Page 114 of At First Dance
She’s home.
The crowd stirs as Ivy walks toward the stage, the kind of ripple you feel more than hear. People start murmuring—recognition mixing with curiosity. A few of the kids call her name. Parents nudge each other. One of the teens pulls out a phone.
Ivy hesitates near the edge of the platform. She looks back at me, her expression soft and uncertain.
My hand finds hers before I can think.
“You don’t have to,” I say quietly. “Not if you’re not ready.”
Her fingers squeeze mine. “I think I am.”
I nod once, then let her go.
She climbs the short set of steps and crosses to the center of the stage. Her bag slides from her shoulder with a whisper of fabric as she kneels to unzip it. A notebook—nothing like the beat-up old one I hold in my possession—peeks out, the spine crisp, pages clean and white. She flips it open, her fingers finding a particular page like muscle memory.
The crowd hushes.
She glances out at them, then down at the page. Her voice is quiet, but it carries.
“I wrote this for someone who makes me feel like I’m not lost anymore.”
That’s all she says.
Then she opens her mouth and sings. No mic. No band. Just her voice and the breeze and the golden light bleeding across the pasture.
Damn, it hits me like a freight train.
The lyrics aren’t subtle. They talk about calloused hands and slow mornings. About a porch swing and a denim shirt. About a man who doesn’t say much but means everything when he does. A man who holds her steady when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.
It’s about me. Every word, a thread she’s tied from her heart to mine.
I watch the crowd shift as the truth dawns on them—this isn’t just a song. It’s a confession. And I don’t care who hears it.
Her voice catches on the last line. Not from nerves but from emotion.
“...he was the place I didn’t know I needed until I finally came home.”
Silence clings to the air for a full heartbeat, then the applause erupts.
People stand. Kids cheer. Someone whistles so loud that a horse spooks in the distance.
But Ivy?
She doesn’t look at them. She looks at me.
Eyes glassy. Lips trembling with a smile that tells me everything I’ve been too damn stubborn to say out loud.
I move without consent, my heart guiding me the entire way.
I don’t wait for the crowd to calm down. I don’t care that half the town is watching. I climb the stage, wrap my hand around her waist, and pull her to me like she’s gravity and I’ve finally stopped resisting.
Her page of lyrics falls at our feet as I press my lips to hers. Soft and certain.
Home.
The applause fades into the background, a dull roar against the sound of her breath and the thump of my heart in my ears.
When I finally pull back, I keep my forehead against hers.
