Chapter Thirty #3
As the night dwindled down, everyone helped clean up before heading out. Daisy tucked Amelia into bed, brushing a stray curl from her forehead and whispering a soft good night before retreating to her own room.
Wrapped in nothing but a robe, she lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. But she was wide awake, her heart beating with that quiet, aching energy that came from wanting and knowing in the same proportion.
Her mind spun with realizations and conclusions. Before, those thoughts had been tangled in fear—fear of being hurt again, of repeating history. But now, there was only peace. However things played out, she was clear-minded. She was ready.
Accepting that sleep wasn’t coming, Daisy slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs, the old wood cool beneath her bare feet. In the kitchen, she poured a glass of water, then wandered the dim hallway, studying the artwork that lined his walls.
Not bad, she thought with a half smile. But not hers.
She was halfway down the hall when she heard it—a soft, familiar sound from the recording room. Peeking through the cracked door, she found Jameson on the couch, head tilted back, eyes closed, guitar resting in his lap as he strummed quietly.
It was one of her favorite sights: his mouth parted slightly, his fingers moving instinctively across the strings.
Instead of retreating, Daisy opened the door wider, the faint creak announcing her presence.
Jameson looked up, a peaceful grin curving his lips. “Hey, darlin’.”
And just like that—it was back. Darlin’.
The word hit her gently.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked softly.
“I’d never mind, Daisy.”
She closed the door behind her. “Can’t sleep?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’m wired.”
“Are you excited for tomorrow?”
“Yes,” he said, then paused, “but that’s not why.”
“Care to share?”
A flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips. “Not really.”
She circled the room slowly, her eyes taking in the framed photos and tour posters. “I think you should. Share, that is.”
He chuckled. “And why’s that?”
“Because I’m guessing we’ve got the same thing on our minds.”
“Is that right?”
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though her pulse raced. “Yeah. I think we both have the same thing keeping us from going to our rooms and sleeping peacefully like everything hasn’t changed.”
He remained silent, waiting for her to say more, needing her to.
Daisy bit her lip and turned toward him, her voice low and trembling.
“I always wondered what your life was like here, as a boy, as a man. I used to picture us here, in England. Picking a season, maybe the fall or winter, or whenever you weren’t on tour.
We would have these two lives, one where you were the world’s and the other where you were just mine. ”
Her voice softened, eyes glassy with emotion.
“I’d imagine us holed up in some tiny bungalow in the middle of nowhere, away from the arenas and the lights.
You’d write. I’d paint. And we’d build something that was just ours…
something quiet and beautiful, where our love, however messy or innocent it was… would be enough.”
Jameson pressed his hands together beneath his mouth, elbows on his knees, looking up at her like she was a prayer he’d never stopped whispering.
“Do you ever think,” he began carefully, “we could still have a version of that?”
Daisy waited a beat, then crossed the room slowly, kneeling before him, her hand finding his knee in a small act of surrender.
“I think…” she said softly, “we can have anything we want.”
He swallowed hard. “And what do you want, Daisy?”
Her gaze lifted to his. In his clear blue eyes, she saw every version of him—the boy who once loved her, the man who still did, and the father who’d learned what kind of magic that love could truly create.
Placing her hand over his heart, she whispered, “I want you, Jameson.”
His breath caught. “All of me?”
She nodded. “The good, the bad, the frustrating. I want it all. I don’t want to leave you on this island alone anymore. I want to save you from it.”
Jameson closed his eyes, a quiet sound escaping him. Those were words he’d ached to hear since the moment she’d walked back into his life.
Beautiful. Fearless. His.
“The day I walked into your studio,” he said, voice rough, “and saw you standing there with that stunned scowl, that’s the day my heart started beating again. And the day I met Amelia, it nearly exploded. You’ve already saved me, Daisy. I love you. I never stopped loving you.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I love you, too, Jameson. Always.”
She leaned in, pressing her lips to his. His breath hitched, then deepened into a groan as he pulled her into his lap, straddling him. His hands found her waist, her shoulders, then the back of her neck, like he needed to relearn every inch.
He kissed her everywhere. On her cheeks, her jaw, her lips, committing her back to memory. When his hands slipped to the tie of her robe, she let it fall from her shoulders.
He trailed kisses down her neck, fingers soft with reverence as he undressed himself. When they were bare beneath the dim light, he hovered above her, brushing his thumb over her cheek.
“Just to be sure,” he murmured, his mouth curling, “no wine impairing your judgment?”
She laughed, breathless. “No. The wine’s long gone.”
“No romantic, soul-blistering music dedicated to you tonight?”
She smiled, catching on. “None that I recall.”
“No nostalgic art piece dug up from the grave?”
She reached up, touching his lips gently. “It’s just you, Jameson. Only you.”
And then he kissed her, slowly and deeply, like coming home.
The world fell away.
Their lovemaking wasn’t hurried; it was a tender promise.
A beginning.