29. Lo #3
“I’m more than okay with it. I’m the one who demanded it.” He pauses. “But it only happens if you agree. If you say no, I call them tomorrow and tell them I’m out. No resentment, no arguments, no bringing it up later as some kind of leverage. Your answer is the final answer.”
Hattie grabs his nose. He lets her, because what else is he going to do?
“You’re actually asking me,” I say.
“I’m actually asking you.”
“Not telling me. Asking.”
“That’s what I said.”
“You understand that’s a significant change from how things used to work.”
“I understand that’s the only way things can work. From now on.”
I look at him. This man who used to make decisions for me instead of with me. This man who used to disappear for weeks and months, who cut my birthday call short and forgot our anniversary, who let someone else’s voice become louder in his life than mine.
He’s different now.
Not perfect. Nobody’s perfect, and the man who claims perfection is usually the most dangerous one in the room.
But different. Better. Present in a way he wasn’t before.
And I’m different too. Stronger. Clearer about what I need.
The woman who rebuilt her life in Marigold isn’t the same woman who waited at home hoping he’d make time for her.
“Eight dates,” I say. “Next fall. Early shows. Planned exceptions.”
“Only if you agree.”
“Home most nights. With flexibility built in.”
“Flexibility we decide together.”
“And the renewal? That’s before the tour?”
“This fall. Just after her birthday. Before anything else. I want everyone to see us choose each other again before I set foot on another stage.”
Hattie releases his nose and reaches for me again. I take her, settle her against my chest, feel the warm weight of her and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
“I trust you,” I say.
Jesse goes still. “What?”
“I trust you. I didn’t think I’d be able to say that again, but I do. You’ve earned it.”
“Lo…”
“Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still a guy who went viral singing at a bar.”
“That bar launched my entire career.”
“That bar launched a mess that almost destroyed us. We’re choosing to remember it differently.”
“We’re choosing to remember it as the beginning of something good.”
“Something complicated that eventually became good. There’s a nuance.”
“There’s always a nuance with you.”
“That’s why you married me. I keep things interesting.”
He laughs, and I laugh, and Hattie laughs because we’re laughing. Biscuit appears in the doorway, apparently having decided that the bedroom is where the action is, and he flops down on the floor with a sigh that suggests he’s already exhausted by the day.
“So that’s a yes?” Jesse asks. “To the renewal?”
“That’s a yes. But I have conditions.”
“Of course you do.”
“I want an actual ceremony. Not just a party. Vows and witnesses and the whole thing.”
“Done.”
“And I want you to finish the song.”
“Which song?”
“The song. ‘Honey Eyes.’ The one you’ve been working on since the day we met. You always said the ending wasn’t right.”
“You want me to sing it at the renewal?”
“I want a new verse. One about what you’ve actually learned - asking instead of deciding. Partnership instead of protection.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then he nods slowly.
“I can do that.”
“Good.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. One more thing.”
“Name it.”
“Rosie’s petal technique concerns me. I want a dedicated handler assigned to manage her flower girl duties.”
“We should ask Bree. She’ll want a containment strategy.”
“A containment strategy for a seven-year-old.”
“Rosie requires containment. You’ve seen her at birthday parties.”
“I’ve seen her at birthday parties. That’s why I’m requiring a handler.”
He grins at me. The same grin from the tailgate, a decade older and no wiser.
“So we’re doing this,” he says.
“We’re doing this.”
“A whole day.”
“A whole day.”
“Then we’d better invite two towns.”
I pause. “Two towns?”
“Ridley and Marigold. You’ve got people in both places. It would be weird to exclude either.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
“I don’t know. A lot. Maybe a hundred? Maybe more?”
“Jesse, that’s not a wedding renewal. That’s a festival.”
“It’s a celebration. Of us. Of what we survived.” He’s still grinning. “I want to do it right this time. Invite everyone.”
“Everyone meaning who?”
“Whoever you want. Bree, Molly, Cal, my mother. Dot’s going to insist on the cake whether we ask or not - you know how she is.” He pauses. “The guest list is yours to veto, top to bottom.”
“Even the label people?”
“Especially the label people. Harlan can watch it on somebody’s phone.”
Hattie smacks a wet palm against his cheek. He takes it, patient as ever.
“I’ll have notes on every name. You married a woman with opinions. Deal with it.”
He laughs, surprised and warm, and I feel something settle in my chest. Not irritation. Not suspicion. Just the quiet recognition that he’s learning.
“So who do we call first?” he asks.
“Bree. She’ll have thoughts about the venue, and she’ll be offended if she’s not involved from the beginning.”
“You want to call her now?”
“I want to call her right now.” I’m already reaching for my phone. “You’re on speaker duty.”
He pulls out his phone, and we sit there in the morning light, our daughter against my chest, making the first call together.