Page 41 of The Ballad of Us
We're two people, learning how to belong in each other's lives again, one honest conversation at a time. It’s a good place to begin.
Fifteen
RHEA
By three o’clock, I’m a complete mess of nerves, masquerading as a functioning human being. Every time there’s a lull in customers at Mountain Mornings, my brain spirals into panic mode about seeing the band tonight. What if it’s awkward? What if they’ve changed? What if I’ve changed too much, and we can’t find our groove again?
“You’re wiping that same spot on the counter for the fifth time. Want to talk about whatever’s making you vibrate?” Emma observes, coming up behind me with a knowing smile.
“I’m seeing the band tonight. All of them. For the first time since…” I trail off, realizing I’ve never actually told Emma the full story of how everything ended.
“Since you walked away from your old life to start fresh here?” She guesses correctly.
“Exactly. And I’m terrified it’s going to be weird, or they’ll resent me for leaving, or I won’t know how to be around them anymore.” I release a big sigh and throw the dish towel over my shoulder.
Emma leans against the counter, studying my face. “These are the guys that Gray talks about like they’re his brothers, right? The ones who showed up to help when everything fell apart?”
“Yes.” I can see her point.
“Then they probably missed you just as much as you missed them. Stop overthinking it.” She waves off my fretting over seeing them in just a few hours.
Before I can spiral further, the bell chimes, and Mrs. Patterson moseys in for an afternoon coffee and blueberry muffin.
She settles on the middle stool in front of the counter, likely so she can be in the middle of everything. “Hello, dear. You look flustered today. Everything alright?”
“Just excited about seeing some old friends tonight.” I probably say too much, considering who I’m talking about.
“Oh, how lovely! Is that handsome young man you introduced us to earlier in the week going to be there?” She might be sixty-seven years old, but she doesn’t miss a damn thing. Mrs. Patterson has yet to master the art of being subtle about her new rock star crush.
I can feel Emma’s amused gaze on me. “Yes, Gray will be there.”
“Good, good. You two have a lovely energy together. Reminds me of my late husband and me when we were dating.” Mrs. Patterson accepts her coffee with a grateful smile. “We were friends first, too, you know. Best foundation for love, friendship is.”
Twenty minutes later, after Mrs. Patterson has finished her muffin and shared three stories about her granddaughter’s college adventures, I’m helping Mr. Jameson with his usual afternoon coffee. He drops in his own observation.
“That fellow who was here the other day, the musician. He kept looking at you like you hung the moon. Are you planning to give him another chance?” Mr. Jameson is seventy-five and spry, but obviously a town gossip as well.
“We’re taking things slow,” I say diplomatically, handing him his black coffee and blueberry scone.
“Slow is good. Means you’re both thinking with your heads instead of other parts of your anatomy.” He cracks up at his own comment, and I can’t help but join in.
“Mr. Jameson!” I laugh.
“What? I’m old, not dead. I remember what it’s like to be young and stupid in love. Makes you do dumb shit sometimes.” He nods his head as if to say, “That’s all there’s to say on the matter”.
By the time Emma officially releases me at five, I’m wound so tight I’m surprised I don’t snap. I practically sprint across the street to my apartment, where I proceed to stand in my bathroom staring at myself in the mirror like I’ve forgotten how to function.
The shower helps calm me slightly, but then I’m faced with the monumental task of choosing an outfit. This isn’t a date, I remind myself. It’s dinner with friends and former colleagues. But it’s also the first time I’ll be around Gray for an extended period since our reunion, and the first time I’ll see the guys since I walked out of their lives.
I try on three different outfits before settling on dark jeans that fit perfectly and a black babydoll blouse that’s flirty without being too obvious. The evenings have been cool lately, so I grab my favorite oversized hoodie and slip on my comfortable black Vans. The look exudes casual yet put-together, friendly yet not overly trying.
Makeup is another debate. Too little and I’ll feel underdressed. Too much and it sends the wrong message about what tonight means. I settle on mascara, a touch of blush, and lip gloss that makes me feel polished without looking like I’m trying to seduce anyone.
When Gray’s truck pulls up outside at exactly six-thirty, I’m as ready as I’m going to be. The sight of him through my window makes my stomach flutter like I’m sixteen again. He’s wearing dark jeans and a navy henley that does unfair things to his shoulders, and when he looks up at my window and grins, I forget how to breathe for a second.
I buzz him up, and when I open my door, his expression stops me cold. He looks at me like he’s seeing something miraculous, his eyes traveling from my face to my outfit and back again with an appreciation that makes my cheeks warm.
“You look…” He starts to speak, then stops. “God, Rhea, you look beautiful.”
