Page 41 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ivy

Mom is wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt, just like always, her short hair swept off her face in a way I’ve always loved. My mother has always been effortlessly cool. Comfortable in her own skin, and so beautiful, with an unassuming confidence that makes her easy to be around.

Freddie steps up beside me as she descends the stairs. “I’m nervous. Should I be nervous?” he asks.

“Absolutely not. Just be yourself. They’re going to love you.”

Mom finally reaches the car and pulls me into a hug first.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, sinking into the embrace. It’s been too long since I came home, and being here, feeling the certainty of her love, soothes the frayed edges of my heart. There are a lot of things I don’t know right now.

But for a split second, with the weight of Mom’s arms around me, none of that really matters. Because no matter what happens, even if my heart gets broken and my professional life falls apart, I’ll still have this. I’ll have a home where I’m welcome and loved and seen. And that’s no small thing.

Mom leans back and cups my face with her palms. “Look at you,” she says. “Beautiful as ever.”

“I’ve missed you,” I say, and her eyes turn a little misty.

She kisses my forehead. “You have no idea.”

She approaches Carina next, their prolonged eye contact suggesting they’ll have a conversation later, but then she pulls her youngest daughter into a hug, the relief on her face so obvious, it makes my chest ache.

Finally, she turns to Freddie. She props her hands on her hips and looks him up and down. “Well, if it isn’t the famous Freddie Ridgefield.”

Freddie extends his hand, looking adorably sheepish. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”

She waves away the handshake and pulls him into a hug. “Likewise. I hope you’re taking care of my girl.”

Freddie glances over at me. “I’m doing my best,” he says, and my heart climbs into my throat.

“How was the drive?” Mom asks.

“Entertaining,” he says, and she chuckles.

“I expect it would be, with these two in the car.”

“Where’s Daddy?” Carina asks.

“Out in the greenhouse. But he’ll come in if someone runs out and tells him it’s time to eat. Are y’all hungry?”

I glance at my watch. It’s only three-thirty, but we didn’t stop for lunch, so when I catch a whiff of fried chicken floating out the front door, my eyes widen.

“You made chicken?” I ask, my mouth already watering.

“And biscuits,” Mom says. “And potato salad.”

“With the tiny pickles? ”

She smiles. “You and your pickles. Yes, with the tiny pickles. We can wait until it’s closer to dinner time, but it’s ready now if you didn’t have lunch.”

“We didn’t stop, and I’m starving,” I say.

“I can always eat,” Freddie adds.

Carina drops her bag. “I’ll go find Dad.”

I should not be surprised at how easily Freddie folds into our family.

My parents are easy to love. Warm and accepting, always leading with empathy and compassion.

Even when they worry about us, it comes from a place of concern, not judgment, which is something I’ve learned never to take for granted.

They ask Freddie a lot of questions, but very few of them have anything to do with his career.

They ask about his family, his life growing up, his siblings.

My dad, who has three tattoos of his own, asks Freddie about the ink that’s visible on his arms and the little bit of chest exposed at his collar, and Freddie explains their meaning, then listens while my dad does the same.

After we eat, the five of us walk outside to the greenhouse and look at Dad’s newly planted Japanese maple seedlings.

Freddie seems to enjoy the greenhouse and asks my dad question after question.

Good questions. Curious questions that I can tell impress my dad.

He keeps grinning at me over Freddie’s shoulder, which makes me fight to keep from giggling.

Poor Dad. Surrounded by daughters for so long. He’s probably thrilled at the prospect of having another guy in the family.

Afterward, Dad and Carina head back inside, but Mom takes Freddie and me to the rescue barn to meet Pirate and the new foal born just a couple of days ago. If I thought Freddie liked the greenhouse, here he might as well be seven years old and visiting the zoo for the very first time.

I’m not sure I have ever seen him smile as much as he does when he meets the one-eyed donkey he’s been following through pictures for weeks.

“Hi, Pirate,” Freddie says, scratching the donkey’s long ears.

“Wicked eye patch, man. You’re really selling it.

” He holds out his phone. “Here. Take a picture of us? I want to send it to the guys.”

He poses beside Pirate, smiling wider than I’ve ever seen him smile, and I snap a few shots for him. “You look good out here,” I say as I hand his phone back. “Happy.”

