The terrace was bathed in golden morning light as Georg, the Baroness, and Uncle Max sat for tea, the gentle clink of fine porcelain filling the air. The mountains stood tall in the distance, an unshakable fortress of beauty, yet the world beyond them was shifting, darkening.

It was then that the hum of bicycle wheels cut through the tranquility. Rolf, dressed in his crisp telegram uniform, pedaled up the path with an air of self-importance, his blond hair neatly combed, his posture stiff as he dismounted. With a carefully measured efficiency, he pulled a telegram from his satchel and approached the terrace.

"Telegram for Herr Detweiler," he announced, holding it out for Uncle Max.

Max accepted it with a casual flourish, raising a brow. "Ah, fan mail, I assume. Or a demand for overdue debts—one never knows with these things." He tore it open, scanning the words with his usual half-amused, half-wary expression.

Rolf lingered, shifting on his feet before turning to Georg. "Herr Captain," he said, his voice carrying an air of forced politeness. "I—" His hesitation lasted only a second. "I saw Liesl in town the other day. She seemed well."

Georg's eyes snapped to him, cold and sharp as steel. The warmth of the morning faded from his expression entirely.

"That will be quite enough," he said, his tone clipped and unmistakably final.

Rolf blinked, looking briefly caught off guard, but then straightened his posture with that arrogant, practiced stance he had adopted since aligning himself with those fools. "Sir, I only meant—"

"I know exactly what you meant," Georg cut him off, standing from his chair, towering over the boy. "And I suggest you leave. Now."

For the briefest moment, something flickered in Rolf's expression—hesitation? Uncertainty? Then, with a sharp nod, he stepped back, raising his hand in that despicable salute. "Heil Hitler."

It was barely out of his mouth before Georg took a step forward, his face dark with unfiltered fury. "Get out!" His voice rang with such force that even the Baroness startled.

Rolf, eyes wide, scrambled onto his bicycle and pedaled away down the path.

A tense silence settled over the terrace, broken only by the distant birdsong. The Baroness sighed and, with the utmost care, set her teacup down. "Georg," she began, ever the voice of cool reason, "he is just a boy."

Georg exhaled sharply through his nose, still standing rigid, his hands clenching into fists. "That's the problem," he said, his voice like flint striking steel. "A boy who already bends his knee to tyrants and thugs."

The Baroness crossed her legs, tilting her head as she studied him. "You could make things easier for yourself, you know," she murmured. "The world is changing. This is the new reality."

"I will never back down to idiots and fools," Georg said, his voice low, unshakable. "Not now. Not ever."

Uncle Max, who had remained silent through most of the exchange, finally let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, at least they'll know where to find you when they come knocking," he quipped, pouring himself another cup of tea. "Honestly, Georg, if you insist on antagonizing the entire Third Reich before lunch, I'd appreciate at least a little warning. I could've ordered something stronger than tea."

The Baroness exhaled, picking up her cup again, her expression unreadable. "You're a man of principles," she said, almost as though it were a burden. "But principles don't stop the tide."

"Then I'll build a dam," Georg countered without hesitation.

Max gave a light, dry clap. "Brilliant. And when they blow it to smithereens, I shall be sure to write your eulogy. Something poetic, I promise."

Georg ignored him, his gaze still locked on the path where Rolf had disappeared. His jaw was tight, his entire being burning with anger, with loathing—for the boy, for what he represented, and for the storm he knew was coming.

The Baroness took another sip of tea, then looked out at the mountains. "You always were a stubborn man, Georg."

"And you always knew that," he replied.

She hummed in agreement. "That, I did."

The sun rose bright and golden over the Austrian hills, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of grass and wildflowers as Liesl and her siblings excitedly prepared for their morning ride. Maria, ever patient, helped the younger ones get settled while Johnny stood by, adjusting the saddle on one of the horses with practiced ease.

