“I know you’re scared,” he whispers against me, soft enough that only I can hear. “I’m not going anywhere. And Ave, I don’t want to go anywhere. Please…just say yes. Marry me?”
The whole thing feels like a dream. In fact, I’m sure I’ve had this exact dream—down to every detail. Only in my dream, my father was here. I was sixteen then, and Mason wasn’t near the man he is now. But the one he’s become? This one—the one standing here in front of everyone and asking to take care of me—is better than my make believe. I nod yes, and at first he doesn’t feel it, so I nod stronger and whisper it to him.
“Yes?” he says, opening his eyes now and backing away from me just enough to slide the ring from my palm and onto my finger.
I nod again, and my core quivers with nerves, but happiness starts to flood my chest.
Mason doesn’t go back on stage. He pulls me to him, his thumbs soft on my cheeks, and his fingertips deep in my hair; he kisses me so hard, he has to sweep my legs up and pull them around his waist to keep me from falling over. I can hear everyone around us start to whistle and cheer, but time stands still while Mason is kissing me, and soon I hear Stanley start to sing on stage.
The spotlight has finally gone back to where it belongs, and Mason and I slip to the booth in the corner, him on one side of Max and me on the other. Mason asks Max to show him what he’s been working on, and without really answering, Max starts to flip through screens on my phone, showing him pictures and video clips, and Mason just watches in wonder, his face full of contentment. All I can feel is the touch of his hand linked with mine on the booth top behind Max, his finger lightly running over the ring he’s just placed on my finger. Subconsciously, I start counting in my mind, but rather than trying to survive until one moment ends and I can get to the next, I’m counting because I never want this one to end.
Epilogue
Mason
“This is stupid, I don’t know why I even wrote this shit down,” I say, shoving the list of people to thank back into my pocket. I wrote the list on a napkin at the diner we stopped at before the Grammys.
“It’s not stupid, and I know you’re going to need it,” Avery says, snuggling up against my arm and tilting her chin up so she can kiss my cheek. I keep my eyes on her, watching her look up at me—not a doubt to be found on her face. Hell, I don’t care if I win at this point, for me the best damn award in this world is earning that smile she’s making right there.
Who knew Matt’s words would be so prophetic. There will be other bands. He ended up sticking around Dusty’s with me, and Josh hooked up with Stanley to make another blues album. Matt and I started working on some duets, refining a really cool country kind of folk-rock sound. We’d practice during the week, and perform on weekends at Dusty’s; we ended up picking up another bass player and a drummer from those sessions—Jeremy and Nathan, just a couple of local guys who really dug our sound.
And that was enough. Then Kevin showed up one night for another show. I thought he was just passing through town, maybe staying at one of the fancy desert resorts. But then he stayed through the whole set, hung out until the place emptied, and waited at a table while I closed up for the night.
Seems my song “Perfect” was getting a lot of questions—and people started asking for it at Tenenbaum shows, wanting them to cover it or bring back the band that played it. Kevin offered me a recording contract that night—one shot at an album. It was two months away from Avery—away from Max. We had just gotten married, and Dusty’s was just finding its groove again. But that woman of mine, she insisted. So the new Mason Street Band rented a house in LA, and I flew home every weekend until the album was done.
We called it One Night at Ray’s—in honor of the man who will always be my father to me. Ray named Dusty’s after his dad, and it just seemed fitting to me that I give him credit in my big break. And, yeah, it sounds arrogant as f**k, but I wasn’t really surprised when “Perfect” hit the charts at number seven. People always loved that song on the road, and it had that emotional thing going for it.
When six other songs followed it though…one spending three weeks at number one? Yeah, that pretty much shot my surreal meter up to a million. My face was in magazines, and I even had to make some security changes to the house to keep out crazy stalker-types and paparazzi. I tried to talk Avery into moving; I’d made enough for us to move into one of those luxury, gated neighborhoods in the hills. But she’s not quite ready to let go of her dad’s place yet. I kinda don’t think I am either. Besides, Max likes it there—and that’s really all that matters to me.