Page 58 of The Ballad of Us
“I love watching you take care of people. The way you just instinctively know what everyone needs, and how you make everything better just by paying attention.” His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin. “You do that for me every day, and I don't think you even realize it.”
Before I can respond, Parker's voice cuts through the moment. “Hey, lovebirds! We're starving, and Cody wants to go to Mae’s Diner.”
We spring apart like teenagers caught making out, but Gray keeps hold of my hand as we rejoin the group. The knowing grins on everyone's faces suggest we weren't as subtle as we thought.
“Shut up,” I tell them preemptively.
“We didn't say anything,” Andrew protests with fake innocence.
“You were thinking it very loudly with your face,” I tease.
Lunch is at Mae’s Diner, just off Main Street and down a side street that looks like it hasn't changed since 1975, complete with red vinyl booths and an old-school jukebox that still works. We pile into the largest booth they have, and I end up squeezing between Gray and the wall, his thigh pressed against mine in the cramped space.
“I love Mae’s,” Cody declares, studying a menu that includes a meal called the “Lumberjack Special.”
“Everything's better when you're shopping-induced delirious,” Parker agrees.
Our waitress is a woman in her sixties who takes one look at our group and immediately adopts us. “Y'all are not from around here,” she observes with good-natured suspicion.
“We're staying up the mountain, but we’re starving after a shopping expedition,” Andrew explains.
“Black Friday warriors! Well, you've earned yourselves some real food. The meatloaf is good, but the chicken and dumplings will change your life.” She suggests her favorites.
She's not wrong. By the time we've demolished plates of comfort food that would feed a small village, we're all in that satisfied, slightly drowsy state that comes from carbs and camaraderie.
“So, what's the afternoon plan?” I ask, consulting Emma's color-coded schedule.
“More shopping?” Zep suggests without enthusiasm.
“Or we could check out that Christmas tree farm we’ll pass on the way back to the cabin. I want to get a head start on decorating the cabin.” Gray says, and the entire table turns to look at him.
“Oh!” I sit up straighter. “That's perfect. The cabin needs a tree, and they probably have wreaths and garland too.”
An hour later, we're wandering through rows of perfectly shaped evergreens while the guys debate the merits of different varieties with the seriousness of wine connoisseurs.
“This one's too short,” Cody declares.
“That one's too wide for the living room,” Andrew counters.
“What about this one?” Wyatt suggests, pointing to a tree that looks identical to the previous twelve they've rejected.
“The branches aren't full enough,” Parker says critically.
I catch Gray's eye and see my own amusement reflected there. “They're never going to agree on one,” I murmur.
“Want to go find our own?” he asks quietly.
“Our own?”
“For your apartment. If you want one. We could pick it out together.”
The suggestion sends warmth spreading through my chest. A tree for my apartment, chosen together. Another step toward this amazing relationship, we’re constructing one a moment at a time.
“I'd love that.”
We slip away from the group’s tree debate, Gray gently taking my hand in his. Together, we walk through the quieter parts of the farm, weaving between rows as we look for a tree. The afternoon sun shines through the branches, casting shadows as we move, and the air smells like pine.
“What about this one?” Gray stops beside a perfectly proportioned Fraser fir that would fit perfectly in my living room.
