Chapter 10
SIX MONTHS LATER
I stood in our backyard—our backyard, with a garden I was slowly killing—watching Cole and Decker set up for a show.
Garbage lounged on the patio in a patch of sunlight, his bow tie from the engagement party still tucked in his collar like a trophy.
Salem perched on the fence, black tail swishing, tolerating the chaos with typical feline disdain.
He still hissed at me, but he loved Cole.
We’d adopted them both the week we moved in together. Eli pretended to be sad about losing his “favorite chaos agent,” but I’d caught him crying when we loaded Garbage into the car.
They’d started the “Porch Sessions” which featured live music in our backyard. It had exploded.
The shows sold out in minutes. Music bloggers drove from all over to cover them. NPR had done a piece about the “new model” for country music—artists choosing community over constant touring, building sustainable careers that didn’t destroy their personal lives.
The album had still gone platinum. Cole had still appeared on morning shows and award ceremonies. But he did it from a home base. From Asheville. From the life we’d built together.
Brynn emerged from the house carrying chairs; Decker immediately rushed over to take them from her.
“I can carry chairs, you know.”
“I know. But I’m a gentleman.”
“You’re a dork.”
“Your dork.”
They’d moved into a loft downtown a month ago, all exposed brick and floor-to-ceiling windows.
Brynn had cut back her hours at the firm and started taking on more pro bono work that she actually cared about.
Decker started teaching drums at a local music school, kids from low-income families who couldn’t afford private lessons.
Both Decker and Cole were hired studio musicians on the side.
They were happy. Disgustingly happy.
Eli appeared from the kitchen with a tray of drinks. “The rescue board just emailed us. They approved the expansion. We’re officially adding the new section next month. It’s crazy how we went from almost closing to almost thriving.”
“Really?” I grabbed him, hugged him tight. “Eli, that’s amazing.”
“We raised enough from the last three Porch Sessions to cover half of it. The BluePaw Foundation grant covered the rest.” He grinned. “Turns out your boyfriend’s concerts are very lucrative for homeless animals.”
Faith had texted me pictures last week from her latest tour stop, a sold-out arena in Texas. Living the dream, she’d written. But I miss you guys. Come visit soon?
We’d promised we would come to The Sullivan Brothers show next month in Charlotte.
The rescue had expanded beyond what I’d ever imagined.
We’d hired two more staff members which allowed me to go to Cole’s shows on the road.
Saved over a hundred and fifty animals in the past six months.
The new hires took over the administrative work, freeing Eli and I to focus on the actual animals, the actual saving.
Cole and Decker’s music had grown into something uniquely theirs—a blend of traditional country and modern storytelling, rooted in community instead of chasing fame.
They’d even started a small record label for local artists, giving them the support and resources to build sustainable careers without the soul-crushing grind.
“You ready for tonight?” Cole asked, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“Always.”
“Good. Because I have something planned.”
“What kind of something?”
“You’ll see.”
The show started at sunset. Fifty people crammed into our backyard, sitting on blankets and folding chairs, drinks in hand, and the smell of barbecue from our neighbor’s grill mixing with the jasmine I’d planted along the fence.
Cole and Decker played the songs everyone loved. They’d brought in a local musician named Maya with a voice like honey and bourbon, and Mark, who played guitar. Her presence was a perfect fit.
But then, after an hour, Cole set down his bass.
“So,” he said to the crowd. “I wrote a new song. Haven’t played it for anyone yet. It’s… special.”
Mark grabbed an acoustic guitar and stood off to the side.
“Autumn, can you come up here?”
My stomach flipped. “What?”
“Come here. Please.”
Brynn pushed me forward. I stumbled onto the makeshift stage, which was our patio marked off with string lights.
Cole pulled me close, whispered, “Trust me.”
He started playing.
The song was beautiful. Raw. About second chances, choosing love, and building a life with someone who made you braver than you’d ever thought possible.
“I found courage in your eyes
Found home in your arms
Found a life worth living
In the space between your heartbeats.”
My chest tightened.
“So let me love you
Every morning, every night
Let me build a life with you
That’s worth the fight.”
And then, in the middle of the second verse, he got down on one knee.
The crowd gasped.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Autumn Marie Winters,” he said, pulling a ring from his pocket. “You saved me from a life half-lived. From forgetting that the best songs are about love, and the best love is the kind you fight for. Will you marry me?”
Tears streamed down my face. “Yes. God, yes.”
He slipped the ring on my finger—simple, elegant, perfect—and kissed me while our friends erupted in cheers.
Garbage barked, confused by the noise.
Brynn sobbed into Decker’s shoulder.
Eli yelled, “FINALLY!”
And Cole whispered against my mouth, “I love you. Always.”
“Always,” I promised.
Because that’s what we’d built. Not a fairy tale. Not a perfect story.
Just two people who chose each other. Every day.
Despite the complications, the fear, and the very real challenges of building a life together, we chose each other.
And that made everything worth it.