Jaxon squeezes my hand as we step into the main control room.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod. Then shake my head. “No. I mean, yes. I just…this is a lot.”
“It is,” he admits. “But it’s also where the magic happens.”
Andre points me toward a couch near the back of the room. “Sit. Watch. Enjoy.”
Jaxon steps into the booth, adjusts the mic, and exchanges a few words with the team through the glass.
He works for a few hours, and I quickly become accustomed to the noise and organized chaos of the studio. I’m occasionally asked a question by Jaxon or Andre as they discuss which of two recordings they like better, but in general, I’m left alone.
I appreciate that they never make me feel like I’m in the way, but at the same time, they’re not trying to force me into something I know nothing about. I’m happy to just observe.
After a quick break, Jaxon heads back into the booth, and Annie gives me a soft smile as she hands me a set of headphones.
“Here,” she says. “This next track’s not final, but I think you’ll want to hear it.”
I slip them on just as the music begins.
A familiar melody plays, soft and slow, and then—a woman’s voice.
Not singing. Just laughing.
Laughing in that unfiltered, full-belly way that is distinctly embarrassing and distinctly mine.
And then Jaxon’s voice, in the studio, layered into the track: “Sometimes, when you’re out there chasing wild, you forget the sounds of home.”
My breath catches.
Because this song—it’s us.
All the little things. The memories. The moments I thought he’d forgotten.
I look through the glass at him.
And he’s looking right at me.
***
We leave the studio hand in hand, stepping into the Tennessee night air, the stars scattered like glitter above us.
It’s late.
The kind of late that makes the world feel like it’s exhaled. Quiet. Soft around the edges. Even the city seems to have taken a breath, the traffic a distant hum, the streetlights glowing warm instead of harsh.
Jaxon tugs me gently toward the car, but we’re not in any rush. Not tonight. Not with the way his fingers are laced through mine like they were made to be there.
“How could you possibly have a recording of my laugh?” I ask now that we’re alone.
“You left that voicemail for me a couple weeks ago. I think you meant to hang up, but you started laughing at something Becca said. It…well, let’s just say I’ve listened to it an unhealthy number of times since then. It makes me…”
“Horny,” I say with a teasing smile.
“Happy.”
He opens the car door for me, and I slide into the passenger seat of his sleek black SUV, the leather still warm from the sun. He rounds the front and climbs in beside me, resting his hand on my knee. The silence between us isn’t awkward. It’s easy.
