Page 40 of At First Dance
“Ivy,” I say, laughing.
“Oh, honey, we know.” She winks.
She breezes off, and Rowan leans in, mouth close to my ear. “There’s still time to fake a stomachache.”
“Please. I’ve survived award shows. I can survive a grapevine.”
He doesn’t smile, not really, but the corner of his mouth betrays him. He disappears for a minute and returns with two paper trays and an extra napkin tucked under his forearm like it’s a love language.
“Did you bring me brisket?” I ask.
“Don’t read into it.”
We claim a spot near the edge of the grass—far enough from the speakers but close enough to catch the lantern glow.Our arms brush as we eat, but neither of us moves away. The warmth sits low and steady, like banked coals.
Rowan’s arm brushes mine as he sits back. He doesn’t move it. And I don’t either.
“Watching.”
“Me?”
“Not everything’s about you.”
I give him a look. “It usually is.”
He cracks a smirk. Barely.
A few of the townspeople start egging each other toward the makeshift stage—if a plank of wood and two hanging lanterns count. An older man with a banjo starts plucking a tune, and someone yells out, “Give us something, Ivy!”
I freeze.
Rowan stiffens beside me. “You don’t have to—”
But I’m already rising. I don’t know why. Maybe I need the reminder. Perhaps it’s out of duty. Maybe I want to prove that this version of me—barefoot, bourbon-warmed, wearing borrowed denim and a braid—can still sing.
The crowd falls quiet as I step onto the platform, heart thudding.
I ask the banjo man, “Do you know ‘Wildflowers in July’?”
He nods, adjusting the tuning keys with a soft smile. “Good choice.”
The chords begin, slow and wistful. I wrote this song three years ago in a tour bus parking lot, staring out at a sunrise I never got to touch.
I close my eyes. Then begin.
“I used to run, head full of noise
City lights and plastic poise
But I remember wildflowers in July
Mama’s boots and a baby blue sky…”
My voice isn’t perfect. It wavers in the middle and cracks just once.
But it’s real.
When I open my eyes at the last line, the crowd is hushed. And Rowan is watching me.
