Page 112 of The Ballad of Us
While Case in Point performs, Gray and I dance, holding each other close while everyone watches, but I only see Gray. My husband. The man who chose sobriety, life, and our forever, and stayed when everything in his history told him to run.
“I love you,” I whisper against his chest.
“I love you too. Thank you for waiting for me to figure out how to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
As the song ends and everyone joins us on the dance floor, I take in our life in this small mountain town of Dogwood Hollow. The village welcomed us, and we found our chosen family and clung tight to love. Duke weaves through the dancers, his bow tie now crooked from all the attention he’s received. I notice Mrs. Chen guiding Cody through swing dance steps. She’s clearly already plotting future lessons. Nearby, Leslie is orchestrating Parker and Emma's tango. Mr. and Mrs. Garrison dance closely, as if they’re a new couple rather than the seasoned veterans they are. I see Xavier and the village’s new yoga instructor, Kensie, deep in conversation.
This is our world. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, just the way we like it. There are always challenges, but our life is full of love, support, and enough happy memories to fill a lifetime. This isn’t the life either of us planned, but exactly the life we needed.
“No regrets?” Gray spins me under his arm.
“Only one,” I say, pulling him close.
“What's that?”
“That we didn't do this sooner.”
He laughs, the sound pure and clear and completely present. “We did it exactly when we were supposed to. When we were both ready.”
He's right, of course. Everything happens in its time, especially healing and love.
And now, finally, our time has come.
As the stars begin to peek out over the mountains, with our friends and family still dancing the night away, I step back from the celebration and let joy transform into quiet reflection. The music and laughter fade at the edges, replaced by thoughts of the journey here—pain that nearly destroyed us, the courage it took to walk away, and the strength to return. Each step has been forged in hope. I feel a sense of overwhelming love and hope well up as I remember the choice we made to show up, every day, for ourselves and for each other.
This is our story. It’s not about perfect love, but about real people who put in the effort. We believe in second chances and the possibility of redemption. Sometimes, you have to save yourself before you can truly love another.
Right now, under these brilliant stars that shine down on us with a smile, I feel hopeful about the future and the life we lead full of love, acceptance, and joy. I’m looking forward to what comes next, because we’ll face whatever happens together, knowing each day will bring us new ways to cherish our second chance at love that was written in the stars.
Uncle Leslie's Porch Chronicles
"THE VILLAGE REPORT"
I settle into my vintage white rocking chair—repainted by yours truly, naturally—with a glass of sweet tea that would make my grandmother weep with pride, as I survey my domain from the front porch of what I've come to think of as Uncle Leslie’s Manor. Though "manor" might be generous for a two-bedroom cottage, but Suga, it's all about presentation and proper feng shui.
The afternoon light is absolutely divine today, casting everything in that golden glow that makes even Mrs. Patterson's questionable garden gnome collection look almost artistic. Almost. I've been strategically planning how to suggest some tasteful landscaping improvements without offending her sensibilities, because that woman controls more village intelligence than the CIA.
Speaking of intelligence networks, let me bring you up to speed on the fascinating developments in our small mountain paradise.
First, the most pressing matter, Gray and Rhea are disgustingly happy, and I'm taking full credit for the entire trajectory of their relationship success. When I arrived in this village many months ago, those two were tiptoeing around each other like teenagers at a school dance. Now? They're practically glowing with domestic, matrimonial bliss.
This morning, I watched Gray walk to his truck carrying not one, but two travel coffee mugs, which means Rhea is riding with him to his studio sessions over on Belvedere Street. Progress, Suga. Sweet, caffeinated progress.
The music situation has evolved beautifully. Can you believe the serendipity of Case in Point signing with Red King Records? And they're already writing and recording a new record that's as "raw and authentic" as their last Solid Ground album, according to Emma, who eavesdrops on their conversations with the dedication of a professional spy. I approve of both the eavesdropping and the artistic direction.
But here's the utterly delicious part, Kip Knox and Henley Hendrix have been "visiting" so frequently that I'm starting to suspect they're scouting for real estate. Last weekend, I caught Henley measuring the windows in the empty storefront next to Mrs. Chen's Ink & Embers bookshop. When I asked about it, she got that look that people get when they're planning something delightfully secretive.
Mrs. Chen, bless her romance-novel-pushing heart, has become my unofficial co-conspirator in all matters of village improvement. Yesterday, we had the most enlightening conversation about the tourism potential of our little community. She’s been quietly corresponding with several travel bloggers who specialize in "authentic mountain experiences." I suspect we're about to become much more interesting to the outside world.
Which brings me to Jake Morrison, our resident artist, and the most oblivious man in North Georgia. That boy has been painting the same woman's face for weeks—always from memory, always with this dreamy expression that makes me want to shake him until his teeth rattle. When I asked him about his mysterious muse, he went redder than Emma's current hair color and mumbled something about "compositional studies."
Compositional studies, my perfectly moisturized behind. The man is in love with someone he hasn't even worked up the courage to talk to properly. I've made it my personal mission to identify this mystery woman and facilitate an introduction, because unrequited love is terrible for one's artistic aura.
Emma, meanwhile, has transformed Mountain Mornings into something approaching a proper café, and my furniture pieces are selling faster than I can make them. Three coffee tables, two bookshelves, and a plant stand just this week! I may need to expand my workshop, which gives me the perfect excuse to redesign the back half of my cottage. I'm considering floor-to-ceiling windows to maximize natural light and promote creative energy flow.
In other news, I've been strategically orchestrating what I call "proximity opportunities" for various villagers who clearly need my assistance in their romantic endeavors. It's like being a fairy godmother, but with better fashion sense and more sophisticated surveillance techniques.
For instance, I've noticed that one of our newer residents, Tom Bradley—the village hiking guide with shoulders that could support small aircraft—always times his afternoon jogs to coincide with when Rebecca Walsh walks her golden retriever past the coffee shop. Rebecca, who runs the little pottery studio behind the bookshop, has started wearing her good jeans and actual makeup for these "casual" dog walks.
