Page 50 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

Dustin

There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

~ Judy Garland (Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz)

“You are on in twenty,” a stagehand pops into the green room to update me. Tonight I sing for a live crowd. Then I’m free to leave and head back to Waterford. I could already write a song about sitting in greenrooms. I hum a tune and start composing a random song.

Sat in so many greenrooms, counting cracks in the floor

One more mirror, one more coffee, one more knock on the door

My name on a clipboard, but my heart’s back home …

The guy across from me smiles. “That’s good, man.”

“Just playing around with something in the moment.”

“Dang. Okay then.”

I glance at the door. I’m next then there’s a short break and he goes on. We’re two of the four singers the label booked tonight.

Emberleigh called earlier today wishing me luck. She called. Not a text. Not a photo with a carefully crafted caption. An actual call. I’m still living on the fumes of that call. She said she watched me last night and she liked the song.

Was I bold? Sure. But go big or go home—that’s a motto a man can live by. I sang about our future, lacing in a few personal jokes I knew would tell her there’s no mistaking this song is about her—about us.

“Pre-show nerves?” the other musician asks me.

I glance at him and realize I’ve been pacing ever since the dude with the clipboard popped his head in.

“A little, I guess. Mostly I’m itching to get home to my girlfriend.”

“Ahhh. Yeah. Being on the road will do that to you. Make you chant the words of that old movie, The Wizard of Oz . There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.” He clicks his heels for emphasis.

I laugh. “Yeah. You’re not wrong.”

“How long you been gone?”

I shake my head, aware I’m going to look extremely foolish. “Three days.”

“Aww. Man. I thought you were going to say two months. Well, she must be something.”

“She is. She’s not just something. She’s everything.”

“There’s a line for ya.”

“Yeah. I’m stockpiling lines these days.”

“Good thing. Write them all down. You never know when the well of inspiration might run dry.”

I nod. The guy with the clipboard comes back around. “On in ten. Let’s get you in the wings.”

I grab my guitar and say goodbye to the musician on the couch.

Then I follow the stagehand through the darkened hallways onto the backstage area.

I can see the audience, seated at tables up front.

Behind the tables people fill rows of seats.

The stage lights are bright, so I can’t see all the way into the room.

The musician on stage is wrapping up his last song.

The emcee steps into the spotlight, mic in hand. “Let’s hear it for Colton Ryman! Thank you, Colton. And next we have a treat for you. Straight from Waterford, Dustin Reed!”

I jog onto stage holding my guitar.

“Thank you, thank you. I want to thank Front Porch Records for this opportunity. Are you all ready for a little country music tonight?”

The crowd claps and cheers. A few people whistle.

“Alright then. I’ve got a few covers for you to start with, and if you behave yourselves, I might even sing an original or two.”

I’m going to sing my originals, the label requested it in the contract. But I like to play a crowd with things that keep them engaged.

“Sing the one you sang last night,” a man shouts from the back of the room.

“Family Anthem?” I say.

“Yes!” the voice answers me.

I place my hand over my brows to shield the stage lights so I can see the face of the man making the request and what I see makes me smile and actually whoop out loud.

“Sorry, folks. I just got a little surprise. My girlfriend, Emberleigh, is here in the audience.”

Everyone starts glancing around. She waves shyly, but then her eyes are on mine. She forms her hands into a heart and smiles at me.

I strum the guitar. Then I say, “Emberleigh isn't a huge fan of country. But she’s adapting. That’s what we do in relationships, isn’t it? It’s all about compromise and sacrifice.”

I strum the guitar again. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to kick us off with a Motown classic. Ain’t No Mountain High Enough by the late, great Marvin Gaye.”

The crowd cheers and I start to sing. Then the room goes quiet.

I can’t see Emberleigh. The lights are so bright I can only see the people at the tables up front—industry people.

But she’s here and that’s all that matters, and this song is as much for her as any I wrote.

I sing from my heart about being there for her.

There’s no mountain that could separate us. I’ll come running if she calls me.

I finish the song and the room erupts into applause. Then I sing the next four country cover songs I had planned.

“How about an original?” I ask the crowd.

“Family Anthem!” the guy in the back shouts.

“I literally wrote that song yesterday,” I say into the mic. “And here you are requesting it.”

I strum the first chord and then I sing the song I wrote yesterday when the ache to make things right between Emberleigh and me was so palpable I could taste it.

