Page 46 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

Ivy

The energy at the Nashville show is electric.

Freddie is on fire—he usually is when he’s back on stage after a long break—and the fans are giving him some serious love.

In a private box on the other side of the stadium, my parents are watching the concert with Carina and a collection of aunts and uncles who were thrilled to receive VIP invitations to the show.

We all had dinner at Freddie’s house last night, and he kept telling me how exciting it was to have so much family in his house. Family.

I’ll never get tired of thinking of him that way.

Freddie’s tour manager steps up beside me backstage, his arms folded over his chest just below the end of his bolo tie. “I’m just saying,” he says in his usual dry tone. “I’m glad you’ll still be with us when we hit the road next week.”

I look up and smile. “Thanks, Seth.”

“Also, Eric is doing fine, but could you please tell him he doesn’t have to respond to every one of my texts with ‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir?’”

I stifle a grin. Freddie’s new assistant is incredibly competent and so nice. But he’s a little eager to please.

“A thumbs up would do just fine,” Seth continues.

“I’ll see if I can find a time to mention…” My words trail off because Adam, Leo, and Jace appear on the other side of Seth.

“Oh my gosh!” I step around Seth to give Adam and Jace hugs, since I don’t see them nearly as frequently as I do Leo.

It feels especially significant to see Jace since he lives in California and has the kids to think about.

He was just here last month. And now he’s here again. “What are you guys doing here?”

It’s a dumb question because it’s clear what they’re doing here. The stage manager is currently checking their wireless mics like they’re about to go on stage.

“Wait. You guys are singing?”

The members of Midnight Rush haven’t performed together in public since their reunion show last year.

Leo smiles. “Freddie wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it a secret from you.”

“ That’s why he didn’t want me around for soundcheck,” I say.

On stage, Freddie finishes a song, then waits for the cheers to quiet.

“Thank you,” he says. “I always appreciate the love. Nashville has been my home for the past decade, which is why I wanted to do something special for you all tonight. So I’ve invited a few friends—” Freddie has to pause because the cheer that erupts through the stadium is practically deafening.

“A few friends,” he finally continues, “to sing a very special song with me. You haven’t heard this one, but it’ll be on the next album.

And it was inspired by someone very special to me. ”

I lift a hand to my chest. I had no idea he was going to debut the song tonight, and the thought of hearing him sing it live has my heart in my throat.

“Please welcome to the stage the men who helped me become who I am today—Midnight Rush!”

I hold my breath as the guys run onstage. Leo sits down at the piano, and Adam and Jace settle onto stools on either side of Freddie while a roadie hands Freddie his guitar.

“This song is called ‘Golden Eyes,’” Freddie says. Then he looks off stage in my direction. “Ivy—you know it’s for you.”

I’m not sure I breathe for the entire song. By the time Freddie finishes, tears are streaming down my face, and I’m overwhelmed with a desperate need to kiss him. To let him see how much that song means to me.

So I do something I never thought I would do.

I hand Seth my iPad, then I run onto the stage.

Freddie doesn’t see me at first, but his fans do, and their cheers immediately intensify. Freddie looks around, like he knows something is up, then he sees me coming. He smiles wide, handing his guitar to Adam just in time to catch me when I launch myself into his arms.

He laughs as he hugs me to his chest. Whoever is running sound for the concert is thinking on their feet, because when Freddie looks down at me and says, “What are you doing?” I’m the only one who can hear him.

“I just wanted to say I love you,” I say. “And I love that song.”

He leans down and kisses me, eliciting another round of cheers. “I’ll write you a thousand more.” He tilts his head toward the audience. “But I’ve kind of got a show to finish.”

I laugh, then push up on my toes to kiss him one more time. “Sorry. I’m going now. Love you.”

Freddie turns back to the audience. “Well, that was fun,” he says, and everyone laughs and cheers again.

He and the rest of the guys sing a few more Midnight Rush songs, then he goes back to his regular set.

Eventually, I make my way up to the box to watch the end of the show with my family.

I rarely get to see Freddie perform from this vantage point—I’m always backstage—so it’s a treat to see the full scope of his performance.

The close-up camera shots that do such an incredible job of capturing his magnetism, his incredible talent.

I sit down next to Carina, and she loops her arm through mine. “Do you ever watch him performing and think ‘I get to make out with that man anytime I want’?”

I laugh. “This is the first time I’ve seen him perform since we got together, but yeah. I’m definitely thinking it now.”

“Oh! I wanted to show you something,” Carina says. She pulls out her phone. “Look who texted me today.”

I take her phone and read the message across the screen. It’s from Margot Valemont, of all people.

It’s brief. But it’s very clearly an apology. With a last line that reads Please tell Ivy and Freddie I’m happy for them and I wish them well.

“Wow,” I say. “I guess people change.”

Carina takes her phone and slips it back into her bag. “I read an article that says she’s going to rehab. I hope things get better for her.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”

I stay in the private box until the end of the show, then text Freddie, letting him know I’m riding back to the house with my family, and I’ll see him at home.

