9. Embeth
Embeth
I pour a latte for Mr. Jenkins, adding the caramel drizzle he pretends not to want but always enjoys.
"Expecting another full house tonight?" he asks, accepting the mug with a nod.
"Standing room only if the last few weeks are any indication." I can't help the pride that creeps into my voice. "Cade's trying out three new songs tonight."
"Boy's got a gift," Walt says, his gruff voice softening. "Glad he found someone who helped him see it."
Heat rises to my cheeks. Even after two months of officially being together, I'm still not used to people talking about us as a couple. In a town where I've been labeled too weird to date for too long, being seen as someone's steady partner feels absolutely fucking wonderful.
Cade walks in, carrying his guitar case and a small bouquet of wildflowers. My heart does that ridiculous flutter thing it always does when I see him now.
"Delivery," he says, setting the flowers on the counter before leaning over to kiss me. His beard tickles my chin, and I catch the scent of woodsmoke that clings to him.
"What's the occasion?" I ask, arranging the flowers in a mason jar.
"Do I need one?" His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, something that happens far more often these days.
Walt clears his throat dramatically. "Gonna head out before the sweetness in here gives me diabetes."
Cade laughs and claps the older man on the shoulder. "Walt."
"Cade... Coming by the hardware store about that stage expansion?"
"Tomorrow morning," Cade confirms. "Need to finish the blueprints first."
After Walt leaves, Cade circles behind the counter and wraps his arms around my waist. "Missed you," he whispers against my neck.
"You just saw me last night," I remind him, but tilt my head to give him better access.
"Still, I missed my sassy little sweetheart."
“And I missed my big mountain man.”
This is new for both of us. This constant wanting to be together. I've never been the clingy type, always valuing my independence. But with Cade, I find myself looking forward to his presence, planning my day around when I'll see him next.
"How's the cabin renovation coming?" I ask, slipping from his embrace to serve a waiting customer.
"On schedule. Should be done by next week." His eyes meet mine with quiet significance. "Move in with me.”
“Are you serious?” The thoughtfulness of his request makes my throat tight.
“Fuck yes, I am.”
“But I thought that was your fortress of solitude?”
“It is, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you there.”
“I mean, that I kind of the point of solitude, is it not?”
“Well, I guess, but I don’t want that anymore. I want you, baby.”
"I... I’d love to.” I swallow the sudden emotion.
The afternoon passes in comfortable routine. Cade sets up for tonight's performance while I handle the café. We move around each other easily, occasionally touching. A hand on a shoulder, fingers brushing while passing by. It feels domestic in a way I never thought I'd enjoy.
His phone sits on by the register and starts to ring as Cade hums the latest song he’s been writing to himself. “Who is it?” he asks.
"Marcus Donovan again," I tell Cade, showing him the screen.
His jaw tightens slightly, but he nods. "Answer it. I'm okay."
This is progress. The first time Marcus called after the viral video, Cade blew the whole thing off.
The second time he called, he nearly threw his phone out the window of his cabin.
The third, he ignored completely. Now he stands beside me, hand resting supportively on my lower back as I put the call on speaker.
"Glad you answered. This is Marcus Donovan from Blue Ridge Records again.”
"Yeah," Cade says nonchalantly.
"I'm actually in Passion Peak today and tomorrow. I'd love to meet in person to discuss working with you. Cadence, that original song has generated serious interest."
I feel Cade tense beside me but keep my expression neutral. "We'd be happy to meet tomorrow," I say, buying us time to discuss it privately. "Perhaps at The Daily Grind around ten?"
After finalizing details and ending the call, I turn to Cade expectantly.
"What do you think?" I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Em. A record deal? Nashville? That's a whole different world."
"A world you deserve to be part of," I say, taking his hands in mine. "Your music touches people, Cade."
"And what about you? Your café? Us?" His hazel eyes search mine. "Nashville is hours away. I’m happy here. With you.”
"We could make it work," I say, though uncertainty creeps in. "Maybe I could expand The Daily Grind. Open a second location there someday."
He looks surprised. "You'd consider that? Leaving Passion Peak?"
"For you? Yes." The realization hits me as I say it. "I've never felt rooted anywhere until I opened this place, but now I'm realizing... Home isn't just about location. It's about who you share it with."
Something shifts in his expression. "Two months ago, you would have jumped at this opportunity without planning. And I would have refused it without consideration."
"Look at us, growing as people," I tease, but there's truth beneath it.
He pulls me closer. "I'll think about meeting with Marcus. Really think about it. If you'll help me figure out how we make it work for both of us."
"Deal." I rise on tiptoes to kiss him, marveling at how we've learned to compromise, to consider each other without losing ourselves.
Sunday dinner at the Clark family home has become a weekly tradition. I help Jennifer, Cade's mother, set the table while he and his father discuss the Nashville offer in low voices on the porch.
"He's different with you," Melody says, appearing beside me with a stack of napkins. "Lighter somehow."
“She’s right,” their youngest sister Harmony says.
"He makes me different too," I admit. "More grounded. Less impulsive."
"Not too grounded, I hope." She grins. "Your impulsiveness is part of your charm."
"Oh, don't worry. I still have my moments. Ask your brother about the spontaneous midnight skinny-dipping at the creek last week."
Melody's eyes widen. "Embeth Goff! I did not need that mental image."
We dissolve into giggles, and Cade steps back inside, eyebrow raised at our laughter.
"Should I be concerned?" he asks, wrapping an arm around my waist.
"Always," I reply, leaning into him.
During dinner, the conversation inevitably turns to the record deal. I watch nervously as Cade explains the opportunity to his family, waiting for their reaction.
"Nashville," his father says thoughtfully. "That's a big step, son."
"I know," Cade agrees. "And I'm not sure I want to leave Passion Peak right now." His eyes find mine across the table. "We've been discussing alternatives with Marcus. Weekend recording sessions. Maybe touring during café slow seasons."
"We could make it work," I add, feeling suddenly protective of his dream. "The café's more stable now. I could hire a manager for days I'm away."
Melody and Jace raises their glass. "To figuring it out together. Whatever you decide, we're behind you both." Her eyes meet mine with clear approval. "One hundred percent."
“You don’t want to rot away in that cabin for the rest of your life,” Jace says. “Trust me, I know.”
Later, after goodbyes and promises to call with any news, we get back home, to our cabin. The space feels different than it did a few weeks ago. Less like his sanctuary and more like home.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, watching me move around the kitchen making tea.
"That I never expected this," I admit, gesturing between us. "Someone who gets all of me. Loud hair, impulsive decisions, combat boots... Someone who wants me for me."
He pulls me away from the kettle, hands cradling my face with infinite tenderness. "You know what I never expected? Someone who could see past all my damage to the man underneath. Who didn't try to fix me but helped me fix myself."
When he kisses me, it feels like a promise. As clothes are shed and we move toward my bed, there's none of the frantic energy of our first time. Instead, there's something deeper A recognition that what we're building together matters more than any individual dream.
Later, wrapped in tangled sheets and each other's arms, I trace the tattoo on his chest.
"Maybe we could do both," I suggest sleepily. "Part-time Nashville, part-time mountain cabin. Best of both worlds."
"Nashville might not be ready for purple hair and combat boots," he teases, tugging gently on a strand of my hair.
"And combat boots might not be ready for red carpets," I counter. "But we'll figure it out. That's what we do now."
He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "That's what we do now," he agrees.
And for the first time in my life, the future, uncertain as it is, doesn't scare me at all because I have him.
Now and forever.