Gretel, the smallest of them all, had insisted on riding with Johnny, her little hands clutching the front of the saddle as she sat in front of him on his horse. She looked so tiny, her blonde curls bouncing with excitement.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, cowgirl?" Johnny teased with a grin, holding the reins steady.

Gretel nodded eagerly, her blue eyes wide with excitement. "I'm very brave!" she declared.

Johnny chuckled. "I don't doubt it for a second."

As the group set off, the horses moved at a steady pace along the dirt path leading into the hills. Liesl rode beside Maria, feeling more confident on horseback with each passing day. The morning air was filled with the sound of hooves, laughter, and the occasional squeal from Gretel, who was absolutely delighted by the way Johnny's horse moved beneath them.

"You know," Johnny said at one point, looking down at Gretel with amusement, "I think you might just be the littlest rider I've ever had."

Gretel puffed out her chest proudly. "Then I must be the best little rider too!"

The others laughed, and even Maria shook her head with a smile. "Well, she certainly has the confidence for it."

As they rode, Johnny shared more stories—tales of the land he came from, of wide-open plains and deep forests, of rivers so vast they seemed like endless mirrors of the sky. The children listened in awe, hanging onto every word.

"Did you ever ride wild horses?" Kurt asked, his face full of wonder.

Johnny nodded. "A few times. But it's not as easy as it sounds. You have to earn a horse's trust before you can ride it, especially if it's never known a saddle."

Gretel, still completely in awe of Johnny, looked up at him and asked, "Do you think I could ride a wild horse?"

Johnny grinned. "If anyone could, it'd be you, cowgirl."

The morning ride stretched on, full of warmth, laughter, and the growing bond between them all. And though Liesl couldn't quite put it into words, she felt something different today—something like freedom, like she belonged not just in her home, but out here, in the wide open world, surrounded by people who truly saw her.

The town was bustling with life as Liesl, Maria, Johnny, and the children rode in on horseback, the cobbled streets filled with merchants setting up their stalls, the scent of fresh bread and roasted nuts lingering in the air. The sound of cheerful greetings and the occasional chime of a bell from a passing tram made the whole scene feel alive, warm, and the children and Maria rode into town, the air was crisp with the scent of pine drifting from the mountains, and the cobbled streets bustled with morning energy. The children chattered excitedly about what they would buy for the ball, their horses trotting steadily down the winding path toward the market.

Liesl felt a giddy sort of happiness—until she saw him.

Rolfe.

He stood near his bicycle, adjusting his cap, the sharp lines of his uniform giving him an air of authority beyond his years. The moment their eyes met, a flicker of something passed between them—something familiar, warm even, but shadowed by an unspoken weight.

"Liesl," he greeted with a smirk, his hands resting casually on his hips. "Out for a morning ride?"

She nodded, feeling that same old thrill she always had when he spoke to her. "We're gathering things for the ball."

"A grand event for the Baroness," he mused. His voice was smooth, charming as always, but there was something else beneath it—a calculated edge, like he was measuring every word before he spoke. "You must be excited."

Liesl flushed. "Yes, of course."

Rolfe's eyes flicked to Johnny, who had slowed his horse beside Liesl, watching the exchange with quiet scrutiny.

"Who's this?" Rolfe asked, tilting his head.

"Johnny," Liesl answered before Maria could interject. "He's a—"

"A friend," Johnny said, his voice calm but firm.

Rolfe's smirk twitched. "An American?"

Johnny didn't answer right away. His blue eyes met Rolfe's with a level stare, his easy-going nature replaced with something unreadable, something sharp.

Rolfe gave a small, knowing nod and then turned his attention back to Liesl, his expression softening again. "You look well, Liesl," he said smoothly. "I've missed seeing you."

Liesl smiled shyly, but Johnny noticed the way Rolfe leaned ever so slightly toward her, the way his voice lowered just enough to make it feel like a secret meant only for her.

"Shouldn't you be off delivering telegrams?" Johnny asked, the words light but the meaning beneath them weighted.

