Page 98 of The Ballad of Us
I develop a polite but firm response. “We respect all our customers' privacy, but we're happy to make you the best coffee these mountains have to offer.”
Most people accept this gracefully, content to photograph their drinks and post about visiting “Gray Garrison's coffee shop” without needing actual Gray Garrison content. A few press harder, asking when he usually comes in or if I could call him, but Emma has a death stare that could freeze lava, so those conversations end quickly.
Around ten o'clock, Leslie appears like a perfectly dressed guardian angel, taking in the situation with the strategic eye of someone who'd dealt with celebrity chaos before.
“Suga Boo Boo.” He air-kisses my cheek while also managing to position himself between me and a particularly persistent photographer. “I think we need an emergency village meeting.”
“A what now?” I ask.
“The entire village is concerned—Mrs. Chen, Mayor Williams, the business owners, and Mrs. Patterson. This little surge in tourism can be wonderful for everyone, but only if we handle it correctly.”
Before I can ask what he means, Gray's truck pulls up outside, and I watch him take in the crowd through his windshield with an expression of a person who's accidentally stepped into a wildlife documentary.
He sits in his truck for a full minute, probably gathering courage, before getting out and walking toward the coffee shop. The effect on our customers is immediate and electric. Phones appear, conversations stop, and every eye in the place focuses on him like he’s a rare bird that has just landed in their backyard.
To his credit, Gray oversees it with grace. He nods politely to the people who greet him, signs a few autographs without complaint, and makes his way to the counter with the kind of patient dignity that comes from years of practice.
“The usual?” I ask, falling back on our familiar routine for stability.
“Please. Can we talk after your shift about how to manage all this?”
“Good idea. Leslie's already planning a village meeting.”
“Of course he is.” There’s only genuine affection in his tone. “Leslie probably had a tourism management plan drafted before I finished parking.”
He isn't wrong. By noon, Leslie has joined forces with Mayor Williams to schedule an emergency meeting at the community center, created a group text with every business owner on Main Street, and began drafting what he calls “sustainable celebrity tourism guidelines.”
The meeting that evening is unlike anything our little village has ever experienced. Mrs. Chen brings homemade cookies. Emma provides coffee in industrial quantities. Mayor Williams looks simultaneously excited and terrified by the prospect of managing actual tourism.
Leslie stands at the front of the room, holding a flip chart, as if he’s presenting a corporate merger. “The way I see it, we have two choices. We can try to keep this quiet and risk people feeling deceived when they inevitably find out where Gray lives, or we can embrace the opportunity while establishing clear boundaries that protect both our community and his privacy.”
As Leslie pauses to let his words sink in, a quiet voice from the back chimes in. It’s Carson, a high school senior working part-time at Mrs. Chen's bookstore. “What if we hosted music workshops here at the community center?” he suggests shyly, his eyes flicking between Leslie and Mayor Williams. “It could give fans something to do and maybe even inspire local kids.”
Carmen Johnson, who owns the gift shop next to Mrs. Chen's bookstore, perks up. “That's a great idea, Carson! We could sell local crafts and merchandise at the shop.”
This sparks a flurry of new suggestions from various corners of the room, as collective enthusiasm begins to build.
“We need designated public spaces where fans are welcome, clear private spaces that are off-limits, and reasonable expectations about what visitors can and cannot expect to find here.” Leslie flips to a page of notes that looks suspiciously comprehensive for something he's thrown together in one afternoon. “For example, Mountain Mornings could become an official 'Case in Point pilgrimage site' with special drinks named after songs, merchandise partnerships, and even scheduled acoustic performances. But Gray's personal residence, the recording studio, and anywhere he might be living his private life remain completely off-limits. If these boundaries aren't respected, it could lead to an overwhelming invasion of privacy, legal issues, and a potential loss of the community’s trust. Managing these risks is crucial to keeping the delicate balance between welcoming tourism and safeguarding personal lives and community charm.”
“You want to turn my coffee shop into a theme park?” Emma asks, her tone a mix of intrigue and disbelief.
“I want to turn your coffee shop into a sustainable revenue stream that benefits the entire community while giving fans a meaningful way to connect with music they love. Tourism done right helps everyone. Tourism done wrong destroys the things people came to see.” Leslie offers.
Gray, who's been quietly listening from the back of the room, finally speaks up. “What do you need from me to make this work?”
“Your cooperation and your boundaries. Tell us what you're comfortable with, what you absolutely won't do, and what might be possible if we structure it correctly,” Leslie answers.
What follows is two hours of the most collaborative problem-solving I've ever witnessed. Gray agrees to occasional scheduled appearances at Mountain Mornings, but only with advance notice and security measures in place. Mrs. Chen offers to stock Case in Point merchandise and books about music and recovery from addiction in her store. Even Mrs. Patterson volunteered to help coordinate a “Music in the Mountains” festival if interest remains high enough.
“The key is making this about the music and the community, not about invasion of privacy or exploitation. People want to connect with authentic experiences. We give them that, but on our terms,” Leslie explains as the meeting winds down.
Walking home after the meeting, Gray takes my hand as we pass the places where our relationship has grown. There’s the fountain where we had our first real conversation after he left rehab, the park bench where he first told me he was falling in love with me again, and the corner where Duke had chosen us as his people.
“Are you okay with all this? The attention, the tourism, having our private life become a public curiosity?” Gray asks.
I consider his question. A month ago, the thought of strangers knowing about us would have terrified me. But tonight, seeing our community rally, excitement edged out fear. The quiet streets now sparkle with possibility, even as I worry about our privacy.
“I think I am. As long as we're doing it together, and if we get to keep the important things private,” I admit, a little surprised at the truth of it.
