Page 139 of Archer

They’d all flown in for this. Rearranged their schedules, booked flights, taken precious time away from their lives in Carolina Bay. For me.

The intro music built as I let myself absorb the moment, so fulfilled and proud of what my life had become. I wished Gram was here to see it. I thought maybe she could.

My name was called, and I walked out into the light.

The roar of the crowd hit like an energy blast.

Thousands of people on their feet and cheering. The sound was enormous and warm, a pressure in my chest sending vibrations through my core. I crossed to center stage, caught the microphone stand, and let it all wash over me.

“Nashville.” I leaned into the mic. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to say that again.”

Another roar. Louder.

“I made you an album.” I looked out at the crowd, pews full to the back wall, faces pale in the stage glow. “Twelve songs. Every one of them true.” I paused. “Some of them were hard to write. Some of them were harder to sing. And one of them—” I smiled, and the crowd went quiet enough to hear the stage lights humming overhead “—one of them I almost didn’t put on the record at all. Because it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said to another person, and I said it in front of a guitar and a microphone first, instead of to his face.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“He’s forgiven me for that.” I found Archer in the front row without trying, his gravitational pull overriding the stage lights and unbelievable crowd. “He forgives me for most things. He’s very patient that way.”

Archer’s jaw shifted. The corner of his mouth moved — the private acknowledgment he gave the things that mattered.

“Tonight I’m going to play you the whole album, start to finish. But first—” I pulled the microphone from the stand “—I need to say something.”

The auditorium hushed.

“A year ago, I was afraid of everything. My career. My apartment. My own front door.” I’d told this story enough times now that I could manage it without flinching. “I was performing from behind a wall I’d spent years building, and I called it professionalism. I told myself that keeping distance was the same as staying safe.” I looked down for a moment, then back up. “Turns out those are very different things.”

Quiet.

“Most of you know I moved to a small town off the coast of North Carolina. And I found — well, I found a lot there. Everything, really. I found friends who became family. A community that took me in when I was breaking, and they never once made me feel broken.” I paused. “If that wasn’t enough, I found a good man, too. He taught me that being protected isn’t me being weak. It’s me being loved. This first song is for him.”

I counted off, and the band came in behind me. Then I opened my mouth and sang.

I came offstage hours later to controlled chaos.

Bren handed me a towel and a water bottle.

Archer stood just inside the curtained backstage corridor, already waiting.

He held my favorite kind of bouquet.

Blanket flowers. The small clusters of red-orange blossoms that sprouted behind our cottage, right where the sea grass along the shoreline gave way to open sand. I’d pointed them out to him once on a morning walk, small and stubborn, brilliant against all that pale sand.

He brought a little piece of that life to me everywhere I went on tour.

I launched into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and coming off my feet.

He caught me with his free arm and held me, kissing me before returning me to the ground.

“Where do you keep getting these?” I asked, accepting the flowers with a grin.

“I bring them.”

I tipped my head. “You carried wildflowers on a plane.”

“They’re hardy.”

“Where were they this morning?”