48. Overgrown （The vow）
OVERGROWN (THE VOW)
A few weeks passed.
The countdown to the concert was on the whiteboard now. Dates circled. Rehearsals stacked. Everything moved forward, whether they were ready or not.
Preston sat in the studio chair, headphones resting around his neck, the last track queued up. Mack was mid-interview, pacing, energized. The Cole Heart Tour wasn’t just a small event. Between the viral clips and Mack’s intentional leaks, the tour was now international.
“So, you’re officially done with the album,” Spring said as she steps in. “How do you feel?”
Preston leaned back, thinking. “Honestly? I miss the stage. I just don’t miss everything that comes with getting to the stage. Like, I start this tour and if it goes well, they’ll add dates.”
“That sounds like a good problem to have, babe.”
“It is, until they add more, and while I’m in some city in some hotel for the eighth month in a row, someone’s going to ask, ‘when’s the next album coming out?’ As if I had time to write or record while in New Jersey.”
Just then, Talia ran in and screamed, “Baby, Mack did it again.”
She screamed again and kissed her son on the cheek.
Preston shifted. “What?” he asked.
Mack smiled. “We just added three more cities to the tour. That’s twenty-nine total. They can’t get enough of Preston Cole.” He clapped Preston on the shoulder. “Proud of you, Superstar.” He turned to Spring. “Congrats, by the way. I heard about the Obama project.”
Spring nodded politely, still in that professional posture that had become second nature.
“Alright, I’ll go make some phone calls, you go be great. Both of you.”
Talia jumped on Mack’s back as he carried her out of the studio.
When they left, the two of them exhaled.
Preston turned to her, not yet processing what had just happened. “The album… I had the most incredible time making it. Like, pure joy. No pressure. No expectations. Just music.”
She smiled softly. “I could feel that.”
“And now,” he continued, “as you just heard, they booked a twenty-nine-city tour.”
Her smile faded. Spring folded her arms, journalist brain still on. “That was quick.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s always quick... and I guess that’s a good thing,”
She studied him. “But?”
“But that part – the making it – that was the happiest I’ve been.” He sighed. “Everything after feels like something I’m supposed to want.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s how it gets to you. That’s where it starts.”
He watched her closely. “You still in professional mode?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“Can we not do that today?” he asks gently. “Just… me and you.”
Spring exhaled. “Okay. Whatever you want.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s all starting. And if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I like it.”
She softened. “Off the record?”
“Always.”
She looked down at her hands. “I should be excited about the Obama project. Anyone would be. But every time I think about it, I get nauseous.”
He nodded. “I feel that.” A moment passed. “What if,” he suggested quietly, “today we don’t think?”
She looked up.
“What if today is just ours?” he continued. “No future. No strategy. No momentum. Just us.”
“Are you talking about a Justice League mission?”
“No doors to jimmy rig, that’ll make it easier to get away from it all.”
She considered it. Then she smiled – her unguarded one. “Okay,” she agreed. “Today is ours.”
They sat there, close enough to feel each other breathe, choosing – just for one day – not to be pulled apart by everything waiting outside the room. After a spell, they got in his car and headed in no direction in particular, just as far as the road would take them.
Eventually, they found themselves in Galveston, where they spent the day, like time never learned how to move forward.
They went to the Pier and relived moments of their youth that their hearts needed. Games. Laughing too loud. Losing on purpose just to win stupid prizes. The kind of joy that snuck up on you because you weren’t trying to be happy – you just were.
It reminded Spring of high school in a way that didn’t ache. The ease of it, the innocence, the way being together used to feel like a complete sentence.
At one point, she leaned into him while they waited for funnel cake, his arm around her shoulders, solid and familiar, and it hit her: she’d always felt safest here.
Not in buildings or plans or success, but in his arms. The world grew quieter when he was close, like it knew better than to interrupt.
Around midday, they were standing watching the waves crash onto the shore.
“This was needed,” she said softly, watching the ocean. “Getting away from everything… it’s perfect.”
Preston nodded. “Yeah.”
But then she noticed them.
Phones lifting. Whispers. A couple of people staring too long.
Cameras.
She exhaled. “Okay. Not perfect.”
He groaned, spotting them too. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
He was about to go sign autographs when she stopped him. She smiled, already thinking. “There’s one place we can go where nobody’s gonna bother us.”
He looked at her. “Where on Earth is that?”
She grabbed his keys out of his pocket and took hold of his hand. “Get in the car.”
He said nothing as he jumped in the passenger seat.
The drive was quiet and easy, the kind where the road hummed beneath you and the past rode shotgun. When the sign came into view, Preston glanced over. “Beaumont?”
She nodded.
He looked back out of the window, taking in the small town.
They pulled into Beaumont just as the afternoon started to soften. The air was warmer here, heavier somehow, like it carried memory instead of noise. Spring parked and left the engine running longer than necessary.
And sure enough, the boudin festival was alive. Music, smoke curling into the air, kids running around barefoot, folding chairs. Laughter that didn’t care who you were online.
People recognized Spring, but not as Spring Greene .
They recognized her as home .
“Hey, baby!”
“Look at you!”
“Come eat!”
Nobody asked for photos. Nobody whispered. They just hugged her, teased her, fed her, remembered her.
Preston watched it all, quiet and observant, until he realized something else.
They treat him like family, too. Not famous. Not important. Just hers .
Spring looked around, emotion catching her off-guard. “This is what it feels like,” she said in awe. “When it’s real.”
He nodded. “You know, when we did this the first time, everyone told us we were young, but I knew it then: you are all I ever wanted, Nairobi Ellison.”
She turned to him, voice steady but eyes full. “I love you. And I don’t ever want to be apart from you. My gut’s been telling me for years that you’ve always been my person. I don’t want what’s coming next to pull us apart.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Then let’s get married.”
She laughed at first, short, disbelieving. “That’s crazy.”
“Why is it crazy? You just said you don’t want the world to pull us apart. Let’s make sure of it.”
“Preston, the ink ain’t even dry on my divorce yet. And you want?—”
“I want you to look in my eyes, search your heart. Look at mine – forget what society says, forget our parents, forget the world. I could fight a thousand armies with you by my side – without you, none of it matters.”
He smiled. He took a piece of gum out of his pocket and threw it away. Using the foil wrapper, he made a makeshift ring and got down on one knee. “I guess what I’m saying is, Nairobi Spring Ellison…
You mean everything to me
I mean everything you see
You’re the type of girl to make a man drop to one knee
And say baby, marry me, please, baby, marry me
Because one thing is true
I’m just half of me, when I’m not with you.”
“You know that was dirty,” she scolded, tears in her eyes.
“That isn’t an answer.”
She looked around – the music, the food, the people who loved her without condition. She thought about how every time she tried to plan her life, it pulled her away from the only place she’d ever felt whole.
She touched her necklace twice out of habit, and looked into his eyes.
Living in the moment suddenly didn’t feel so reckless. It felt right.
“I’ve never loved anyone more. Let’s get married,” she exclaimed.
He stood up and lifted her in the air, kissing her passionately.
They looked at the time, and headed to the local courthouse. They found a Justice of the Peace before the sun thought about setting.
No spectacle. No cameras. Just vows spoken like truths they’d known forever.
By the time the day was done, they were no longer best friends, no longer lovers, no longer soulmates. They were husband and wife.
And as Spring leaned into Preston that night, surrounded by laughter and music and home, she knew – without question – she had never been happier.