Chapter 28
Winnie
The Rustwood Room glows like a vintage postcard and my excitement for tonight is unmatched. Granted, the highlight of the night will be a surprise proposal but that’s not the only thing that has me bouncing in my skin the way Buttermilk hops around the house.
It’s hard to describe, but something changed between me and Lucky the night before last. Starting with the most epically romantic date in the owner’s suite at the arena to the sex that gave me a transcendental, out-of-body experience.
For the first time, I feel completely comfortable in his world.
We’re meeting his teammates—friends, really—and I’ve been invited to join the celebration of a newly engaged couple.
I don’t feel nervous or out of place among them, and I’ve never felt more secure by Lucky’s side.
We step into the Rustwood, hand in hand.
It’s all low lights and dark wood, exposed beams and cozy booths tucked into shadowy corners.
The kind of place where stories get told, where slow jazz used to play before a renovation made room for open mic nights and whiskey flights.
Tonight, Edison lights hang overhead, and the small circular stage is set with two mic stands and two stools.
Around the stage are groupings of velvet-covered couches and deep chairs.
It smells like old leather, good bourbon and something sweet from the kitchen.
While we’ll hear some amazing music, this is the night Foster proposes to Mazzy, and I’m giddy to witness it. I never expected my pragmatic self to devolve into a closet romantic, but there you have it.
The entire team wasn’t invited, only Foster’s closest mates, and they’re all sitting in a grouping of couches and chairs near the stage.
Penn and Mila sit at the far end of a couch with Atlas next to them, nursing a drink and looking tired but present.
Farren and North wave us over to a set of chairs around a low table, already settled in with King and Willa, who look blissfully tipsy.
Tempe’s back in from college for the weekend, and she’s sitting in Rafferty’s lap, his arms wound possessively around her.
Foster is sitting on a love seat next to a little girl I assume to be his daughter, Bowie Jane. She’s all curls and oversized headphones as she plays something on an iPad. Her jean jacket is decorated with glittery pins.
Lucky fist-bumps the men and I hug the women before he pulls me down onto a love seat across from Foster and Bowie Jane.
“Where’s Mazzy?” I ask, looking around for her.
“Probably in the back with Leo getting ready.” Lucky had told me that Leo is a close friend of Mazzy’s as well as her singing partner.
I loop my arm through his. “And she has no clue this is going down?”
“Not a clue.” He leans in, warm breath brushing my ear.
“This is pretty amazing,” I murmur, looking around.
“Every woman deserves this,” Lucky says in an almost offhanded way. “The whole damn crowd looking on while the guy tells the world he’s all in.”
I can’t speak. My throat’s tight, heart full. I don’t even think he realizes that such words have the potential to explode ovaries.
He frowns, his thumb brushing mine. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just… happy for them.”
And I am. But there’s also this soft ache in my chest, this weightless hope fluttering under my ribs like maybe, someday, that kind of gesture might belong to me too.
A waitress comes by and takes drink orders and returns so efficiently with them, I suspect she’s magic.
“Think I have time to use the restroom before she comes out?” I ask Lucky.
“Yes, but even if she starts before you get back, he’s not going to drop the question until after her set. No need to rush.”
I lean in and smack a quick peck on his cheek and then head toward the back of the building where I saw signs for the bathrooms.
The hallway is dim, lined with framed photos of indie singers. The bathroom itself is small, just a sink and two stalls with both doors closed, so I settle in to wait.
Two women walk in behind me—early thirties, perfect hair and heels that click against the tile like punctuation on a typewriter.
I smile at them.
They stare back at me with wide eyes and I know right away they recognize me. What’s worse, they don’t say a word, which means they’re not one of my regular fans because those people are not hesitant to walk right up and hug me.
One stall door opens and a frazzled waitress comes out, sidestepping me to get to the sink. I enter the stall and the minute the lock snicks into place, I hear one of the women. “Oh my God. That’s the girl on TikTok doing the dating experiment with Lucky Branson.”
The other lady snorts. “You mean the one pretending to be average so she can date Lucky Branson.”