Rolfe barely acknowledged him, his focus still on Liesl. "I could stay a moment longer."

Maria cleared her throat, guiding her horse forward. "We mustn't dawdle, children. There's much to do."

Rolfe straightened and smirked once more. "Of course. Don't let me keep you." He gave Liesl a lingering glance. "I'll see you at the ball."

Liesl's heart fluttered, but as they rode on, Johnny kept a steady gaze on Rolfe in the distance, watching as the boy adjusted his cap and hopped back on his bicycle, riding toward the villa at an easy pace.

"That fella's trouble," Johnny muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Liesl turned to him, frowning. "Rolfe isn't trouble. You don't even know him."

Johnny sighed. "I know enough to tell when a man's got a silver tongue and bad intentions."

Liesl bristled. "He's not like that. He's just… he's just trying to figure things out."

Johnny didn't press her. He just gave a small nod and looked ahead, but something about Rolfe, about the way he spoke to Liesl, about the uniform he wore so easily, left a bad taste in his mouth.

As they reached the town square, the children cheered and urged their horses forward, already eager to buy sweets and decorations. But for Johnny, that uneasy feeling lingered.

Maria, ever the responsible one, kept a careful list in hand, while the children, excited for the grand ball, were already pointing in every direction, chattering about what they wanted to see first.

"We should go to Herr Goldmann's bakery first!" Liesl announced, nudging Johnny's arm. "You've never tasted his honey cakes, have you?"

"Can't say I have," Johnny admitted, adjusting his hat. "But I ain't ever been one to turn down a good dessert." As soon as they stepped inside, a balding man with kind eyes and flour dusting his apron beamed at them.

"Ah, the von Trapp children! And Fräulein Maria! A pleasure as always!" He wiped his hands on his apron before shaking Maria's hand warmly. "And who is this fine gentleman?"

"This is Johnny," Liesl introduced with a proud smile. "He's from America."

Herr Goldmann's eyes twinkled with curiosity. "America? Then you must try my apple strudel! The best in Salzburg, I guarantee it."

Johnny tipped his hat. "Well, if it's got your word on it, I reckon I'd be a fool to pass it up."

With that, the baker handed them samples of the warm, cinnamon-scented pastry. The moment Johnny took a bite, his eyes widened in delight.

"Well, I'll be damned—pardon my language," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "This is about the best thing I've had in years."

The children laughed, and Friedrich, his mouth full, nodded enthusiastically. "I told you, Johnny! Herr Goldmann is a magician with pastries!"

"Only because I have good people to bake for," Herr Goldmann said with a wink before turning to Maria. "Now, tell me, what shall I prepare for the ball?"

As Maria discussed the order of cakes, cookies, and bread, Liesl grabbed Johnny's arm and pulled him toward the counter.

"You have to try the Sacher torte next," she insisted. "It's a chocolate cake, but not just any chocolate cake—thechocolate cake of Austria."

Johnny smirked. "Are you just lookin' for an excuse to make me eat everything in this shop?"

Liesl grinned mischievously. "Maybe." As the chocolate-fueled chaos unfolded in the bakery, Johnny leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching the scene with mild amusement. The children were practically staging a coup over the Sachertorte, Gretl clutching her slice like a prized jewel while Kurt and Friedrich bickered over who had the bigger piece.

Herr Goldmann threw up his hands in mock despair. "This is not a wild hunt, children, it is a bakery!"

Johnny smirked. "You sure about that? 'Cause from where I'm standing, this looks like a battlefield."

Herr Goldman chuckled. "And yet, not a crumb will go to waste."

Maria sighed, hands on her hips. "One slice each, no exceptions."

The children groaned but obeyed, though not without some huffing. Liesl, suppressing a laugh, slid a slice toward Johnny. "You'd better try it before someone declares war over the last piece."

Johnny took a slow, thoughtful bite of the Sachertorte and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well," he mused, "I was going to say this is the best thing I've eaten in Austria, but I'd hate to start another fight."

