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)
“You bring the new one?” Zara asks him, nodding toward the guitar.
“Which new one?” he says, but he’s already moving toward the case.
“The one you won’t shut up about. The one about second chances and finding home.”
“I don’t write sappy stuff,” Darian protests, but he’s pulling out his Martin anyway.
“Sure you don’t,” Zara says, then looks at me. “He played me a voice memo of it last week. Made me cry in the middle of Whole Foods.”
“That’s because you’re hormonal,” Levi calls from the grill.
“I’m not pregnant, you ass.”
“Yet,” he says, and the look that passes between them is so intimate I have to turn away.
I watch Lily instead, the way she’s already been folded into the group of kids. Stormy’s showing her how to hold Poppy’s hand to help her walk, and Willow’s braiding dandelions into her hair. They’ve known her for three months, but they treat her like she’s always been here. Like she belongs.
Darian settles into one of the old rocking chairs on the porch, his fingers finding the strings. The first notes drift across the yard, nothing formal, just noodling around while the day happens around us. He doesn’t perform at family things. He just plays, lets the music be part of the conversation.
“Play ‘Whiskey River,’“ someone shouts. I turn to see an older man walking up from the barn, wiping his hands on his jeans. He’s got Zara’s eyes and Darian’s stubborn jaw.
My stomach drops. This is it. This is the moment.
“Mom, Dad,” Darian says, standing up from his chair, his guitar still in hand. “This is Rye.”
The words hang in the air for a moment. His girlfriend. He doesn’t say it but it’s there, in the way he reaches for my hand, in the way his parents look at me with sudden interest.
“And this is Lily,” Darian continues, his hand on my daughter’s shoulder now. “Rye’s daughter.”
Paul steps forward first, extending his hand to me. “Nice to finally meet you. We’ve been hearing about you for months.”
“All good things,” Helen adds quickly, appearing from behind her husband. I hadn’t even noticed her there. “Darian talks about you constantly.”
“Mom,” Darian warns.
“What? It’s true. Every phone call. ‘Rye thinks this’ and ‘Rye said that’ and ‘Rye wrote this incredible bridge for—’“
“Okay, that’s enough,” Darian says, but his ears are red.
Paul shakes my hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Nice to meet you, Rye.”
Helen doesn’t shake hands. She pulls me into a hug that smells like vanilla and something floral. “We’ve been dying to meet you,” she says into my ear. “Both of you.”
She releases me and turns to Lily, who’s been watching with wide eyes. “You must be the famous Lily. I hear you’re learning to ride horses.”
“Stormy’s teaching me,” Lily says, suddenly shy.
“Well, Stormy’s an excellent teacher. That girl knows her way around horses.”
“She’s been riding since she was six,” Levi calls from the grill. “Natural talent.”
“Unlike someone else I know,” Zara teases Darian. “Remember when you visited last year and wouldn’t even get in the paddock?”
“The horse looked at me funny,” Darian defends.
The tension in my chest eases slightly. They’re treating him the same, not putting on some formal show because I’m here. Maybe this will be okay.
Paul settles into the chair next to his son, and I watch them, the easy way they exist in the same space. No performance, no pretense. Just a father and son sitting on a porch. Helen sits on Darian’s other side, her hand occasionally reaching over to smooth his hair or pat his knee, little maternal gestures that he pretends to be annoyed by but doesn’t pull away from.
“How long are you visiting?” I ask, trying to make normal conversation while my heart still races from the formal introduction.
“Two weeks,” Helen says. “We try to come out twice a year since Zara and Levi got married.”
“Three times a year,” Paul corrects. “You came for that emergency when Poppy had croup.”
“That doesn’t count as a visit. That was crisis management.”
They bicker gently about visit frequencies while Darian catches my eye and mouths “sorry.” I shake my head. They’re not what I expected. I’d built them up in my head as these formal, judgmental people who would find me lacking. Instead, they’re just parents who clearly adore their kids.
Zara pulls out her own guitar, a beat-up Takamine that looks older than she is. They don’t plan what they’re playing, just fall into some old progression that they must have played a thousand times growing up. Their voices blend on the harmony, not perfect but real.
I find myself laughing, really laughing, for the first time in days. Between the venue stress and Lily’s camp drama and trying to figure out what Darian and I are doing, I haven’t had much to laugh about. But here, watching this family tease each other with such obvious love, I feel something loosen in my chest.