Now that Mason’s working on his next album, we’ll be in Montana, and it will be far easier for Riley and Linus to tag along.
We’re nearing the end of the performance, and I clap loudly as Mason takes the stage once more. He’s in another tux, something I don’t see him in nearly often enough.
“For this next song, I’ll need a little help,” Mason says.
I frown—this part is new. I don’t remember it from the rehearsal earlier.
“What do you think? Should I ask my pastry chef to join me?” he asks the audience.
The crowd laughs and cheers, but I’m so stunned, I don’t realize what he’s said until Riley jabs me in the ribs with her elbow.
“Harper! Get up there.”
Murmuring apologies, I work my way down the aisle, silently swearing I’m going to murder Mason later. I walk up the steps, feeling my blood pressure rising. There are over six thousand people in attendance tonight, and every eye is on me.
Don’t trip on the garland, Harper.
Mason takes my hand, offering me a mischievous smile, and presents me to the audience. “Isn’t she lovely?”
The crowd cheers, and my face flames. This sort of thing isn’t uncommon for the Christmas show, which focuses on family and loved ones. Brian Kellerton brought his three-year-old daughter on stage last year, and it was the sweetest thing ever. Still, a little warning would have been nice.
“For those of you who don’t know, this lovely woman is my girlfriend of two years.” Another cheer. “Do you mind if I sing to her tonight?”
Along with the applause, there are a few wolf whistles. I can almost guarantee one came from Riley.
As if on cue, a stagehand hurries out with an old-fashioned wooden chair upholstered in red velvet. If Santa had a chair, it would look like this.
“Have a seat,” Mason whispers, grinning.
I lean close. “You are in so much trouble.”
He laughs, and the orchestra begins. It’s a sweet, romantic Christmas song, something he probably wrote himself, and by the end, all that indignant, mild irritation has vanished.
Mason kneels in front of me as he sings the last note.
I begin to stand as applause fills the hall, but Mason holds me in place with a hand on my knee. He raises his microphone and says, “Two Christmases ago, you sat in the third row, right in the middle. Do you remember?”
I glance at the audience, nervous. “Yes…”
The orchestra begins to play quietly, and my heart starts to pound.
“I knew I was doomed that night. And I was right because I stand before you now, in love and desperately devoted.”
He meets my eyes, taking his time as he reaches into his pocket and produces a velvet box.
I suck in a surprised breath.
“I have a Christmas present for you, Harper.” He flicks open the box with his thumb and holds it up to me. “You just have to say yes.”
I blink at the diamond solitaire, trying very hard not to cry in front of all these people.
Mason lowers the mic so I’m the only one who can hear his next words. “Will you marry me, Harper?”
Slowly, still in shock, I nod. “Yes.”
Grinning, Mason opens his arms, and I fall into them. He holds me for several long moments, and then he turns to the audience, raises his hand in the air in victory, and cries into the microphone, “She said yes!”
Their deafening cheers fill the hall, and I laugh through my tears.