Liesl grinned. "Smart man."

As they gathered their supplies and stepped back onto the bustling street, the warmth of the bakery lingered. But Johnny, ever perceptive, glanced at Liesl and noticed a subtle shift in her expression—like a shadow passing over the sun.

"Hey," he said lightly, bumping her shoulder. "You all right?"

Liesl hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Just… thinking."

Johnny didn't push, but as they walked on, the laughter of the children still ringing in the air, a part of him couldn't shake the feeling that something was weighing on her. And whatever it was, it wasn't just about cake.

Herr Klaus, the town's butcher, was a large, jolly man with thick arms and a voice that could shake the walls. He greeted them with a hearty laugh and immediately began showing the children different cuts of meat, playfully pretending to mix up his orders just to hear them squeal in protest.

Johnny watched with amusement as the children excitedly pointed out what they wanted, while Maria ensured they got the proper ingredients for the evening's feast.

At one point, Gretl tugged on Johnny's coat. "Are there butchers like Herr Klaus in America?"

Johnny chuckled. "Sure, but I gotta say, I ain't never met one quite like him."

Herr Klaus laughed, slapping Johnny on the back. "Then you must come back, my American friend! We Austrians know how to eat!"

With the butcher's packages secured, they made one final stop at the market square, where stalls overflowed with fresh vegetables, spices, and flowers. The children raced around, picking out decorations while Maria carefully inspected produce, and Liesl, ever determined, made Johnny try yet another local delicacy—this time, marzipan.

By the time they finished, their arms were full, their stomachs slightly fuller, and the excitement for the upcoming ball had reached an all-time high.

As they mounted their horses and prepared to ride back home, Johnny looked around at the charming town, the friendly faces, the life that thrived here.

"This place sure has a way of growin' on you," he admitted to Liesl.

She smiled, watching the children giggle as they balanced boxes and bags in their laps. "It has a way of feeling like home."

And as they rode back toward the villa, the sun casting golden light over the hills, it was hard to deny that, for now, all was well.

During the preparations for the ball, while everyone is bustling about—decorating, arranging flowers, and taste-testing (or rather, sneaking bites of) desserts—Liesel and Johnny find themselves in the grand hall where the dancing will take place. The musicians are setting up, tuning their instruments, and someone starts playing a waltz just for practice.

Liesel, caught up in the moment, playfully asks Johnny if he's ever danced before. He scoffs, crossing his arms, saying something like, "Only if you count staying in the saddle on a bucking horse." She laughs and takes his hands anyway, insisting, "Well, that won't do at all! You're in Austria now, Johnny. If you're going to be here for a ball, you might as well learn how to dance like a proper gentleman."

At first, he's stiff, awkwardly stepping too big or too small, and Liesel has to keep correcting him. The kids, who are running around helping with decorations, pause to watch, some giggling as Johnny fumbles. Gretel even claps her hands, delighted, and shouts, "He's like a baby deer learning to walk!"

Johnny, ever good-natured, rolls his eyes but keeps trying, determined not to be outdone. Eventually, he stops thinking too much and just follows Liesel's lead, surprising them both when he suddenly twirls her without realizing he's done it.

"See? You're a natural," Liesel teases, breathless and beaming.

Johnny, smirking but a little shy, shrugs. "Well, don't go expecting me to start wearing one of those fancy tailcoats."

As the music plays on, for a brief moment, it's just the two of them in the great hall, spinning in the soft glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the windows, lost in a world of their own.

Just as Johnny is getting the hang of the waltz—no longer looking like a newborn foal and instead moving with a bit of confidence—Liesel gives him an approving nod. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Johnny chuckles, still holding her hand as they slow their steps. "I reckon it's easier than staying on a bronco, but don't tell Mojave I said that."

Before Liesel can reply, a voice breaks the moment:

"Ah, young love and clumsy footwork—two things that go hand in hand!"