My face burns as I listen to them. They don’t even try to be subtle. They mean for me to hear them.
“It’s so tacky.”
“She’s clearly using him. No way he actually likes her.”
“Delusional.”
Their words pause as the stall next to me opens.
One of the women enters it and it gets me into motion.
I quickly pee and then exit the stall with my head down, knowing the other woman is still free-ranging in the bathroom.
There’s not a lot of room, so I turn sideways to step past her and nearly stumble when she whispers, “TikTok whore.”
“What the fuck did you just call her?” a pissed-as-hell voice I recognize says, and my head pops up to see Farren standing right inside the door. Her eyes meet mine and then flick to the woman who’s stopped in her tracks, the stall door half open.
“I didn’t say anything,” the woman says dismissively and walks into the stall, closing it behind her. I hear her soft laughter as I wash my hands.
Farren watches as I dry them as quickly as I can and then I dart past her, humiliated she witnessed that.
She follows me out of the restroom, grabbing my wrist to halt me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say breezily with a broad smile as fake as those women’s boobs. “Just a fan club misunderstanding.”
Farren’s gaze is unwavering and I can see her calling bullshit deep in her eyes.
“I’m fine,” I repeat. “It goes with the territory. Already forgotten.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly, a little relief in her expression as she releases my arm. “But if you want… I can go kick their asses. My brother taught me a thing or two about brawling.”
I laugh and touch her arm. “No, really. It’s fine. But thank you for the offer. I might take you up on it if my lunch gets stolen out of the teacher fridge one more time.”
Farren grins and turns back toward the bathroom as I’m guessing she was there to pee before she heard all that. I suspect she’ll say something to the women, but I’ll be far away.
I’m glad the lounge is dim because I still feel the heat in my face and the nausea of extreme embarrassment in my stomach. No one has ever called me a name like that before and I don’t know why it shames me, but it does.
I settle down next to Lucky, who’s talking to Rafferty seated perpendicular to us.
I listen quietly as they discuss the merits of compression sleeves versus superstition, as if either one’s the reason the puck finds the net.
Then the lights go even dimmer and a spotlight shines on the stage. Lucky angles toward me and curls an arm around my shoulders. Thunderous clapping erupts as Mazzy and a very good-looking guy I assume is Leo take the stage.
They move with relaxed confidence, each grabbing a stool and adjusting their mics. Leo slings his guitar over his shoulder while Mazzy scans the room, clearly at home under the lights.
She leans forward, smile easy and warm. “Hey y’all—I’m Mazzy and this is Leo, one of my favorite people to sing with.”
Leo leans forward, mouth near his mic, and in a deep voice, rumbles, “I’m the only person you sing with.”
She doesn’t spare him a glance but chuckles. “That’s true. So we’re gonna play some songs you might know, maybe a few you don’t, and if anything makes you want to cry into your cocktail or call your ex—just know that’s on you, not us.”
A ripple of laughter travels through the room. I glance at Foster, see him staring up at Mazzy with pure adoration. But it’s Bowie Jane, on her knees, bouncing with excitement as she claps for Mazzy that has me all up in my feels.
“If you’ve got a request,” she adds, “scribble it down on a napkin, drop it up here, and we’ll see what we can do. No guarantees, but if you bribe Leo with compliments, he’s a sucker for flattery.”
Leo chuckles, already picking out the first few notes of a warm-up.
Mazzy winks at the crowd. “All right, let’s get to it.”
The room settles as they begin their first song—something soft and moody, the kind of melody that wraps around you slow and steady.
The stage begins a gentle spin, and for a minute, I don’t understand what I’m seeing.
Then I realize… it’s a circular platform that slowly rotates, giving every corner of the bar a front-row view of the performance once it turns their way.
And beside me, Lucky’s hand squeezes my shoulder again.
I lean my head onto him and let the embarrassment of that bathroom confrontation flow out of me.
Mazzy is radiant. Effortless. Her voice floats through the room like silk and Leo adds enough grit to her harmony that I’m sure he melts women’s panties everywhere.