He has one final post-concert meet-and-greet with a collection of VIP fans who won a promotional thing through a local radio station, so it’ll be a while before he’s finished, and since my parents are leaving first thing in the morning, I want to soak up as much time with them as possible.

He gives my message a thumbs up, then sends a reply.

Freddie

Can we eat together when I get back?

Ivy

Sure. Thai food?

Freddie

I’m craving cheese curds.

Ivy

On it.

Practically speaking, I could let Freddie’s new assistant pick up two mushroom and Swiss burgers with fries and extra sides of cheese curds. But sometimes, it’s fun to do it just because I can.

Because taking care of Freddie makes me happy.

Because he’s mine to take care of in the first place.

Once we’re back at the house, I put Freddie’s food in the warming oven, then change into pajamas. My parents try to wait up for him, but they’ve got an early drive in the morning, so they head to bed, and Carina does the same.

When Freddie finally makes it home, I’m the only one still up, sitting at the kitchen island reading a book.

He leans down and presses a kiss to my lips. “Hi.”

He must have showered at the venue, because he’s clean and in fresh clothes. “Hi,” I say. “Are you hungry?” I stand, motioning for him to take my barstool, then I move around the island to retrieve our food.

I slide his across to him, then retrieve a water bottle from the fridge, opening it for him just like I always have in the past. I move around the island so I can sit down beside him, and he holds his hand up to take the bottle, like we’re doing a dance we’ve done a thousand times before.

As soon as the bottle is in his hands, he looks at me over his shoulder. “Marry me?” he says.

My first impulse is to roll my eyes. How many times has Freddie made this joke? But then I see his expression, and I freeze.

“What?”

He puts his water bottle down and spins to face me. “Marry me,” he says, his voice low.

I swallow against the knot forming in my throat. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs. “I did say the next time I asked you, I’d be asking for real.”

I take a steadying breath. “Freddie, it hasn’t even been two months since we made things official.”

“I know. But we’ve been working together—living together—for five years. We know everything there is to possibly know about each other. And we’re in love. What else do we need to know?”

I lift my hands to my cheeks and look into his eyes.

The logical side of my brain wants to protest. But he’s right.

We probably know each other better than most couples do when they get engaged.

This new part of our relationship doesn’t feel new so much as it feels like we finally clicked into what we were always meant to be .

“I can’t believe I’m going to say yes,” I whisper. “But okay. Let’s get married.”

He grins and tugs me forward, pulling me into his arms, where he kisses me long and slow.

“Did you plan this proposal?” I ask when he finally pulls away. “That’s why you asked for a burger? Because it’s your favorite thing to eat on the road?”

“I absolutely did.”

“What would you have done if I’d gone to bed and just left your food for you?”

He wrinkles his forehead like that’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. “The night I sing your song in front of a hundred thousand people, I felt pretty confident you wouldn’t just go to bed. ”

“So much confidence,” I say, sliding my hands up to his face. He’s still sitting, and I’m standing in the circle of his arms, bracketed by his legs on either side of me, so for once, I’m a little taller than he is. “When?” I ask.

He shrugs. “After the tour, so…next fall, maybe? When the weather is cool at the farm.”

“Because you want to get married at the farm?” I ask.

“I want to be the farm. You know how much I love that place.”

I do know, because in the last month, he’s convinced me to make the drive with him two more times.

He’s different there. More at peace. More connected to his music.

I haven’t minded the extra time at home.

It’s been nice to spend time with Carina, and we’ve had some great planning conversations about the foundation.

I lean down to kiss him again just because I can. “You should eat your food,” I whisper against his lips.

“I have one more thing to show you first,” he says.

“I don’t have a ring for you yet, because I know you, and I know you’ll want to pick it out.

But I wanted to do something to honor the commitment I feel to you, so…

” He puts his hands on my hips and shifts me forward, then tugs his t-shirt over his head.

It takes me a minute to find the new tattoo.

When I find it, I gasp. The skin is still a little red, so he must have gotten it today—maybe yesterday.

I lift a hand to the ivy vine that starts at his heart and trace it up and over the top of his shoulder to where it ends in between his shoulder blades.

“Freddie, it’s beautiful,” I say. The artwork really is exquisite. Perfectly shaded with just enough detail.

“It’s yours,” he says. He puts a hand over his heart. “ This is yours.”

All those years ago, when I randomly ran into Freddie Ridgefield in the women’s bathroom of his record label, I would have laughed at the suggestion that one day, I might find myself in Freddie Ridgefield’s kitchen, kissing him after accepting his perfectly delivered marriage proposal.

But here we are.

There are probably all kinds of reasons to consider this a risk.

But that’s just love, isn’t it?

As I stand in Freddie’s arms and feel the certainty of his kiss, the confidence of his embrace as he holds me, I know with perfect clarity.

For him, this risk will always be worth it.

Thank you for reading One More Made Up Love Song!