Page 43 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ivy

Over the past five years, I have imagined Freddie Ridgefield telling me he loves me countless times. What did not happen in any of those fantasy versions of our declarations of love was my dad showing up right in time to spoil the moment.

But that’s what’s happening now.

Freddie said I’m in love with you.

Then I said nothing.

Then Dad showed up and asked if Freddie would like to see the irrigation system he uses to water his redbud trees, and we took a walk to the edge of the field to study the setup Dad designed himself and really, really likes to show off.

Freddie glances at me over his shoulder and smiles, then looks back at the pump my dad is pointing out. “Very cool,” Freddie says, and I gotta say, his tone is convincing.

Surely he knows that I love him too .

I didn’t say it. But only because I didn’t have time. It’s a lot to process, learning that someone is in love with you.

Especially when that someone is your boss.

Who is also a wildly famous rockstar.

Whom you have loved, desperately, for almost as many years as you have known him.

“Anyway, that’s how it works,” Dad says. “The upgrade to the pump really made all the difference.”

“ Yeah, I bet,” Freddie says. “It’s amazing you can reach the entire field with just one system.”

Dad claps him on the back. “If you have time before y’all leave tomorrow, I’ll take you out to see the junipers. It’s a little too far for walking, but we can take the four-wheelers.” He holds up a finger. “You have to wear a helmet though.”

“ Um, that sounds amazing,” Freddie says. “I would love to see the junipers.”

I’m betting he’ll really just love the four-wheeling, but I’m not about to burst Dad’s bubble if Freddie isn’t.

Dad finally turns to me. “Your mother sent me out to see if y’all want any peach pie for dessert.

It’s fresh out of the oven, and you know your mother thinks it’s best when it’s hot enough to melt the ice cream.

” He looks from me, then over to Freddie.

“Are you coming in soon? Or should I tell her not to wait?”

I exchange a glance with Freddie, and he shrugs, offering me the tiniest of nods. “I like the sound of peach pie.”

“We’re coming in right now,” I say to Dad. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Dad moves toward the house, and Freddie and I follow, but I slow my steps, hoping for a few more moments of privacy before we get to the house.

I reach over and take Freddie’s hand, and he looks at me, his expression warm and sincere. “I’m sorry we were interrupted,” I say.

“Nah, it’s fine. I like your dad a lot.”

“Me too. But his timing was terrible.”

Freddie chuckles, then he stops walking altogether and turns to face me, a new vulnerability in his eyes. “What would you have said if your dad hadn’t interrupted?”

I look into the green eyes I’ve grown to know so well. “I would have said I’m really, really in love with you too.”

After dessert and a shower to wash off the river, I find Freddie in the kitchen doing dishes with my mom. He’s also managed to sneak in a shower, and he looks perfect, wearing dark jeans and a plain black henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and my mom’s bright pink rubber gloves.

He’s elbow deep in suds when I walk over, so I duck into the space between him and the sink and turn to face him, arms wrapped around his torso.

“Hi,” I say, and he grins.

“Hi.”

“You smell good.”

“I showered. Carina let me use her bathroom. She said I’d have to wait forever if I planned to use yours.”

I scowl. “Carina is judgy and mean.”

“I heard that,” Carina yells from the living room.

Mom chuckles from where she’s unloading the dishwasher. “Your father was looking for you earlier, Ivy. He’s got something he wants to show you.”

“Does he? What is it? ”

“You’ll have to go see for yourself,” she says. “He’s waiting for you on the back porch.”

I nod, then look up at Freddie. “Will you be okay here?”

“Absolutely,” he says. “Your mom already promised me albums full of your baby pictures if I finish the rest of the dishes.”

“See, you expect me to complain about that, but I was a very cute baby. So go ahead. Knock yourself out.” I lean up on my toes and press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back soon.”

Something flickers in his eyes. “When you are, I also have something I want to show you. Or…play for you, actually. If you’re up for it.”

I think about the moment in the car when he told Carina he’d never written a song about someone specific until recently.

