As I carry her upstairs, I think about encores again. The best ones aren’t planned. They happen because the moment demands it, because the music isn’t finished, because there’s still something to say.
Rye is my encore. The song I didn’t know I’d been saving. The melody that makes everything else make sense.
Tomorrow will bring its own problems. The music industry doesn’t stop, life doesn’t stop. But tonight, in this house, with this woman, none of that matters.
What matters is the way she says my name in the dark. What matters is the music we make. What matters is Saturday mornings and the quiet strength of love that doesn’t need to shout.
This is what I was searching for in all those late night bars, all those empty hotel rooms, all those stages in cities I can’t remember. This moment. This woman. This life we’re building note by note, day by day.
The encore isn’t just what comes after the show. Sometimes it’s the beginning of something new. Sometimes it’s both an ending and a beginning. Sometimes it’s a woman who makes you realize every song you ever wrote was just practice for this.
“Stay,” she says as we reach the bedroom, though we both know I’m not going anywhere.
“Always,” I promise.
The night wraps around us, and somewhere in the distance, I hear music. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. Or maybe it’s just everything finally making sense.
This is love at its strongest. Not in grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but in Saturday mornings and shared music and knowing that this, right here, is home.
rye
. . .
The smellof charcoal and mesquite hits me before we even reach the front porch. Lily bounces between Darian and me, her yellow sundress catching the afternoon light. She’s been talking about this cookout all week, ever since Zara called to invite us. Not just me, not just Darian, but us. The three of us.
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.
