"And now," Mia adds, squeezing my arm with a gentle smile, "thanks to this crazy town—and your unshakable determination—a whole new generation of kids will get to suffer through the joy of polyester uniforms paired with coastal humidity."
Laughter bursts from us, free and full of joy, an energy that can’t be contained. But beneath the laughter, my heart still aches—a constant reminder of the hurt I’ve carried with me. For today, though, I’ve packed it away, out of sight.
"The piano’s going to be the trickiest to move." I make my way over to the ancient upright, my fingers automatically finding their rhythm on the wooden lid—one-two-three-four. The motion is grounding, familiar, even as everything around me shifts and changes.
That’s when I see it. A cream envelope, carefully propped up against the music stand. My name is penned across the front in a handwriting I know too well—slanted and precise, so perfectly Grant it makes my heart falter.
"What's that?" Mia asks, but her words feel distant as my hands shake as I open the envelope. The paper is soft and almost too smooth between my fingertips. It’s from Grant Pierce. Custom stationery—of course.
The note inside is simple:I'm an idiot and I'm so sorry. Please give me a chance to make it right? Meet me at the ice cream store today at ten?
"Oh my god," Rhianna squeals, reading over my shoulder. Her voice rises with each word. "This is the most romantic thing that's ever happened to our group!"
"Hey!" Zoe props her hands on her hips. "Need I remind you about my proposal to Mia?"
"But did you overcome generational family trauma and write a grovel note straight out of a romance novel?"
"I think she's got you there." Tom leans against the wall.
"Come on." Mia links her arm through mine. "I think there's somewhere we need to be."
"But the packing?—"
"Can wait," Tom finishes. "Some things are more important than bubble wrap and cardboard boxes. You've got us to help all day. An hour won't delay the work too much."
The walk to the ice cream shop feels both endless and too short. My heart drums its own wild rhythm, completely ignoring my attempts to steady it. But nothing about this moment fits into neat measures or careful time signatures.
Late summer blooms around us—fresh-cut grass and salt air, the distant cry of seagulls, the chatter of tourists discovering our little magical town. The same sounds that formed the backdrop of my summer romance with Grant, back when everything seemed possible. Back before his father arrived and reduced our story to impossible choices.
When we round the corner onto Seabreeze Avenue, I stop so suddenly Tom nearly runs into me.
The shop's window displays the new name in hand-painted letters:Sweet Harmony Ice Cream & Jazz. The chrome and steel aesthetic is gone, replaced by warm woods and vintage instruments mounted on the walls. Behind the glass, my students stand arranged with their instruments—Jamie with his trumpet, Sarah at her clarinet—all of them grinning like they're in on some wonderful secret.
And there, in the center of it all, stands Grant.
He looks nothing like the polished businessman his father wanted. His sleeves are rolled up, his hair slightly messy. But his smile—when he spots me through the window—is real in a way that makes my heart skip several beats. This is the Grant I've seen in shadowy school hallways and beneath moonlit blankets.
But there's something different about him now. Something in the way he holds himself, like he's finally conducting his own symphony instead of playing someone else's score. His eyes meet mine through the glass, and I see everything there—regret, love, and something that looks an awful lot like courage.
"Well?" Mia gives me a gentle push. "Are you going in or what?"
"What if—" I start, but Rhianna cuts me off.
"Nope! No, what-ifs. This is your happily ever after moment. Don't you dare overthink it."
"She's right," Tom adds. "Some things are worth taking a chance on. Oh my god, this is like the book about the siren and the werewolf where?—"
"I loved that one!" Rhianna squeals.
I ignore them, take a deep breath, and reach for the door. The bell chimes—the same one that's always hung in Pierce's Ice Cream, but somehow it sounds different now. Sweeter. More like music than commerce.
Jamie spots me first and nearly drops his trumpet. "Ms. Williams!" His grin is contagious as he elbows Sarah, who stops fiddling with her clarinet reed long enough to wave. They're gathered around an upright piano—not the scratched and ancient one from school, but something sleek and beautiful that looks like it belongs in a jazz club.
Grant steps forward, closing the small distance between us until I can feel the warmth radiating from him. The air feels charged, like the moment before a symphony's first note. Hisvoice is barely above a whisper as he says, "I've been an idiot." He offers a tentative smile. "The biggest idiot in all of Magnolia Cove's history, which according to Grammie Rae, is saying something."
A nervous laugh ripples through the students, but they stay in place, instruments at the ready. Even Tom and the others hang back, giving us this moment while somehow still being there, supporting us both.
"You showed me something I'd forgotten existed," Grant continues, running a hand through his hair. "That real magic isn't in perfect ice cream spirals or adding a touch of happiness to the flavor. It's in the messy parts—in believing in something worth fighting for, in chasing your dreams, in doing what's right, no matter the cost." His voice catches. "In a beautiful, stubborn music teacher who made me believe I deserved to write my own story."
