Page 50 of The Ballad of Us
“Emma goes all out.” I try to explain, but Mrs. Chen has already been distracted by a group of toddlers dressed as various farm animals.
The next two hours are the most fun I've had in years. Gray charms the kids with pirate voices, and the band is just as engaging. Families linger for hot chocolate and stay to chat about music and life in our town.
Around eight, an unfamiliar woman appears with a little boy, about five years old. He’s wearing a dinosaur costume and clinging to her hand. There’s a handmade guitar, though I can’t tell what it's made from.
“Hi,” she says to me, then looks around uncertainly. “Emma said this was where I could find Zep?”
“Zep!” I call out, grinning at the way his face lights up when he sees the woman and her son. “You have visitors.”
This must be the waitress from Mae’s Diner. She’s semi-familiar, since I’ve eaten at their counter more than I like to admit. The transformation in Zep is immediate and adorable. He practically trips over himself getting around the table to greet them, then drops to one knee to get on the little boy's level.
“Dinosaur rock star! I'm Sir Zep, Knight of the Round Table. It's an honor to meet such a talented guitarist as yourself.”
The little boy, Jake, giggles and launches into an enthusiastic explanation of his costume and his trick-or-treating strategy. Within minutes, Zep is utterly smitten with both mother and son.
The guitarist seems to remember himself. “Oh! Rhea! This is my friend, Lana, and my dinosaur friend, Jake.”
Closing the space between us, I extend my hand to Lana. “Hi, nice to officially meet you. Now that I’m seeing you up close, I realize I never knew your actual name, so I just called you ‘my favorite waitress’ in my head. Nice to know you have a real name.” I laugh, hoping to make her feel welcome.
Lana shakes my hand firmly, but not aggressively. She’s all long, blonde hair and sports curves I wish I had. “Lana. Nice to meet you, Rhea. Are you the lucky woman who deals with the band’s shenanigans?”
“That’s me!” I smile. “It’s not always a glamorous job.”
“No, I imagine not with a group of rock stars,” she says in good humor.
“Would it be okay if I took Jake around to some of the other booths?” Zep asks Lana, then looks at me. “If I can be spared from candy duty?”
“Go. We've got this covered.” I tell him because seeing Zep interact with these two warms my heart for him.
Watching Zep walk away with Lana and Jake, the little boy’s hand in his, makes me ache for a child someday.
By eight o'clock, the younger trick-or-treaters have headed home with their sugar hauls, and Emma practically pushes Gray and me away from the booth.
“Go enjoy the festival. Parker and I can handle the evening crowd,” she insists.
“Are you sure?” I ask, though I'm already untying my apron.
“Positive. Go be young and ridiculous while you still can.”
Gray offers me his arm again, and this time, no one interrupts as we wander Main Street. The air smells of caramel and roasted nuts, laughter fills the autumn night, leaves crunch underfoot, and string lights glow. The whole street is alive and welcoming.
We stop at a booth selling caramel apples, and Gray insists on buying us each one despite my protests that we made our own just weeks ago.
“These are festival caramel apples, completely different from homemade ones. More... festive,” he says seriously.
“That's not a real distinction,” I argue just to tease him.
“It absolutely is. Festival food tastes better because of the atmosphere.”
We're debating the merits of festival food versus homemade when our hands brush against each other as we both reach for napkins. The casual contact sends electricity up my arm. Suddenly, I'm transported back to my apartment and to that moment when we almost kissed. My thoughts race. Should I just go for it this time? Will he react the way I hope, or will it just make things awkward? I try to quiet the worries in my head and focus on what I want right now.
Without allowing myself to overthink it, I lace my fingers through his.
The conversation stops mid-sentence. Gray looks down at our joined hands, then up at my face with an expression of wonder and careful hope.
“Rhea,” he whispers.
“Is this okay?” I ask, suddenly terrified that I've misread everything, that I've pushed too far too fast.
