The scent of her shampoo. The chill in the air. The bass thrumming through our bones. Her hand tangled with mine.
It all feels surreal.
“I used to dream about this,” I murmur against her temple. “Not the stage. Not the crowd. Just this. You, here, with me.”
She looks up at me, eyes shining in the wash of colored lights. “Yeah?”
I nod, swallowing the emotion building behind my ribs. “Every city. Every sleepless night. Every song. I pictured you at the end of it.”
She doesn’t say anything right away. She just squeezes my hand and leans back into me like she feels it too. Like she knows.
The music changes again—slower now, a ballad rolling over the crowd, and I swear it’s like the universe is giving me a beat to fall into. A moment to make something permanent.
My fingers twitch toward my guitar case in the distance, toward the ring hidden inside. Platinum band, custom cut black diamond, lyrics from the first song I ever wrote about her engraved in tiny script inside the band.
The music shifts again—slow, sultry, threaded with a steady beat that seems to slow the whole world down with it. Lights scatter across the field like fireflies caught in rhythm, and I swear, it feels like the festival is holding its breath just for us.
I glance down at her—her cheeks are flushed from the cold, lips parted just slightly, her fingers still woven with mine.
“Dance with me?” I ask, voice low against her ear.
She tilts her head, looking up at me with a lazy, knowing smile. “Here?”
I nod, brushing a curl from her face. “Right here. Right now.”
She laughs quietly, but she’s already rising to her feet, tugging me up with her. I pull her close, my hands settling on her waist as hers find their way around my neck. The moment we start moving, slow and easy, the rest of the world disappears.
We’re not standing in the middle of a festival anymore.
We’re somewhere only we exist.
Her body molds to mine, like we were made to move this way together. I rest my forehead against hers as we sway under the strobe-soft glow of lights breaking through the night. The scent of sugar and smoke drifts through the air, mixing with the sound of the crowd’s distant cheers, but all I hear is her breath syncing with mine.
The lights shimmer off her hair, her skin, her eyes. She’s the only thing in focus.
I brush my lips against her temple, voice quiet. “I think maybe I’ve been holding on this whole time… just waiting for it to be you.”
She stills, just for a breath.
Then her fingers curl into the fabric at my shoulders like she needs to hold on too.
“You’ve got me,” she whispers.
And God, I do. I have her.
But more than that—I want forever.
And in that moment, holding her in the middle of a city that’s still cheering for the last band, I almost say it.
Marry me.
The walk back to the villa is slow, quiet. The kind of quiet that settles deep, like a slow burn after a high-voltage set. Mac’s tucked close to my side, her laughter warm against my shoulder when I murmur into her ear, “I love you.”
Her hand in mine—steady, familiar—feels like something I’ll never want to let go of.
We’re almost there when Trey comes barreling toward us from the shadows, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Tattoo tent!” he shouts, sliding to a stop like his boots are on fire. “Told you I saw it earlier!”