They sing two covers—both bluesy and warm—and then Mazzy settles her guitar on her lap and says, “This next one’s original.
I wrote it for someone who once made me believe in the best version of myself. And now he’s stuck with her.”
Another round of laughter floats through the room. Mazzy handles this one alone, the spotlight on Leo dimming. He sits quietly on his stool in the shadows so she’s the focus.
Foster watches her like she’s the sun, and as I listen to the lyrics, I realize it’s their love story. A lump tightens my throat, and glancing around, I see the emotion on all my new friends’ faces.
When the last note recedes, Foster rises from the couch. His movement catches Mazzy’s attention and she blinks in surprise as he advances on her.
“I thought he was waiting until their set was done?” I whisper to Lucky. Because that was the loose game plan.
He chuckles. “I’m guessing that song accelerated the schedule.”
Mazzy looks around, confused when he steps onstage. Leo stays in the shadows, the spotlight now on the couple.
The bar goes silent.
Foster reaches for the mic stand and adjusts the height upward. I hold my breath, giddy with anticipation.
“Check, check,” he says, and laughter cuts the silence. “Hi, everyone… sorry for this interruption in what is the best music you’ll ever hear.” Someone wolf-whistles from the back. “But if you’ll indulge me.”
Mazzy leans forward, her brow furrowed, and she hisses loud enough that the microphone picks it up. “What are you doing?”
“Mazzy,” he says, ignoring her question, eyes locked on hers as the room hushes around them. “I’ve been turning this over in my head for weeks, trying to find the perfect words. But the truth is, the feeling’s always been simple.”
He pulls the ring box from his pocket, still closed, cradled carefully in his hand, but several people gasp. Mazzy’s mouth falls open in astonishment, her eyes bouncing between Foster and what’s held in his palm.
“I fell in love with you,” he continues, and her eyes snap back up.
“And the reasons are too many to count. I love the way you sing, the way your laughter fills a room, and the way you love Bowie Jane like she’s your own.
I love how you show up, every single day, with that big heart and even bigger voice, and somehow make the world feel steadier just by being in it. ”
He draws in a breath, his voice soft but certain.
“You didn’t simply walk into my life—you brought light with you. Music. Joy. A kind of peace I didn’t even know I was missing until you gave it to me. And now, I don’t want a single version of the future that doesn’t have you in it.”
He opens the box, revealing a ring that glints under the spotlight. My heart hammers at how this is all unfolding. It’s romance on steroids.
“So, I’m asking, right here, in front of everyone so you can’t say no—will you marry me, Mazzy Archer?”
The room explodes. Applause. Whistles. Mazzy gasps, starts to say something, but his fingertips press her lips shut. “Wait a minute before you say a word. I have one more thing.”
She frowns at him, tries to speak, and he puts his entire hand over her mouth. Turning back to Bowie Jane, he motions her up. When Mazzy sees her, she practically melts as her gaze softens. Foster’s hand falls away.
Bowie Jane bounds up onto the stage, unbuttons her jean jacket and spreads it wide. Everyone starts laughing as they see written in red sparkles, Please Say Yes!
Mazzy’s eyes turn liquid and she nods as tears slip free. She launches off the stool into Foster’s arms and they both pull Bowie Jane in. Mazzy puts her mouth near his ear as she hugs him tight and then Foster leans into the mic and says, “She said yes!”
The place goes wild. More cheers erupt and I’m clapping so hard my palms sting. I glance back at Lucky and he winks at me. “Pretty awesome, right?”
“So awesome,” I say, turning back to watch the spectacle.
Foster slides the ring on her finger and I look around, blinking back tears. Mila’s openly sobbing. Penn has her tucked into his chest. Even Atlas is misty-eyed.
Lucky leans in and presses a kiss to my temple. “Best proposal I’ve ever seen.”
“Me too,” I say softly.
He doesn’t say anything else. Just keeps his arm around me, grounding me. And I let myself melt into it.
And I manage to forget about the nastiness from those women, convinced more than ever that I’m meant to be with Lucky.