5. Embeth
Embeth
"His playing was... God, Mel, I can't even describe it." I pace around Melody's workspace, careful not to bump the shelves of skincare products. "It was like his soul was pouring out through his fingers."
Melody looks up from her mixing bowl, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
"Cade was always talented. He won all four years of the talent show when he was in high school. By his senior year, there were only half as many kids competing because they knew he’d blow them all out of the water.
He even had an opportunity to go to college on a music scholarship, but the school was across the country and he didn’t want to leave us.
Not after Mom’s diagnosis and Dad’s accident.
Only went into the military when he realized that was the best way he could help them out financially. "
"Wait, what?" I stop mid-pace. "Your brother was some kind of musical prodigy?"
"Not exactly a prodigy, but definitely gifted. Our grandfather taught all of us, but Cade was special. He took to it better than the rest of us." She shrugs. "After Pap died, music became Cade's thing. His escape."
I sink onto a stool, processing this new information. "And he just... stopped? Because of his hearing?"
Melody carefully folds dried lavender into her mixture. "He stopped a lot of things after the explosion. The Cade who came home isn't the same one who left."
"I can tell that much," I say softly, thinking about his face in the moonlight. "Your stories about him always made him sound so different."
"He was." Melody sets down her tools and gives me her full attention.
"But I see glimpses of the old Cade sometimes. Like when he showed up at my opening without telling us he’d be there.
That was typical Cade." She pauses, studying me.
"And apparently his old self comes out when he plays for gorgeous coffee shop owners in the middle of the night. "
I feel my cheeks warm. "He didn't play for me. I just happened to overhear."
"Mmhmm." Her smile widens. "And you just happened to drive by his cabin that’s out in the middle of nowhere at 2am?"
"I was restless... And you didn’t think anything weird about it when you woke up to fresh banana bread for breakfast this morning, did you?"
"Can’t argue with that. Jace said to tell you thanks, by the way.”
“He’s totally welcome.”
“I just worry about Cade is all, you know? I want him to be happy. He’s my brother... And you’re smitten."
I open my mouth to protest, then close it. There's no point lying to Melody. "Fine. Yes. I can't stop thinking about him. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," she says, looking absurdly pleased. "Cade needs someone who won't let him hide away. And you need someone who sees past all your..." She waves her hand vaguely at my general appearance. "Colorful deflection."
I raise an eyebrow. "My colorful deflection?” I ask with a giggle.
"Babe, I love you and everything that makes you you, but you use your hair and your clothes and your whole 'I'm so sassy' routine to keep people from seeing when you're hurting." Her voice softens. "Like how worried you really are about the café."
I look down at my hands, fidgeting with a jar of face cream. "That obvious, huh?"
"To me, yes." She comes around the workbench and hugs me.
"The café is in trouble, Mel," I admit quietly. "Really bad trouble. I've tried everything I can think of. Even asked your brother to perform."
"And?”
"He made it quite clear he's not interested."
Melody pulls back, hands on my shoulders. "Did he? Or did he just react to being put on the spot? If I know my brother, no doesn’t really mean absolutely no... You need to approach it a bit differently maybe. Private, thoughtful."
"I'm not exactly known for either of those qualities," I point out.
"No," she agrees with a laugh. “But if anyone can get him to budge, it’s you.” She gives me a playful smirk as her eyes twinkle. "And just so you know, if something happens between you two, I'm completely okay with it."
I feel my face heat up again. "Who said anything would happen? I’m going there strictly to talk business."
She just laughs and returns to her mixing.
Three hours later, I'm standing on Cade's porch again, this time in daylight, wearing my favorite cherry-print dress and clutching a folder containing my ideas. I've rehearsed what I'll say, practiced not speaking a mile a minute, and promised myself I won't push if he says no.
He answers my knock looking like he just woke up, though it's mid-afternoon. His hair is tousled, t-shirt wrinkled, and there's a pillow crease on his cheek that shouldn't be as endearing as it is.
"Embeth," he says, voice gravelly with sleep. "Twice in one day. Lucky me.”
"Did I wake you?" I ask, suddenly uncertain. "I can come back."
He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up more. "No, I'm up now. Coffee?"
