“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.
“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 herhair. 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.”
