Page 99 of The Ballad of Us
“The important things?” he asks.
“Sunday morning coffee in bed. Duke's weird snoring. The way you sing in the shower. The fact that you still leave love notes in my books when you think I'm not looking.” Just some of my favorite important things.
Gray stops walking and pulls me into his arms right here on Main Street, under the soft glow of the antique streetlights that Leslie convinced the city council to install recently.
“I love you. Success, failure, privacy, publicity—none of it matters as much as that.”
“I love you too. And I love that we get to figure out how to handle all this together.” I squeeze his hand.
It isn’t the sanctuary we first found, but it’s still home. Mountain Mornings sits ready for what comes next. Mrs. Chen discusses opportunities and lost tranquility, and some of the neighbors cheer the influx, while others mourn the change. Now comes the challenge of striking a balance between peace and progress.
And if a few dozen music fans wanted to drive for hours to drink coffee in the place where miracles happened, well, there are worse ways to share the magic.
After all, the best love stories deserve to be celebrated.
Even if that celebration comes with crowd control and tourism management plans courtesy of Uncle Leslie.
Thirty-Two
GRAY
Two hundred and forty-seven days sober, and this is the most terrifying step yet. The ring presses against my leg. This isn’t just about love. It’s also about proving I can be the man Rhea believes in. One wrong move could ruin everything.
The ring has been a secret in my sock drawer, next to my meditation mala and the wool socks Rhea bought me. It’s a vintage Art Deco, a round diamond catching the light, flanked by two smaller stones—one for who we were, and one for who we are now.
I've carried it for three weeks, waiting for the right moment. Every plan gets interrupted. Either Rhea is covering for Emma, or I’m home late after band sessions. The anticipation only grows, making this proposal feel electric.
“You're overthinking this,” Andrew tells me for the fifteenth time this month as we pack up equipment after another recording session. “Just ask her to marry you. She'll say yes.”
“It's not that simple,” I reply, carefully placing my guitar in its case with the kind of precision usually reserved for handling explosives. “This moment matters.”
“Why?” Parker spins his drumsticks with casual precision. “You guys are already perfect together.”
“Because she deserves extraordinary.” I close the guitar case and turn to face my bandmates, all of whom are wearing looks of fond exasperation. “She's endured my recovery, supported me without coddling, and helped me become a man worthy of love. The least I can do is propose in a way that honors all of that.”
“So, what's the plan?” Wyatt settles onto the couch next to Duke, who's claimed his usual spot as studio supervisor.
Planning is complicated. For weeks, I’ve been searching for a proposal that fits Rhea and my story—dinner feels generic, while a getaway would pull her away from her home. Proposing at home feels too small.
At this point, we’ve finished The Ballad of Us, and relief sweeps over me. Suddenly, my uncertainty about how or when to propose fades. Completing the song doesn’t replace my doubts, but it helps me decide what to do next. “I need to perform the song. The Ballad of Us tells our story of struggles, wins, and the love that brought us back together. One line says it all, 'With each shadow overcome, we find the morning's grace, two hearts intertwined in this endless warm embrace.' I want everyone there. Rhea would want a celebration for us and those who’ve supported us.”
“A proposal concert.” Zep nods with growing enthusiasm. “That's actually brilliant.”
“But how do we get her there without her suspecting something? Rhea's not stupid. If we suddenly announce a random concert, she's going to know we’re up to no good.” Cody asks practically.
“Leave that to me. I've got this.” I pull out my phone and call the person who can help me with Rhea - Emma.
“I need your help with something,” I tell her as I sit in my truck outside Mountain Mornings, watching Rhea through the window as she serves Mrs. Patterson her usual black coffee and blueberry muffin.
“If this is about proposing to Rhea, I'm already in. Leslie told me you've been carrying a ring around for weeks like a lovesick teenager.” She laughs.
“Leslie knows about the ring?” How does he know about it?
“Honey, Leslie knows about everything. He's like the village CIA, but with better fashion sense and more emotional intelligence.”
I laugh despite my nerves. “Of course he does. Anyway, I need to get Rhea to the village square on Saturday evening without her knowing why.”
“What did you have in mind?” she asks.
