Page 45 of The Ballad of Us
Rhea is not a late sleeper. Even on her days off, she's usually up by eight, texting me about whatever book she stayed up too late reading or sharing pictures of some elaborate breakfast she's decided to make for herself. But radio silence until the afternoon is completely out of character.
By one o'clock, I'm pacing the cabin's deck again, earning concerned looks from Andrew.
“She's fine. People are allowed to sleep in on their day off.” Andrew tries to be helpful, but I know my girl.
“Rhea doesn't sleep in. Ever. She's like a human rooster.” Opening a coffee shop early in the mornings is the perfect job for her.
“Maybe she had a wild Saturday night? She might’ve stayed out past nine-thirty and lived dangerously for once in her life.” Zep throws out, being a complete asshole and unhelpful.
The joke falls flat because I can’t shake the feeling in my chest. The unease just takes over. What if something happened? What if she’s sick? Or what if she’s decided she doesn’t want me around, and this is her way of pulling back?
When my phone finally buzzes at 2:15, I practically dive for it.
Rhea: I just woke up! Can you believe it? What are you guys up to today?
Relief floods through me so completely that I have to sit down. The abrupt shift from tension to calm leaves me momentarily breathless, my muscles releasing as quickly as they had tensed. I take a moment to calm down a little more before responding.
Gray: Just hanging around the cabin. You okay? You never sleep this late.
Rhea: Confession: I stayed up to finish “just one more chapter,” which turned into half the book. Woke up when my e-reader startled me at four this morning. Very dignified.
I'm grinning like an idiot at the mental image of Rhea getting attacked by her own reading device.
Gray: Occupational hazard of book addiction. We missed you this morning.
Rhea: I missed you, too. Can I come up to the cabin for a bit? I want to hang out if you're not busy.
I stare at the message for a full thirty seconds, convinced I'm misreading it. She wants to come here. She's asking me to hang out. For the first time in three weeks, I'm not the one initiating contact.
Gray: Of course! We're not doing anything important.
Rhea: Perfect. Give me an hour to make myself presentable. See you soon.
“Rhea's coming over,” I announce to the room, probably sounding way too excited about it.
“We gathered that from your ridiculous grin. What's the occasion?” Parker grins.
“She asked to come hang out. She never asks first.” I show my hand, letting the guys know how vulnerable I’ve been with her, but I can’t be bothered to care if they know I’m struggling without Rhea.
Andrew looks up from his guitar with understanding in his eyes. He knows how carefully I've been walking this line and how afraid I am of pushing too hard or wanting too much.
“That's good, brother. It means she's getting comfortable with the idea of you being in Dogwood Hollow.”
An hour later, I hear Rhea’s car in the driveway. I hurry to the window. She gets out, smiling so brightly it feels like the whole place lights up. When she sees me, she waves, and I wave back from inside.
“Gray! Can you help me unload?” she calls out.
Help her unload? I'm already moving toward the door, curiosity and delight warring in my chest. “What did you bring?”
“Fall projects,” she says mysteriously as I jog down the porch steps.
I reach her car just as she's opening the back hatch, and my eyebrows shoot up. The entire cargo area is filled with pumpkins. Seven of them, in various sizes, from massive down to perfectly round mini ones.
“Jesus, woman. How many pumpkins does one person need?” I ask in mock concern.
“It's not for one person. It’s for seven people. Well, six and a half, if we're counting Cody.” She chuckles at her own joke, and I join her.
“Hey!” comes an indignant shout from Cody on the porch, where the rest of the guys have gathered to see what's happening.
