Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
What Darian didn’t mention until we were already in the car was that his parents were visiting from California. That they’d been staying at the ranch for three days. That this whole cookout was really about me meeting them.
“You could have warned me,” I say under my breath as we walk up the driveway.
“You would have found an excuse not to come,” he says, which is probably true.
“Do you think Willow and Stormy will let me help with the horses again?” Lily asks for the tenth time since we left Nashville.
“I’m sure they will, sweet pea,” I tell her, smoothing down a piece of her hair that’s escaped from her braid, trying not to let my nerves show.
Meeting parents. I haven’t done this in over a decade. Not since Lily’s father, and we all know how that turned out. My hands are sweating. Darian notices because of course he does, and takes one of them in his.
“They’re going to love you,” he says quietly.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He squeezes my hand. “Trust me.”
The ranch sprawls out before us, all golden fields and white fencing. I can hear music already, something acoustic drifting from the backyard. Darian’s hand finds the small of my back as we walk up the steps. Three months ago, I would have stepped away. Now I lean into it, needing the support.
Zara’s already on the porch, waving us in with a dish towel. She’s wearing cutoff shorts and one of Levi’s old tour shirts, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looks nothing like the woman I first met at The Songbird, all sharp edges and protective sister energy. This Zara is softer, settled.
“About time,” she calls out. “Levi’s been guarding the grill from me for an hour.”
“Someone has to,” Levi’s voice carries from around the side of the house. “Last time you tried to help, you set a burger on fire.”
“That was intentional,” Zara shoots back, then grins at us. “Stormy and Willow are out back setting up corn hole. They’ve been asking when Lily would get here every five minutes.”
Lily takes off running before anyone can say another word, her sandals slapping against the stone pathway. I start to call after her about being careful, but Darian’s hand finds mine.
“She’s fine,” he says quietly. “This is what kids do at family things.”
Family things. The words sit strange and comfortable at the same time.
“You need help with anything?” I ask Zara, because standing still makes me nervous.
“Just relax,” she says, handing me a beer from the cooler by the door. “That’s your only job today.”
I don’t know how to just relax at someone else’s house. I’m used to being the one making sure everyone has drinks, that the food is ready, that the playlist isn’t stuck on repeat. But Zara’s already heading inside for something, and Darian’s pulling me toward the backyard, and I let myself be led.
The backyard is already full of life. Levi stands at the grill wearing an apron that says “Grill Sergeant,” flipping steaks with precision. He nods at us, spatula in hand, looking every bit the country star playing domestic. It’s still weird seeing him here, knowing that the same hands that played to sold-out stadiums are now carefully arranging burger buns on a platter.
Baby Poppy toddles around in the grass, chasing bubbles that float from a machine set up near the picnic table. She’s wearing tiny cowboy boots and a diaper, nothing else, her chubby legs working overtime to keep up with the iridescent spheres. When one pops on her nose, she shrieks with laughter.
Willow and Stormy have already absorbed Lily into their game, teaching her the proper way to arc a beanbag. Stormy, always the serious one, demonstrates the underhand toss with scientific precision. Willow just chucks hers overhand and somehow still makes it in. Lily watches them both, then creates her own hybrid technique that sends the bag sailing over the board entirely.
“Close enough!” Willow yells, and all three girls dissolve into giggles.
“Beer?” Zara offers, returning with a tray of something that smells like heaven.
“Already got one,” I say, holding up the bottle she gave me earlier.
“Good. These are Levi’s famous jalapeño poppers. He won’t tell me the recipe, which is annoying since we’re married and supposed to share everything.”
“Some secrets keep the magic alive,” Levi calls over.
“Some secrets get you relegated to the couch,” Zara fires back, but she’s smiling as she sets the tray down.
Darian’s guitar case leans against the porch steps where he left it. He never goes anywhere without it these days, not since we started writing together again. Real writing, not just the stolen moments at The Songbird between customers. We have a notebook that lives on my kitchen table now, filled with crossed-out lines and circled words and little notes in the margins. Last night, I found where he’d written “Rye’s melody” next to a series of chord progressions, and something in my chest went tight.