I’ve never been a fangirl. It’s not really my nature or my personality to freak out over artists or authors or any other kind of celebrity.

But the thought of Freddie Ridgefield singing a song that he wrote about me… to me… that probably deserves a tiny bit of fangirling.

“I take it you won’t give me any clues either?” I ask.

“Not a one,” he says. But he does give me one more kiss before I go.

As promised, Dad is waiting for me at the base of the back steps. It’s already after nine, and the farm is bathed in the soft moonlight of a summer night, the stars twinkling overhead.

Dad doesn’t say anything as we cut across the back lawn, which isn’t typical for him. Even if he’s just talking about farming, he’s usually got something to talk about, some new improvement in the greenhouse or a new tractor he loves more than all the others.

His silence makes me wonder if he’s nervous about something, and it piques my curiosity.

When we reach the edge of the grass, we turn to the right, moving away from the commercial operations of the nursery. The greenhouses, the employee parking lot, the tractors and mowers and other machinery used for everything from seeding to harvesting.

Once, when I was in middle school, I asked Dad if he wanted me to help him run the nursery one day. It was a much smaller operation back then, half what it is now. I remember he’d just purchased a second delivery truck, the Conway Nursery logo painted onto the side.

“I want you to grow up and do whatever you want,” he said, like it was the easiest answer in the world.

“But what will you do if I don’t? Or if Daphne and Carina don’t want to either?”

He shrugged. “I’ll sell it all and move to the beach.”

When we pass the firepit, I finally realize where Dad is taking me. There’s a small workshop on this side of the property, one of the only places that doesn’t have anything to do with Dad’s business.

He’s always enjoyed a little bit of wood carving, and the workshop is where he keeps all his tools.

Somewhere in the house, in the boxes of things I left at home when I moved out but didn’t want to throw away, I have at least a dozen tiny animals my dad carved for me over the years.

Donkeys and goats and bears and rabbits.

Even an octopus, because I watched a documentary about one and became fully obsessed for six solid months.

His carvings are good enough that he could sell them if he wanted to, but he’s always said that selling them would ruin the fun. That he’d rather not turn his hobby into a job because then it would be a job, and then what would he have as a hobby?

Hard to argue with that kind of logic.

We finally reach the workshop, and Dad pauses before opening the door.

He turns to look at me, his expression a little sheepish, then he clears his throat.

“So, your mother was cleaning out one of the closets upstairs, the one in Daphne’s room, and she came across a box of Daphne’s things.

I don’t know how we missed it before, but it had a notebook in it that seemed to be ideas for a wedding.

Pictures of flowers, dresses, that sort of thing. ”

“Daphne’s perfect wedding,” I say. “I remember. It was one of those black and white composition books, right? And she glued in pictures of what she liked.”

“That’s it exactly,” Dad says.

“Oh my gosh. I haven’t thought about that thing in years. We were in middle school when she made it.”

“I’m surprised it wasn’t you who made one,” Dad says. “You were always more of a planner.”

“True. But Daphne was the romantic one.”

Dad chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that. Either way, there were several pictures of these wooden arbors, the kind you might stand under when you’re exchanging vows, and it just got me thinking…”

I suck in a breath. “Daddy. Did you build one?”

He smiles, then he turns and opens the workshop doors and flips on the light.

“The learning curve was pretty steep,” he says.

“I’ve never carved anything this big before, and you probably shouldn’t look too closely because I’m not as precise when I’m working on larger pieces of wood.

But I don’t know. I think it turned out all right. ”

His modesty is compelling but entirely unnecessary.

The arbor is beautiful. There are four posts, two on each side, with a gently sloped arch overhead.

The entire thing is covered in carved vines, in tiny leaves that wrap and swirl.

I’ve seen arbors where the point is to cover them with flowers.

They’re structural—a medium for decoration. But this is artwork all on its own.

“Dad,” I say, my voice soft. “It’s so beautiful.”

“You think?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s what your mother said you would say.”

“It’s what anyone would say.” I run a hand down the post closest to me. The wood is sanded and smooth. “Truly. It’s amazing.”

