Page 103 of The Ballad of Us
The view shows our quiet street, but as I watch, I notice an unusual amount of activity. Andrew is carrying sound equipment into the village square. Parker and Wyatt are stringing lights between the trees surrounding the gazebo. Even from my second-floor window, I can see that what they’re setting up is far more elaborate than a simple community concert.
My phone buzzes with a text from Gray.
Gray: Miss you. I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night. Wear something that makes you feel like yourself.
A warm flush spreads across my cheeks as I read his words, and my heart does a little flutter. His message is simple yet deeply personal, igniting my anticipation. Tomorrow night is starting to feel like an important moment that’ll be filled with the kind of magic that Gray always manages to bring into my life.
With everyone hinting about dressing up, it's clear the village is preparing for something more significant than a casual musical performance.
Rhea: What should I know about tomorrow night?
The response comes immediately.
Gray: That I love you more than music, more than mountains, more than morning coffee. That you saved my life by letting me save myself. Tomorrow night is going to be perfect because you'll be there.
The words are beautiful and romantic, but they tell me absolutely nothing about what’s happening.
Duke chooses that moment to abandon his window vigil and trot to my bedroom, where he sits beside my closet and looks at me expectantly.
“You too? Are you in on whatever this is?” I ask my dog.
His tail wags once, like he's confirming my suspicions.
I open my closet and sift through my clothes. If everyone expects me to dress up, I might as well give it a try. My heart skips a beat when I spot the blue dress I bought months ago but never had an occasion to wear. The color catches the light, and the fabric whispers against my fingertips. It's romantic but not too formal, perfect for a spring evening steeped in magic and uncertainty.
Duke's tail wags more enthusiastically when I pull out the dress, as if he approves of my choice.
“Okay,” I tell him, settling onto my bed with growing anticipation rather than anxiety. “I don't know what tomorrow night is really about, but if the entire village is this excited about it, it must be a wonderful event.”
Outside my window, the preparation continues. I can see Gray now, guitar in hand, conferring with his bandmates near the gazebo. Even from this distance, there's a different energy about his posture—nervous but also excited.
Whatever is happening tomorrow night, he's been planning for a while. It involves the entire village because they want to show me how much I matter to them. As the village lights twinkle on, I watch from my window, heart open and brimming with hope.
Thirty-Four
GRAY
The ring box in my pocket feels impossibly hot, reminding me of the huge question I'm about to ask. My hands shake as I adjust the microphone for the third time. The evening air is cool, carrying the smell of pine and a hint of wood smoke from far-off chimneys. The stage we've set in the village square looks magical in the fading light, with string lights and glowing lanterns everywhere. The crowd murmurs softly, spreading out on blankets and in folding chairs. A dog barks nearby. All these sounds blend, making the moment feel comforting, as if everyone in our little mountain town has come out to witness our magic.
“You're going to wear a hole in that stage if you keep pacing,” Andrew says quietly, tuning a guitar with the calm precision that used to infuriate me when I was spiraling. Now it grounds me, reminds me that some things stay steady even when everything else feels like it’s not. As he continues tuning, the predictable raw musical sounds are like an anchor, bringing me back to the present moment.
“I'm not pacing,” I lie, then immediately resume pacing.
“Brother, you've checked that ring box seventeen times in the last ten minutes,” Parker observes, drumming his fingers lightly on the edge of his drum kit. “She's going to say yes.” The rhythm of his tapping serves as a heartbeat, a constant sound in the background that reassures me.
Three weeks of planning have led to this. I’ve had secret meetings with Mrs. Chen about flowers, worked with Emma to get Rhea here without her guessing, and what felt like hundreds of texts with Leslie about how everything should look. I remember one Monday night, Leslie and I sat in the back room at Mountain Mornings, surrounded by unfinished song sheets and half-empty coffee cups. We debated lanterns versus sparklers, finally agreeing that lanterns were right for tonight. Mrs. Chen arrived with fresh mooncakes, saying that the right flavors could help set the mood. She’s supporting us in her quiet way, her eyes shining with understanding.
A wave of doubt hits me. “What if she doesn't?” The question escapes before I can stop it, vulnerability laid bare in front of my brothers who've seen me at my worst and still believe I deserve this happiness.
An intrusive fear I barely allow myself to acknowledge tumbles through my mind. She's too good for me. She'll realize that asking her was a mistake. My thoughts spiral back to a cold, sterile room, my own breathing deafening, after I lost everything to my addiction. I see myself sitting there, staring at bright fluorescent lights, my heart pounding like a drum that refuses to stop. Every decision felt like stepping onto thin ice, and dragging myself out of bed seemed more daunting than scaling the steepest mountain. Those mornings when hope felt like a distant, unreachable star. My throat tightens as panic flickers at the edge of my consciousness, my palms beginning to sweat, returning me back to the present and the brothers who believe in me. I swallow hard, pushing those thoughts away, but they linger in the corners of my mind.
“Then she's not the Rhea we all know and love, and we've all been reading this situation completely wrong for months.” Zep calms me, letting me know that they read it the same.
“Plus, Duke already approved the ring. He sniffed it very thoroughly and wagged his tail. That's basically a binding contract in dog law.” Parker makes a great point.
Duke is currently stationed at the front of the crowd with Mrs. Patterson, wearing a bow tie that Leslie insisted was “absolutely essential for formal occasions.” He looks dignified and slightly confused, which is probably how I look, too.
The crowd is buzzing with anticipation. They know this isn't a regular concert. The elaborate setup and our first performance in the village square have everyone speculating, but only a few know what's really about to happen.
