“Do you know the lyrics?” Hope shines in his eyes in the way he asks, but it’s not hope that I know the words, it’s hope that I’ll take the bait.
Like the song itself, the words start out low and slow, each line like a memory unspooling the life I lived. Words of regret and distance told through the eyes of a careless and neglectful husband while shining light on the ones he hurts. Of love that never stood a chance.
I think of the years spent making excuses for Greg and the ache that settled in when the laughter left. When my voice cracks on a line about pride, Jonah just nods, his fingers steady and sure, like he understands that breaking is just another part of this song. There is no need to start over. We move forward.
By the second chorus, I give up trying to sound good. The lyrics are too real, the music too life-breathing. The mandolin hums beneath my fingertips and my heart pounds with every downstroke of his guitar. We’re in an enormous living room of an eight-thousand-square-foot estate, yet the room feels small and warm, like we’ve stepped into the song itself. I told him about how Greg treated me, but here in this song together, it’s like I’ve flayed myself open to show him what I could not say.
I close my eyes as the words of regret and loneliness pour out of me. For a moment, it’s not about being a mother or a woman reborn. It’s only me, stripped down to my truth, singing beside someone who doesn’t need me to beanything else.
When the last note fades, neither of us can move, and there’s something almost holy in the silence and the way we lock in on each other. My hands are trembling, but I smile through the tears.
Why did I keep myself closed off for so long?
I blink and Jonah’s up, wrapping me in his arms. I don’t push him away. I welcome him. “Renée! I knew you still had it in you.”
“I didn’t know,” I cry into his big, warm chest.
“It’s okay,” he soothes, his fingers pressing into my back like a massage. “Let it all out.”
Neither one of us cares that I’m painting his T-shirt in my tears, or that we haphazardly discarded our instruments in a rush to hold each other.
I made no room for my own joy—no room for forgiveness. I pull my face away just enough to look at him. “I want music,” I say in an exhale. The admission alone shakes the very foundation I thought I reinforced with rules of steel. “I want music in my life again. I don’t want to be afraid of it anymore.”
“Okay then.” Mesmerizing pools of blue scan every inch of my face, like he’s wondering how many freckles I have or what they could possibly taste like. He brushes away the hair from my face, curling it behind my ear, before a gentle finger traces my jaw. I melt like ice. “May I be a part of that?”
“It would mean so much to me if you were.”
That boyish grin appears once again because he knows I’m doing the impossible and opening the door to my heart. He knows he means something to me.
I fist his shirt and marvel how his chest rises and falls under my hand. My eyes flutter from the bunched white cotton to the column of his throat, to his cerulean eyes, and finally land on his parted lips.
I need those lips. Because I needhim.
Our kiss is like no other. It’s long and languid, like neither of us have plans or lives outside this perfect moment. Like hunger for food is a thing of the past because we could sustain ourselves—thrive—on only this kiss.
Passion erupts when our mouths part. His curious tongue searches, but it’s not too much. It dances with mine and against my lips. A great kiss is never about how much tongue there is, it’s about how you use it—and this man knows how to use it.
Jonah is eager by nature and it manifests itself so deliciously in the way he grips me, breathes into me, and presses his full lips into mine in an effort to become one.
I’m unsure how long we stand there making out, but when my neck begins to hurt from craning it, I reluctantly pull away and lower to the heels of my feet. His eyes are still closed, and the way he tries to inch his lips closer—searching for mine once more—has me silently giggling. His eyes finally open, glazed and lovelier than I’ve ever seen.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Ohhh, you sweet thing,” he says with a little unhinged sparkle in his voice, before taking my mouth in a quick, desperate kiss. My toes curl. “I’m gonna want a lot more where that came from. Please,pleasetell me we’ll do that some more.”
I pat his chest. “We will... if you can be good for me.”
“I’ll be the best.”
I take another kiss and relish in the way he relaxes. I’m so fucking high on this man. “I have to go now,” I whisper against his lips.
“No,” he whines. “Just move in here. Right now.” He peppers me with more kisses and I laugh. “Bring the girls. Bring your sister.”
Minutes later when my giggles fade away and our lips detach, he tells me to use his music studio whenever I want, and he gives me his door code before I can stop him. Thisman is too trusting, but I would be lying if I said his offer didn’t give me butterflies and fill my head with hope.
Separating from Jonah proves to be too difficult after we move to his front porch to say goodnight. Our “last kiss” turns into several, and when my skin starts to pebble from the evening chill, Jonah decides it will be safest to wrap me in one of his blankets and walk me back to my house.
“There are dangerous coyotes in these parts,” he tells me gravely on our walk. “Better stay close to me.”
