Chapter Thirty #2
“Yep. I bought the house back a few years ago. Want to see it tomorrow?”
“Can we, Mom?”
“Of course. You and your dad can make a day of it.”
Amelia’s smile faltered. “You’re not coming?”
Daisy hesitated. “I just think it’ll be special for you two to have that time together.”
Jameson’s gaze softened, though something unspoken lingered there. It wasn’t lost on either of them that their first conversation had been about his hometown. The scene swirled around in her head and flashed through her memory.
“An accent?” she had said.
“That’s an odd name.”
She pulled her hand away.
“No, that’s not my name, I… oh.” Daisy frowned, realizing his little joke a moment too late.
“Funny guy,” she muttered under her breath.
“Some may say. The accent is English, in case you were wondering. Born and bred in Surrey.”
Daisy’s eyes lit with curiosity. “That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to go there. I heard England is beautiful.”
Jameson gave her his now infamous side smirk, one that made her insides turn liquid. “Ehh, it’s all right. Say if you ever go, I’ll give you a list of all the best places to visit.”
Daisy sat back in her seat, biting down a smile. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”
And now—she was here. He’d made good on that promise.
“I’d love for you to come,” he said softly, pulling her back to the present. “But no pressure.”
“I’ll let you know.”
They spent the rest of the evening unpacking, eating light, and turning in early.
The next morning came too soon. Still, Daisy found herself in the passenger seat of Jameson’s car, the English countryside stretching endlessly beyond the window.
Amelia peppered her dad with questions about his childhood, his music, his life before fame. Jameson answered them all. His voice was warm with nostalgia as he spoke of his father, a musician who’d taught him everything.
Then Amelia asked, “Do you still see your dad?”
Jameson’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “No, I don’t. He passed a few years ago.”
Daisy’s heart stilled. She hadn’t known.
“He was sick for a long time,” he said quietly. “Passed in his sleep. It wasn’t public.”
“I’m so sorry,” Daisy murmured.
“Me too,” Amelia whispered. “Did he live here?”
“No. He was always on the road. Took his final breath in Morocco, guitar by his side, fresh off a gig. He died doing what he loved most.”
But Daisy heard the hollow ache beneath the words. To her, it was clear: he should’ve loved his son more.
Without thinking, she reached over and squeezed Jameson’s shoulder. The gesture said what words couldn’t—I know. I’m here. You should’ve mattered more.
The rest of the drive passed in silence, the windows down, music drifting through the air as the sunlight spilled over them.
When they pulled up to the cottage nestled among the blistering English oaks, Daisy couldn’t help but smile. It looked exactly as she’d imagined when he used to tell her stories of his childhood in Surrey. It was quaint and timeless.
Through the window, Margot appeared, clapping her hands excitedly as the car rolled up the short, unpaved drive.
Crossing the threshold, Daisy was hit by the smell of rosemary and marinated beef, the scent so vivid it hurled her back to age fifteen. The home was small, just two bedrooms, but it overflowed with character; it had charm that could put any HGTV renovation to shame.
Margot led them on a quick tour, explaining that Jameson’s room had been restored to look nearly identical to how it once was. She’d repainted the walls their original hue, hunted down furniture that matched his boyhood pieces, and even kept his old bedspread.
“I wanted him to feel rooted when he comes back,” Margot said, running her hand over the faded quilt. “This house was our fortress.”
Daisy stood in the doorway, imagining him here—sixteen, barefoot, and guitar in hand—calling her across an ocean from this very room. Her chest tightened with memory.
The past always did that to her, pulled her back into love that felt simple, unbroken, and completely pure.
They spent the afternoon in the garden, sipping tea while Margot recounted embarrassing stories about Jameson as a boy.
Later, the three of them walked through town, visiting his favorite bakery, greeting Mr. Edgar—still the town’s baker after forty years—and stopping at the corner where he’d once delivered newspapers on his bike with Kyler.
Daisy had heard these stories before, but walking through them, smelling the air, tasting the bread, seeing the light fall on the same cobblestone streets, brought on a peaceful remembrance she didn’t want to let go of.
By the time the sun began to set, they said their goodbyes and headed back to London for the barbecue.
Anna was already in the backyard. She was perched on a neon pool floaty, floppy hat tilted over her face and a martini in hand.