I follow him inside, trying not to stare at how his worn jeans hang low on his hips or how his shoulder muscles shift under his thin shirt.
The cabin's interior is clean and cozy with minimalist furniture, a record player in the corner, handmade quilts draped over the couch, and his guitar sitting in the corner.
"Nice place," I say, accepting the mug he offers.
"Yeah, it’s not much, but I’m comfortable here for now. I’m just renting, but the owner is willing to sell."
“Think you might buy it?”
“Maybe.”
We sit at the small kitchen table, and I force myself not to fidget or fill the silence with nervous chatter. Instead, I wait until he's had a few sips of coffee and seems more awake.
"I came to apologize," I begin. "And to make a different kind of proposal."
His eyebrow raises slightly.
I slide the folder across the table. "No pressure. Just... look it over when you have time."
He opens it cautiously, as if expecting it to explode.
Inside is a document with my business plan.
A private, once-monthly music night at The Daily Grind featuring Cade as well as any local artists who might be interested.
Limited tickets. Sort of retro in a way with no phones or recording devices allowed. Drinks and light food.
"This is different from what you suggested before," he says, scanning the page.
"I listened to what you didn't say," I tell him. "You don't want to perform in public. But maybe a controlled environment would be different."
He studies me with those intense hazel eyes. "But why feature me? There must be other musicians in town."
"None like you that I’ve come across."
"You heard me play for five minutes in the dark."
"That was enough." I meet his gaze steadily.
"And I need help, Cadence. The café won't survive another three months at this rate. I have to do something because if I just sit back and let it happen, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
If I fight like hell and it still flops, then at least I know I gave it my all. "
He's quiet for a long moment, then asks, "Why do you care so much about saving it?"
The question catches me off guard. "Because it's mine," I say automatically, then pause, realizing there's more truth to share. "Because it's the first thing that's ever really been mine. That I built. That matters... To me if not to anyone else."
Something shifts in his expression and his gaze softens.
"Before I came to Passion Peak, I was just drifting.
Different towns, different jobs, different hair colors.
" I smile and look down at my brightly painted nails.
"I had a shitty childhood. Raised by my granny the best she could, but we moved around a lot.
When she died, I was on my own with nowhere to really call home.
The café gave me roots for the first time. "
"And now you don't want to lose them," he says softly.
I nod, surprised by the lump in my throat.
He looks down at the proposal again. "I can't guarantee anything. My hearing is still..."
"We'll work around it," I say quickly. "Whatever you need."
His lips quirk. "You always this determined?"
"Fuck yeah, I am. When it comes to the things that matter," I hold his gaze, letting my words carry double meaning.
The air between us changes, thickens. He sets the folder aside, his focus entirely on me now.
"Why’d you come all the way out here?" he asks.
My heart races. "To talk about my business plan.”
"Not buying it. You could have talked to me about this the next time I came to the shop or let Mel know you wanted to talk to me.” He leans forward slightly. "Why are you here?"
I take a deep breath, deciding on honesty. "Because I can't stop thinking about last night... About you..."
His eyes darken. "That's dangerous territory."
"I like dangerous." I stand up, moving around the table to stand before him. "I think you do too."
He looks up at me, conflict written across his features. "This isn't a good idea."
"Probably not," I agree, stepping closer until my leg brushes his knees. "But I'm full of bad ideas. Just ask anyone in town."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "What would Melody say?"
"She'd say we're both adults who could use something good in our lives."
His hands move to my hips, almost of their own accord. "Is that what this would be? Something good?"
I place my hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension there. "Only one way to find out."
For a heartbeat, we're suspended in possibility.
Then he pulls me down onto his lap, and his mouth finds mine with unexpected hunger.
The kiss is nothing like I imagined. And I've imagined it plenty.
It's not tentative or gentle. It's desperate, consuming, like he's been holding himself back for too long.
I respond in kind, fingers tangling in his hair, pressing myself against him. He tastes like coffee and pure sex, and when he groans against my mouth, the sound vibrates through me like music.
"This doesn't change anything," he murmurs against my neck as his hands explore the curves of my waist, my hips, my thighs. "The proposal. I haven’t said yes.”
"I know," I gasp as his teeth graze my collarbone. "This is just..."