“I am happy,” he says. “Happy is easy out here. This is a great place.”

I lean against the fence post, propping one foot up on a hay bale. “Yeah. A little hot, though. It’s a shame we can’t go swimming.”

His eyebrows lift. “Why can’t we?”

“Because I didn’t pack a swimsuit, and I’m guessing you didn’t either,” I say.

“No, but I am wearing a pair of black boxer briefs that have doubled as a swimsuit before.”

I think about the blush pink bra and underwear I’m wearing. “Yeah. That’s not an option that will work for me.”

Freddie’s eyes drop to my torso, his eyes flickering with a hunger that makes my skin flush with heat. “Okay, but you grew up here. There has to be something in that house you can wear. Or you could borrow something from your sister.”

I bite my lip, considering. I could borrow something from Carina.

Her boobs are half the size of mine, but she probably has something I could make work.

Besides, it’s hot and muggy and the sun probably won’t set for another three hours, and now that I’ve thought about swimming with Freddie, I don’t think I’ll be able to let the idea go.

“Fine,” I say. “But I’m just warning you. This is a cold mountain river we’ll be swimming in. Like, steal-your-breath, make-your-teeth-chatter cold.”

“Consider me warned. I still want to go.”

“Go where?” Mom says as she returns from the barn.

“Just to the swimming hole,” I say.

“Good idea,” Mom says. “But you should meet this sweet baby first.”

“Wait, how is it so small?” Freddie asks as we take in the baby donkey in Mom’s arms. It’s less than half the size of Pirate, and Pirate already looks pretty small.

“She’s miniature,” Mom says. She motions for Freddie to sit on the hay bale beside us, then she lowers the donkey into his arms. “She’ll always be small. No more than three feet at the withers, even when she’s full grown.”

I have seen a lot of cute things in my life. But Freddie Ridgefield snuggling a newborn donkey might be the cutest of all.

“This is the happiest day of my life,” he says, voice serious, and Mom laughs.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she says. “Why don’t you give her a name? I’ve been trying, but I haven’t come up with anything that fits.”

Freddie’s eyes widen. “For real?”

“Sure. Give it your best shot.”

Freddie runs a hand down the donkey’s neck. “I think we should call her…Louise,” he finally says.

Mom looks up to meet my gaze, a question in her eyes.

“Louise?” I ask, because he has to be kidding. Who names a donkey Louise ?

But Freddie nods. “Sure. Look in her eyes and try to tell me it doesn’t fit.”

I crouch down beside him and let the donkey nuzzle my palm as I stare into her enormous brown eyes. “Louise,” I say again, and she lets out a tiny bray.

“See?” Freddie says. “She likes it.”

“Louise,” Mom repeats. “I guess that’s it, then.”

An hour later, I’m wearing one of Carina’s bikinis under a pair of cutoffs and my high school swim team t-shirt, leading Freddie down the wooded trail that leads to the swimming hole.

I haven’t walked this trail in years, and it’s a little more overgrown than it was when I was a teenager, but it’s still easy to follow, familiar in all the ways that matter most.

“I really like your family,” Freddie says, and I turn and meet his gaze over my shoulder.

The trail is too narrow for us to walk side by side, so I appreciate a reason to turn and take him in.

He’s changed into a pair of black shorts and a plain white t-shirt, and he has our towels draped around his neck, his hands hanging onto them on either side.

He looks relaxed and happy and not at all like a rockstar, despite the plethora of tattoos visible on his body.

“Yeah, they’re pretty great,” I say. We reach a spot on the trail that descends steeply, and I make quick work of using a nearby tree to steady myself as I hop down. When I reach the bottom, I turn and offer Freddie a hand.

“Show off,” he says as he takes my hand, bracing himself against it as he makes the same jump I did .

“Not showing off,” I say as I turn back around. “I’m just in my natural habitat.”

He chuckles. “I like you in your natural habitat. I like everything about this place.”

As soon as we round the next bend, the sound of rushing water reaches us, infusing me with a sense of place and permanence that I haven’t felt in a long time.

Touring with Freddie means sleeping in a different city every night, places that blend together into a constantly shifting blur.

But this place is rooted deep in my heart.

No matter how far I go or how far I travel, nothing will ever stop it from feeling like home.

I smile back at Freddie and point to my ears. “That’s how we know we’re close!”