“She looks right at home,” Jameson murmured with a smirk.
“Can I go swim?” Amelia asked, bouncing with energy.
“Sure, go change quickly. I have an idea.” He winked, then turned to Daisy. “Don’t let her know we’re back.”
Minutes later, the two of them burst through the back door and cannonballed straight into the pool, drenching Anna.
Daisy doubled over laughing as Anna climbed out, soaked from head to toe, except for her martini, which she still held perfectly upright.
“Little buggers,” she huffed.
“‘Buggers’? How British of you.”
“When in Rome.” She tipped the rest of the drink back with flair.
Daisy shook her head, watching them—both of them—and felt a pang in her chest she didn’t want to name.
Leaving them to swim, she went upstairs to take a quick rest, then slipped into her dress for the evening. She was touching up her makeup when a soft knock came at the door.
“Come in!” she called.
Jameson poked his head through. “Hey. Sorry to bother you.”
“Not a problem,” she said, setting down her brush and turning toward him.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes skimming the length of her before he caught himself.
A shiver ran through her.
“Do I have a stain somewhere?” she asked, glancing down at her floral dress. Half teasing, half testing.
He shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “No. You’re just… a damn beautiful woman, Daisy Daniels.”
Her breath caught. Her cheeks flushed.
“But I’m not supposed to have those thoughts or say those things anymore,” he added quietly, straightening. “So—I’ll get to the reason I came up. Amelia’s begging for dessert before dinner. And before I give in, I thought I’d check with you first.”
Daisy heard him, but her mind was still tangled in the way his voice had dipped on beautiful.
“Daisy?”
She blinked, pulling herself from his spell. “Dessert. Right. Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Okay. I’ll see you down there?”
She nodded, avoiding eye contact as he made his way out of her room. Once gone, she sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing the skirt of her dress, grappling with the switch that had just been flicked on inside of her.
By nightfall, the backyard buzzed with chatter and music playing from the outdoor speakers. Friends filled the space… bandmates, their partners, and a few close mates from Jameson’s world. The energy was easy and laughter was perpetual.
The air smelled of grilled steak and roasted vegetables, as Jameson manned the barbecue while Lenny mixed drinks, the two moving in sync like they had done it a hundred times before.
Strings of market lights glowed from above, casting everyone in a soft, yellow haze that made the evening feel almost enchanted.
They ate outside, the night warm and full of something that Daisy could only describe as peace.
After dinner, Sean surprised Daisy with a FaceTime call.
Kyler immediately snatched her phone, pulling Lenny and Jameson into the frame as the three of them joked and reminisced about the “good old days.”
And Amelia—she was the star of the night. She chatted with everyone, danced barefoot across the patio, and had somehow convinced half the table to join her by the end of a song. That girl had never met a stranger in her life.
And Daisy? She watched.
She watched this group that was bound together by music and years of shared stories, and by love that had weathered distance and constant change.
She watched Lenny trail after Anna like a devoted puppy, Kyler and Riley curled up together near the fire.
She watched Amelia twirling under the string lights, her laughter carrying across the backyard.
But mostly, she watched him.
She told herself not to stare, but her eyes found him anyway. They always did.
It had been months since they’d been in the same space for more than five minutes, yet somehow, time had changed nothing. The pull was still there. Always quiet but magnetic.
Earlier today, she’d seen where he came from. She’d stood in his boyhood room and smelled the rosemary from his mother’s kitchen. She’d seen the boy who once called her from that little cottage, guitar resting on his bed, promising her the world.
And now here he was, the man who’d kept his promises in ways she could never have imagined. The man who had clawed his way back from darkness, who’d learned to lead with both heart and humility, who’d chosen accountability and grace over pride.
She saw him with their daughter. He was steady and whole.
And for the first time in a long time, Daisy didn’t fight what she felt. She embraced it.
Because the truth was simple.
She didn’t just love who he had been.
She loved who he was now.
Her heart had spent years trying to protect itself from him—and maybe, finally, she was done running. Running from what was already hers.
Today she had walked through his past. And somewhere between the old bakery and him twirling Amelia on the patio, Daisy realized she didn’t want to just visit his world… she wanted to belong in it.