Page 19 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

She’s quiet for a moment. “Jack, are you sure this is what you want? To be tied down while you’re starting this whole new life?”

“Tied down?” I shake my head. “Hell, no. This is freedom. Freedom to do what I love.”

“I’m really happy for you, Jack.”

There’s something in her voice—a hesitation—but I choose to ignore it. “It’s going to be amazing,” I say. “And I hope you’re not afraid of flying. I’m going to be flying you to every show.”

She take a sip of her soda. “That sounds expensive.”

“I’ll be rolling in it, babe.” I wink, trying to lighten the mood. “First album goes platinum, remember?”

Her laugh sounds forced, but she lets me pull her up from the table and into my arms. “Let me clean up,” I murmur against her hair. “You relax. Go take a shower. When you get out, we’ll watch that stupid show you like.”

She hesitates, her hands resting on my chest. “You sure? I can help—”

“Nope,” I cut in, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Tonight’s about you. Go on. I’ll handle this.”

Her smile softens, and for a moment, she looks like herself again—the Jinnie who laughs easily, who teases me about my terrible taste in TV shows, who always knows how to make me feel like I’m the only person in the world that matters. She nods and heads into the bathroom, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

I clean up quickly, stacking plates and scrubbing pans. The sound of running water from the bathroom fills the small house. I try to ignore the feeling of dread that has been lingering. This is our last night—our last chance to make memories before everything changes.

When Jinnie emerges, her hair is damp, and she’s wrapped in her favorite oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder.

“Feel better?” I ask, drying my hands on a towel.

She nods. “I do.”

“Go sit. I’ll be in.”

She nods once before she walks toward the room. I turn off the lights, blow out the candle, and join her. I kick off my shoes before climbing onto the bed with her. The TV is on, her show, some goofy baking show that she loves to pick apart.

Her head rests against the familiar spot on my shoulder. I kiss her temple, then her cheek, then finally her lips—slow and deep, pouring everything I can’t say into it.

She kisses me back just as desperately, her fingers tangling in my hair. When we break apart, breathless, she looks up at me. “I’m going to miss this.”

“Hey.” I tilt her chin up. “It’s not goodbye. It’s just see you later.”

She nods, but her eyes shine with unshed tears. I kiss her again, trying to chase away the sadness, trying to make her believe what I do—that this isn’t the end, just a new beginning.