Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
As Jamie’s Silverado crept down the asphalt, he was quiet. Brinton wondered if he knew what she was thinking. Because this house was certainly not giving cottage.
Sure, its footprint more resembled a bear cub compared to the compound’s yeti, but make no mistake. The two-story, stone-front lake house was fit for a king. Or rather, a prince.
Jamie opened her door, but her eyes were transfixed on the house, which rested on a sprawling, impeccably manicured lawn that unfurled right up to Crawford Lake’s edge.
She took his outstretched hand. “You said you lived in a cottage? I was thinking little-old-lady-with-ten-cats and a closet full of peppermints that expired in nineteen eighty-seven.”
He laughed. “Well, it is a cottage. Or, it was. There used to be a sweet little house on this land that my mom fell in love with, so my dad bought it. They were supposed to retire here.” He shut the door.
“After she died, I think it broke his heart to look at it. So he tore it down and built this for me. Since then, I’ve done some renovations”—he rolled his eyes, amused—“Sammi ordered some renovations before we did this Architectural Digest video a few years back. But it’s a real special property. I love it here.”
“I can see why,” she said.
Inside, the vibe was high-end frat-house, in a good way.
In the living room, oversized leather couches in shades of weathered tobacco and pecan matched the exposed wood beams striping the vaulted ceiling.
On the walls, contemporary abstract art mingled with portraits of his music idols, including Johnny Cash, Jimi Hendrix, and his father.
A massive flatscreen TV crowned the stone mantle, along with a dozen framed, sun-bleached stills of his friends and family.
At the far end, Jamie’s gleaming Grammy.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll only be a minute,” Jamie called out from somewhere upstairs.
Brinton sank into the sumptuous leather and imagined him doing the same.
Dreaming. Writing. Definitely playing video games, which she confirmed after plucking a rogue PS5 controller from beneath her back.
A dog-eared copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God lounged on the mahogany coffee table, atop a crisp stack of papers.
A few days ago, on the drive home from their Turkey Bay trip, Brinton had told Jamie it was her favorite book.
Still, she was touched to see that he’d read it.
Knowing that he’d definitely read it for her.
She opened it, admiring his sharp, all-caps handwriting in the margins, the blue and yellow highlights streaking the pages like watercolor.
Beneath it, there was a stack of equally graffitied lyric sheets, relics of his many months of dedication. As she thumbed the pages, admiration swelled between her ribs. She hoped her article gave him everything he wanted.
A moment later, Jamie bounded down the stairs, a cozy-looking blanket in one hand, a fancy-looking bottle of whiskey in the other, and an ear-splitting grin on his gorgeous face.
“You ready for the best date of your life?”
After Jamie built a roaring bonfire in the front yard, they shared the bottle of whiskey and leftover caramel cake Liza had graciously sent over.
They took turns picking songs from Jamie’s Spotify account on his phone.
The music drifted out from his truck speakers, the low-beam headlights erecting a golden oasis around them.
As “Weak” by SWV faded out, Brinton softened against Jamie’s chest. His arms draped protectively over her shoulders, she was content as his even, whiskey-sweet breaths warmed her cheek.
“My turn,” he whispered, nuzzling against her neck.
The prickles of stubble enlivened her insides like a shaken snow globe.
She tipped her head back, thrilled to find his supple lips eagerly awaiting hers.
His tongue teasingly circled hers as he traced his thumb along her collarbone. Her body buzzed with anticipation.
“But you’re gonna need to stand for this one.”
She whined in mock protest. Jamie pecked her on the lips once more and smiled, then pushed himself off the ground. He tapped play on his phone before pulling her to her feet.
Coiling one hand around her waist, he drew her into his chest, melting her into him. When his free hand found hers, she interlaced their fingers. The weeping guitar of “If Tomorrow Never Comes” by Garth Brooks enveloped them as they danced.
“This song is beautiful,” she whispered. Even though they were dancing, it felt like she was floating.
As they gently rocked side to side, the fire painted his skin a burnished gold. Jamie’s eyes glinted like gemstones.
“It was one of my mom’s favorites,” he said.
“She would listen to it a lot when my dad was on the road, mostly crying alone in her room. I used to think it was such a sad song—this heartbreaking confession about how quickly life passes you by. But now, I see it as an emblem of cherishing every moment with someone while you got it. Now, when I hear it, I’m gonna think about you. ”
She leaned her forehead against his chest, breathing in his smokey-sweet scent. Her heart was full enough to burst. But that’d be beautiful too.
“You know, my mom would have loved you,” Jamie said.
“I wish I could have met her,” Brinton answered through the emotional lump in her throat. Her lips eagerly found his again.
Eventually, they settled down, content to watch the bonfire let out its final sigh.
“Did you get everything you wanted for your birthday?” Brinton asked.
He leaned down, then kissed her forehead. “I did now.”