Page 73 of The Ballad of Us
"Just something I'm still working on," I say, probably too quickly. "Not ready for ears yet."
She studies my face with those perceptive eyes that see through every defense I try to maintain. "Must be important if you're being this secretive about it."
Holding on to perfection can get in the way of real closeness, but I’m still scared. I keep thinking about the night our trust broke. Rebuilding it has been delicate. This song feels like it has to make up for the past and everything we’ve worked to fix since then.
"Gray," she says softly, "you know I don't need perfect, right? I just need you."
"I know. But this song... It's about us. About everything we've been through, everything we've overcome, everything we're building together. It deserves to be presented the right way."
She squeezes my hand and doesn't push, which is one of the thousand reasons I love her. Rhea has learned the difference between supporting someone and trying to control their process, and her patience with my need to get this exactly right means everything to me.
As I pack up for the day, I think about what Leslie said, authenticity matters more than perfection. I used to think being perfect meant hiding, but now I see that being open takes real strength. Rhea deserves the real me, shared as honestly as I can. Being with her has changed what I think it means to be perfectly imperfect.
"The Ballad of Us" isn't just a song, it's a promise, a declaration, and a map of our future. When I finally play it for her, I want her to know not only how much I love her, but also how thankful I am for everything that brought us back together. Very soon, she'll hear what I've been trying to say in words and music for months.
She'll hear how she saved my life by letting me save myself.
But not yet. Not until every note is exactly where it needs to be.
Because Rhea deserves the best I can give, even if that means showing her the messy truth of how much I love her. Loving her is the one thing I never thought I’d get right, and it’s the only thing that’s ever truly healed me.
Twenty-Four
RHEA
As the band and I finish putting on the finishing touches to the Belvedere Studio, the village grows excited with us. The guys don’t exactly hide the studio, but they’re selective about who’s allowed inside the circle to see what we’ve been up to and all the results from our labor of love.
Each day brings a new kind of project as another smaller one comes to an end. The construction timeline of the studio has been extended since we asked Leslie to join us and help transform the space into something better than we could have ever dreamed of.
Gray attends his three meetings a week, and if he needs more, he also attends those. He remains in close contact with his sponsor, Xavier, who’s been an amazing influence and mentor to Gray.
“He’s more... solid, I guess. Like he's really here instead of just going through the motions.” Emma observes as we watch Gray through Mountain Morning’s window, loading equipment into his truck.
I pause, letting Emma's words linger.
Did they see it too?
Gray is more involved in being present for everyone in his life, including himself. I recalled the early days when his struggles overshadowed us. His determination now fills me with hope and pride. His strength lifts me up, brightening each day.
“Two hundred and twelve days,” I say without thinking, then catch myself. “Not that I'm counting.”
“Of course you're not,” Emma grins, wiping down the espresso machine.
As I open my mouth to respond, our quiet morning is suddenly interrupted. The door bursts open, and Leslie makes a dramatic entrance, carrying what appears to be fabric samples and a clipboard.
“Ladies, I need your aesthetic opinions immediately,” he announces, spreading swatches across our counter like he's conducting a military operation. “My new house is finally ready for window treatments, and I'm torn between the sage green with gold accents or the dusty blue with silver. It's a matter of utmost importance.”
Leslie's house purchase, located down the street from the studio, took place last week, delighting every business owner on Main Street. The cottage house sits perfectly between Mountain Mornings and Mrs. Chen's bookstore on the opposite side of the street, its rustic charm enhanced by a creaking porch and the pine-scented air. He's covered the porch with hanging plants and “welcoming feng shui elements,” making it a vibrant spot in our village.
“Sage green,” Emma and I say simultaneously.
“See, this is why I value your opinions. You have instinctive design sensibilities.” Leslie carefully folds the blue fabric and tucks it away. “Speaking of which, I need to warn you both that I'm having houseguests this weekend. Old musician friends of mine who might be a bit... colorful.”
“Colorful how?” I ask because with Leslie, this could mean anything from mildly eccentric to completely outrageous.
“Well, Kip Knox is a rock star with all the subtlety of a neon sign and the mouth of a sailor on shore leave. And his girlfriend, Henley, is equally vivacious. They're wonderful people, and they tend to make an impression.”
“More rock stars here in Dogwood Hollow? Anyone we'd know?” Emma perks up with interest.
