulders as she plays the last few bars, letting the final chord fade. Her hand drops from the keys to her stomach and presses flat against the curve. A smile spread across her face, sweet and private—the kind of smile that isn’t meant for anyone.
“I know, you miss him too. He’ll be back soon,” she whispers.
My chest seizes. Tight and full and overwhelming.
It’s the kind of feeling that’s too big for the space it’s in.
She’s talking to the baby—about me. Telling him I’ll be back soon, like I’m something important to them.
I have to press my shoulder harder into the archway to keep from crossing the room right there. I don’t want to scare her.
Standing straight, I clear my throat, soft and deliberate.
She spins on the bench, eyes wide, one hand still on her stomach, and the shock on her face shifts to something I can’t quite read.
I smile, falling back on the plan I started with. “Finally looked me up, did you?”
She stares at me for a beat and then her face breaks into a smile, the real one, the one I’ve been thinking about since the moment I left her. She stands from the piano bench and takes a few steps toward me, closing some of the space between us.
“After we heard your song on the radio, Jackson asked to listen to more while we made muffins yesterday,” she says through a smile. “I couldn’t tell him no after he’d been such a champ running a bunch of errands with me.”
I laugh, the sound coming out rougher than I expect because she’s close, close enough that I can feel her warmth.
I close the last bit of distance between us until there’s only inches that separate us.
I don’t try to stop myself from reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, my fingers trailing along the curve of her jaw.
“You have a beautiful voice,” I say quietly.
She blushes, the color spreading across her cheeks. “Thank you.” She leans into my touch, her cheek pressing softly against my palm. “What are you doing here?”
I study her, taking in the warmth in her eyes, the openness of her face, and the way she’s leaning into me. “This is exactly where I’m supposed to be. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
She stares at me, the moment stretching between us. Her eyes search mine and I watch as something shifts in her expression, determination and grit taking over.
“Fuck it,” she whispers.
She rises to her toes, her hands fisting the front of my open flannel, and she pulls me down.
Her mouth meets mine, and the kiss is searing—insistent—like she’s been holding back and has finally decided to stop.
My hand slides from her jaw to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and she makes a sound against my lips that I feel all the way through me.
I came home. That’s the only thought that sticks. I came home, and she’s here waiting for me. If I had any doubt I made the right decision, it flew out the moment her lips touched mine.