Page 107 of The Ballad of Us
“Thank you,” I whisper in her ear.
“For what?”
“For saying yes. For waiting. For believing this was possible even when I didn't.”
She pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, and her smile is radiant with joy and certainty.
“Gray Garrison,” she says, “I would say yes to you a thousand times, in a thousand different ways, for the rest of our lives.”
With the mountains around us and the village celebrating, I am certain that this moment, this woman, and the life we have together show that the best things sometimes take the longest to create. The warmth of the evening matches the hope I feel. Our story isn't ending. It's just beginning, and I know there will be challenges ahead. We'll continue to write our story, facing whatever comes with the same courage and love that brought us here. Every story has its highs and lows, and I'm ready to discover them all with Rhea. As the stars shine above, I look at her and see our shared dreams and a promise to face the future together. We breathe in, side by side, ready for whatever comes next.
Epilogue
GRAY
Five hundred days sober, and I'm standing in Leslie's living room while he adjusts my bow tie for the fifteenth time, muttering about symmetrical perfection.
“Leslie, it's just a fitting,” I remind him, though I'm grinning at his intensity. “The actual wedding isn't for another two weeks.”
“Just a fitting?” He steps back with his hands on his hips, looking personally offended. “Gray Garrison, this is your final fitting for the most important outfit you'll ever wear. This suit will be photographed, preserved, and passed down through generations. Your great-grandchildren will look at these photos and judge your fashion choices.”
“I don't have grandchildren yet, let alone great-grandchildren.”
“Details.” Leslie waves dismissively. “The point is this moment matters. Now stop fidgeting before I stick you with a pin.”
Through the window, Main Street bustles with life. The scent of coffee from Mountain Mornings anchors me, steadying the low hum of anxiety. Mrs. Patterson's laughter mixes with Emma's chatter. Jake paints by the fountain, while a local high-school guitarist fills the air with gentle notes. Each scene roots deeper, reminding me that this messy, beautiful village is my haven.
Our village.
The phrase still makes my chest warm with a sense of belonging. Six months ago, when I proposed to Rhea during that surprise concert, this place officially became more than just a refuge. It became home in every sense that matters.
“You're thinking about the proposal again,” Leslie observes, smoothing the jacket's shoulders. “You get this particular smile when you remember that night.”
“How could I not think about it? It was every-fucking-thing.”
The entire village contributed to creating that moment. Mrs. Chen oversaw logistics, Emma managed refreshments, and the band played.
The instant Rhea understood, when I fell to one knee, mid-song, as the entire village watched, her face changed. The shock, then the radiant joy, hit me like sunlight after rain. To this day, that memory sends a rush of awe through me. It takes my breath away every time.
“It was rather magical,” Leslie agrees, then immediately returns to business. “Now, about the pocket square. I'm thinking silk, but Andrew insists linen would be more appropriate for an outdoor ceremony.”
“Whatever you think is best. You're the expert.”
“Finally, someone acknowledges my expertise.” He adjusts the pocket square with the precision of a surgeon. “Your brother has opinions about everything lately. Yesterday, he tried to tell me that the flowers for the ceremony should be arranged by height rather than color gradation. The audacity.”
The flowers are just part of the village-wide effort. Mrs. Chen organizes the book-themed centerpieces, each table named for a romance novel that Rhea loves. Emma's handling the coffee bar because, as she says, “No one's getting through a Garrison wedding without proper caffeine.” The band is preparing a setlist of originals and every cheesy love song we know.
My phone buzzes with a text from Koi Hendrix at Red King Records.
Koi Hendrix: Regional tour numbers are incredible. 'Solid Ground' just went platinum. Call me.
I smile at the message but don't answer right away. Success still matters, but now it's the music itself that matters. It’s the joy in making it and the deeper connection it gives me. My pride surges, warm and fierce, not for numbers but for trusting myself to choose what matters most.
The decision to turn down the massive tour and change labels in favor of regional shows was one of the best choices I've ever made. We play two or three weeks of shows, separated by a three-week break between each mini leg of the tour. It allows us to decompress and maintain a sense of normalcy. It's sustainable in a way the old touring schedule never was.
“Success on your own terms. It suits you,” Leslie says, reading my expression.
“It does, doesn't it?”