I composed it with only a glimmer of hope that Emberleigh might allow me to pursue this vision of our future.

If we do get a dog, he’s going to have to be named Toad. That’s all I know.

After I sing my new original, Family Anthem , I lean into the mic and say, “Let me give you all a little piece of advice. If you find the person you can’t live without, never ever let anything come between you. Emberleigh, I can’t imagine life without you. Thank you for being here.”

I launch into the first song I wrote for her—I call it Emberleigh’s Song —singing every line for her.

When I finish, the crowd is on their feet, clapping and cheering, whistling and hooting. I do love this feeling. There’s nothing like putting yourself out there and having a room full of people respond with enthusiasm over something you’ve created.

Well, there’s one thing greater.

The host emcee comes back on stage, thanking me for my performance. I wave at the crowd, and then with my guitar held overhead, I put my hand down on the edge of the stage and leap off into a space in front of the tables.

The crowd's applause fades into the background. I’m searching the room for her.

A guy I met yesterday from the label is making his way through the crowd toward me.

He approaches me and says, “Dustin, that performance was outstanding. We’d love to talk about a development deal.”

“Sure. Great,” I say to him. “Can I call you about that this week?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You’ll have to excuse me.” My eyes dart away from him to scan the room. “There’s just someone I have to see before she leaves.”

“Emberleigh?” the man asks.

“Yes. Emberleigh.”

“We’ll be in touch,” the rep says, reaching for my hand.

“Thanks.” I shake his hand and move past him.

The crowd parts, people stepping out of her way as she navigates around chairs and tables.

"Emberleigh," I breathe out her name.

“Dustin,” she passes a man and squeezes between a couple.

Then she rushes to me, wrapping her arms around me.

Tears are streaming down her face. She’s trembling.

“I'm so sorry, Dustin.” She takes a deep breath and blows it out.

“I was scared ... scared of how much you mean to me. Scared of losing you.”

I hold her tightly with my free arm, whispering into her hair, “I was scared too. Scared I’d lost you.”

I pull my head back and gaze into her eyes. The next musician is being announced.

I grab her hand, entwining our fingers and weaving my way through the crowd, my guitar in one hand and Emberleigh trailing behind me. When we reach the exit to the lobby, I push open the doors. No one is out here in the lobby except a few security guards and a couple of workers from the venue.

I stop off to the side of the double doors, pivoting and facing Emberleigh.

“Can we start over?” she asks, hope evident in her voice.

I smile, brushing a tear from her cheek. “We don’t need to start over. I like our beginning. And everything we’ve shared so far. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to be a huge fan of the rest of the story too. I don’t want to start over. I just want to keep going.”

“Me too,” she looks up at me, and I feel like I’ve recaptured something precious.

I lean in, brushing a kiss on her lips. She cups my jaw and holds me in place while she kisses me back. This. I thought we might never share a kiss again.

With her hands still on my cheeks, she pulls back only a little and stares into my eyes.

“I will go with you. If this is the life you choose, I’ll find a way to show up for you.”

“I’ve decided I’m not interested in taking a full contract. I’m not making a full signing commitment yet. I might do smaller gigs. Some showcases. But I’m not touring. I’ve already got a gig.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Rookie at station number one, and the guys depend on me to keep the local bakery in business with our regular donut run.”

“That does sound important,” she says, smiling up at me.

“Nothing matters more—well, maybe one thing.”

Emberleigh doesn’t fish for me to tell her what that one thing is. She already knows.

We drive home that night in my truck. Syd came with Emberleigh and she volunteers to drive home alone so the two of us can be together after our few days apart.

“Are we ridiculous?” I ask her as we pull up in front of her home.

“How so?”

“We were separated for three days and we acted like it was a lifetime.”

“It felt like a lifetime.” She turns toward me. “I think the uncertainty made us more acutely aware of what we could lose.”

“I’ve got a newsflash for you.”

“What’s that?” She smiles so freely, like she did before I told her about my opportunity with Front Porch Records.

“You’re not losing me. I’m like a rash. You’ll try to scratch me and I’ll just grow on you.”

Her laughter fills the cab of my truck. “That’s literally the craziest analogy, and possibly the least romantic, I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, so you want romance?” My voice goes quieter.

