Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
He tapped at his phone. The surround sound connected, and his voice filled the house.
The bass vibrated through the floorboards, a beat that matched her pulse.
They listened for several minutes. Themes of life on the road, the challenges that persist, the ache of settling down, reconnecting with your past, and finding a love you recognize in a child’s eyes. One track—“Amelia.” Dedicated to the girl who changed his world, who made him want to be better.
Daisy swiped away a lone tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed. Their girl really did light him up.
“That might be my favorite song you’ve ever written,” she whispered.
“Same. Though the one we’re thinking of for the single comes close.”
Her brow arched. “Then play it.”
Another tap. A melody slipped into the room. As the first verse landed, Daisy’s eyes never left his. The song burrowed straight into her.
Scared of the fading skies,
Reminds me of the time, we had to say goodbye.
Those days we were young and free,
When I moved in you, when you moved in me.
Driving in your brand-new car,
Hand in hand we sang, watching the Golden Gate from afar.
Trusting in our innocent youth,
Not caring what the world said,
We thought we knew the truth.
Unsatisfied,
Until I die,
All the best days are left behind,
I’ll still try, I’ll still try,
Just come back, please don’t hide.
With everything, I’ll hold on, until those days aren’t forever gone.
Catch my hand, you hang on, until those days aren’t forever gone.
Traveling the world, you left me.
Seeing what was out there, I was pursuing my dream,
But nothing else came close don’t you see,
But darlin’ I was too late,
I should have never taken the bait.
I dream about you every night,
While you painted pictures of me, for the world to see,
To get the Band Boy out, to reclaim your sanity.
Just come back to me…
Unsatisfied,
Until I die,
All the best days are left behind,
I’ll still try, I’ll still try,
Just come back, please don’t hide.
With everything, I’ll hold on, until those days aren’t forever gone.
Catch my hand, you hang on, until those days aren’t forever gone.
When the song faded, they stayed quiet. What was left to say that the music hadn’t said already? He’d taken a leap of faith, telling the truth in a way only he could, hoping—praying—she’d answer.
Jameson rose and crossed the space between them. He held out a hand, hesitant. “I want to show you something.”
Afraid of how her voice might sound, she only nodded and put her hand in his as he led her upstairs.
He didn’t look back as they crossed the threshold of his bedroom, past the entrance and the bed, stopping at the far wall.
The room was lit only by a lamp in the corner.
It took Daisy a beat to understand what she was seeing.
Positioned beside The Picnic—the piece he’d bought when he first visited her gallery—hung a canvas she never expected to see again.
Her mouth fell open. “But… I don’t understand. How?”
There, in the soft wash of moonlight, hung The Band Boy.
“Laura would never have given this up,” Daisy whispered.
Jameson watched her watch the painting. “Apparently, I can be persuasive. And Laura likes money. Lots of money.” He smiled faintly. “I called her shortly after you told me about the piece, at my mum’s. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
A laugh bubbled out of Daisy, chased by a sob as realization crashed through her.
He’d done this for her. The painting she’d so desperately wanted back, he’d found it and brought it home.
He had done the same with her mother’s garden, with the music.
Piece by piece, he’d restored what she’d lost. All because he wanted to make up for the past—forgiveness from the girl he’d once loved.
And maybe, Daisy was starting to suspect, the woman he still did.
He stood close, eyes searching her face.
“I don’t know what to say,” she breathed. “Or how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Daisy.” His voice was reflective. “I took so much from you. This is my small way of giving something back.”
At that moment, Daisy knew exactly how to say thank you and it wasn’t with words.
She turned from the painting and stepped into him, closing the distance.
Their breaths mingled. Daisy’s gaze fell to his mouth, then traced up to his nose and into those startling blue eyes—eyes that had pierced her when she was fourteen and were piercing her now.
He wouldn’t make the first move; he’d promised to respect her boundaries. It was up to her.
Letting the warmth of the wine steady her courage, she slid her hand up his neck, along the edge of his jaw, and pressed her thumb to his lower lip. He went very still. She rose on her toes and brushed her mouth to his. Even that faint kiss drew a groan from deep in his throat.
She met his gaze one more time.
Then he devoured her.
Years of hurt and need and longing poured into the kiss. Unlike LA, there was no one to interrupt and nothing to stop them.
Daisy tugged at the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head as he worked the buttons on hers. They weren’t rushed, but they weren’t slow either, each moment a choice.
He trailed kisses along her throat, down her arms, across the soft plane of her stomach, pausing at the button of her jeans. He looked up, asking without words.
“Yes.”
He shimmied her out of her denim, leaving her in soft cotton—nothing fancy—and looked at her like he’d discovered Atlantis. Wonder. Awe. A spark of fear that this could vanish at any moment.
He scooped her up and laid her on the bed, then made quick work of his own jeans until he was down to his boxers.
Daisy hesitated when he reached to undress her fully.
Her body was different now, mapped with the small, sacred changes only motherhood could bring.
His gaze softened. Acceptance flickered into arousal, then back into something deeper, something achingly familiar.
“You’re so beautiful, Daisy,” he whispered, peeling away the last of the fabric until she lay bare in the lamplight.
She reached for him, pulled his mouth back to hers, and together they crossed a line, a beautiful and terrifying line, that there was no walking back from.