He pushes his hands into his pockets. “Your mother also said I shouldn’t show this to you now, since Freddie came home with you.

She didn’t want it to seem like now that you’re dating someone, we’re trying to marry you off.

But you’re here, and you don’t come home all that often, so I’m showing you anyway and just trusting you to know I would have shown you even if you hadn’t brought Freddie along.

” He takes a deep breath. “And maybe you won’t even get married, and that would be okay too.

But if you do, I just thought—I know it was Daphne’s idea to have one of these.

But I thought it might be a nice way to have her with us. ”

Understanding finally dawns. This might have been Daphne’s idea, her dream, but Dad built this for me.

For my wedding.

“You don’t have to use it,” Dad quickly says. “I thought I could build a bench to go under it, and it could sit out front near your mother’s rose bushes. If it isn’t what you had in mind, it doesn’t have to be your dream just because it was Daphne’s. I just thought…”

“Dad,” I say, stopping his nervous rambling. “I love it so much. I have no idea when I’ll get married, but I would love to use it.”

He smiles with obvious relief. “I know Freddie can afford anything. You might not want something so simple.”

“You’re that sure I’m going to marry Freddie?”

He shrugs. “Of course you will. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

My heart squeezes in my chest, but his words don’t surprise me like they might have a week ago. Because now, I’ve seen the way Freddie looks at me too.

“Does it scare you a little?” Dad asks. “How famous he is?”

“I’ve gotten used to it,” I say. “It’s just a different kind of normal. We do stay off the internet, though. At least when it comes to stuff about the two of us.”

He nods, then pulls a couple of stools away from his work bench, offering one to me.

“I’m glad you found each other,” he says as he lowers himself to sit.

I smile. “Yeah. Me too. Took us long enough to figure things out. But sometimes it happens that way, I guess.”

Dad’s expression turns thoughtful. “For a long time,” he starts, “I worried that losing Daphne would keep you and Carina from really spreading your wings. That you might live scared.” He pauses and wipes a hand across his face.

“It makes me happy to see you finally putting yourself out there. Taking risks.”

“You sound like Carina. She said the same thing. ”

“Yeah. We had a conversation this afternoon about healthy risks…and not so healthy ones.”

“I’m trying to be better about not worrying so much,” I say. “About her, specifically. But I think it’s hard-wired into my DNA.”

“It’s not your job, honey. Let us worry about her. That’s something your mother and I have talked about too. We’ve probably relied on you too much. You can worry about her. That’s just being a sister. But it isn’t your job to protect her. She’s her own woman. And she’s going to be okay.”

I nod, appreciating the validation. “You know what’s funny?” I ask. “I’ve never thought of myself as risk-averse. But I’m recognizing now that my need to plan and be in control—that’s what I’ve been doing. Trying to keep myself safe.”

Dad smiles. “Sitting on feelings for years definitely feels like playing it safe.”

“Seriously? Did everyone know how I feel about him?”

“Well, he didn’t, so at least you managed to convince somebody. But we know you, Ivy. We’ve heard the way you talk about him.”

It occurs to me that so many things about a relationship with Freddie will be different because of his fame. And it probably won’t always be easy. There will be ripple effects that impact my family, no matter how much I try to keep them out of the limelight.

Freddie’s family is annoyed by his fame. They see it as a nuisance. As noise. And they’re missing out on having a relationship with someone really incredible because of it.

It makes me grateful to know it doesn’t matter to my parents. They’ll love him because I do. But also because they’ll see how amazing he is .

“I really love him, Daddy,” I say, and he smiles.

He stands and moves over to where I’m sitting and wraps his arms around me. “I’m happy for you, Ivy. Also, he asks really good questions about my trees.”

I let out a little chuckle. “You’re gonna turn him into a farmer.”

“You think he’d give up singing to move out here and work with me?”

I think of the way Freddie lights up on stage. “Not a chance,” I say. “But maybe when he retires?”

Dad grins. “I’ll hold out hope for that.”