“I think you already delivered on that front.” She smiles shyly. “Not one, but two songs dedicated to me.”

“What can I say? You inspire me.”

I unbuckle and slide toward the middle of the bench seat.

She smiles like she doesn’t mind—at all.

I reach out and run my fingers through her hair, letting my hand rest on her neck, studying her eyes as she gazes back at me. She’s back. Here. With me.

“I don’t think I was ever faking with you,” I confess. “When I think about it, I’m pretty sure I wanted you from the moment I set you on your feet outside your house and you started scolding me for hauling you out of a house fire.”

“A small kitchen fire—that was almost extinguished.”

“It falls in the category of house fires. And I rescued you … that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

I smile down at her. She looks up into my eyes with an invitation. I could kiss her, and I will. Right now, I need to pour my heart out. I need her to know what she means to me. To hear it from my mouth, not only through a song.

“How about we not tell that story to our grandkids,” she says.

“Grandkids? Oh. I’m telling the grandkids. They need to hear how you won me over from the moment I met you. How I had to grovel and stage a campaign to win your heart.”

“And how we faked a relationship?”

“Wasn’t faking,” I repeat. I’ll keep telling her until she believes me.

“I don’t think I was faking either.” Her voice is soft, careful. Her hand reaches out and lands on my knee. “At least not for long. I just had to overcome my fears so I could let you in.”

“You're a brave woman, Em.”

“Hardly.”

“I see what I see, and you’re one of the bravest.”

“What about Nashville?” she asks, looking out the windshield into the night sky smattered with stars.

I sigh, intertwining my fingers with hers on my knee. “It's a big opportunity, but I don't want it if it means losing you.”

She turns to me, determination in her eyes. “I don't want to hold you back. Maybe ... maybe we can find a way to make it work together.”

I smile and lean in to place a soft kiss on her forehead. “You wouldn't be holding me back. You’re the reason I know what I actually want.

“I had a lot of hours alone at night in Nashville, and plenty of time waiting between meetings, in greenrooms … I thought a lot about this. We could relocate to Nashville, but I don’t want you to leave your bakery—or Syd, or Waterford.

After all the thought and consideration, I decided I didn’t want a life of fame.

I want to see you as often as I can. Our schedules are hard enough to coordinate.

We don’t need to complicate things. The kind of deal Front Porch might be offering after I laid everything out to them is the perfect middle ground. ”

“I’d leave Waterford for you. If that’s what it took.”

I can’t believe she’s offering that.

I counter with, “I’d stop singing if that’s what it took.”

She says, “We’re a hot mess.”

“I’m partial to our mess.”

“Just promise me,” she says, “if your dream changes … you’ll still let me be part of it.”

I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. “You are the dream. I realized one thing in Nashville. I love performing music.”

“That’s what you realized?”

“Oh. No. That was just one of the things. There were actually two things.”

“What was the other?”

“I love you more.”

“You … love me?”

“I do. I’m madly, wholeheartedly, ridiculously in love with you, Emberleigh.”

She smiles up at me, eyes shining like she’s about to reveal the most vulnerable truth. “I love you too, Dustin. I’ve never loved another man. You’re the one.”

“Whew,” I say. Then I whoop. “Man. I didn’t expect that.”

She laughs.

“Mom said we’d come back to each other,” I say quietly, almost to myself.

“She did?”

“Yeah. She said real love always finds its way home.”

“I love that.”

“I love you . And I promise to always come back to you.”

“I believe you.”

Emberleigh turns so she’s facing me. I cup her jaw, staring into her bright green eyes until they flutter shut in an invitation.

I lean in and kiss her. Our kiss is gentle, tender, soft.

She moves her mouth with mine. Our connection is steady and certain, like we’ve finally landed where we belong.

Emberleigh’s arms wrap around me and she leans into me.

I hold her in a way that says forever and no matter what .

When I pull back, I place a kiss on her forehead.

“You’re everything. Beyond singing. Beyond any dream. You. I love you, Emberleigh.”

She inhales a quick breath as if I sweetly overwhelmed her with my declaration.

Then she reaches out and places her hand on my cheek. “I love you, Dustin.”

I inhale and close my eyes, letting the depth of her confession wash over me.

Then I open my eyes and give her hand a light squeeze when I say, “You are my world tour, my best song, the woman I didn’t even know I was waiting for. And I will always come home to you.”