They both turn sharply to see Uncle Max standing at the doorway, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face.

Liesel instantly lets go of Johnny's hand, her cheeks flushing red. "Oh, Uncle Max, we were just—"

"Dancing. Yes, yes, I have eyes, dear girl," he says, waving a hand. "And I must say, Johnny, I never expected you to be so... graceful. Or is Liesel just that good of a teacher?"

Johnny, ever the good sport, tips his hat (which he had left on a chair but grabs dramatically for effect) and replies with a grin, "Well, sir, I figure if I'm gonna be in Austria for a ball, I oughta know how to move my feet proper."

Max chuckles, clearly amused. "A wise answer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make sure Friedrich hasn't single-handedly eaten the entire Sachertorte before the guests arrive." He winks at Liesel before strolling off, humming the melody of the waltz they had been dancing to.

Liesel and Johnny glance at each other, a little breathless, the moment lingering between them. Then, with a playful nudge, Liesel says, "You survived your first lesson. Maybe you'll even impress the Baroness."

Johnny scoffs. "Not sure about that, but I'll count it as a victory if I don't step on anyone's toes."

They laugh together before rejoining the others, the warmth of the dance still lingering between the afternoon stretches on, the preparations for the ball continue in full swing. The grand hall is bustling with movement—Maria and Liesel oversee the flower arrangements, the younger children practice their curtsies and bows, and Johnny, much to everyone's amusement, struggles to tie a proper cravat until Kurt finally steps in to help. The maids flit about like busy bees, ensuring everything is spotless, while Uncle Max, ever the supervisor, keeps spirits high with his usual quips.

After what feels like hours of bustling about, Maria claps her hands together. "Enough! We've been working like mad. I think we all deserve a break."

The children cheer, and all eyes turn to Johnny as he slings an arm over the back of a chair and smirks. "Well, I reckon it's only fair that I return the favor since y'all taught me how to waltz. How about a little taste of home?"

Curious murmurs ripple through the room, and soon enough, they all find themselves outside in the fresh evening air, gathered around a makeshift cooking setup Johnny has cobbled together.

"This," Johnny declares, stirring a pot over a fire, "is proper cowboy chuck—hearty, simple, and keeps a fella on his feet all day."

The smell of smoky beans, cornbread warming on a flat stone, and sizzling bacon fills the air, making mouths water. The children, excited for something new, hang onto Johnny's every word as he explains how cowboys out on the range had to make do with whatever they had.

"And what's this one called again?" Brigitta asks, pointing at the fluffy biscuits he's pulling from the iron pan.

"That's a cathead biscuit," Johnny replies proudly.

Marta wrinkles her nose. "Cat head? You didn't—"

Johnny chuckles. "No, no, it's just 'cause they're big and round, like a cat's head. Ain't no actual cats involved, promise."

Gretel giggles as she takes a bite and claps her hands. "I like it! It's warm and fluffy like a prairie rose!"

Johnny's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Prairie rose, huh? That's a mighty fine word, little lady. You've got a poet's heart."

Gretel beams, delighted by the praise.

As they eat, Johnny teaches them a few more words from his people's language, much to their fascination. He explains that names, especially in his culture, hold power and meaning.

"So, Johnny," Liesel says between bites, "what would you name us if we were all cowboys and cowgirls?"

Johnny leans back, thoughtful. He gestures to Louisa. "You'd be Swift River—quick and always moving."

"Kurt? How 'bout Iron Horse—stubborn but strong."

"Gretel, you're Prairie Rose, no question."

The children laugh and beg for more names, while Maria and Liesel exchange amused glances. It's a rare, carefree moment, a bubble of peace amidst the growing tensions of the outside world.

As the sun begins to set and the castle glows warmly with candlelight in preparation for the grand evening, they all sigh in contentment, bellies full, hearts lighter.

"Alright, alright," Maria finally says, ushering them back inside. "Enough cowboy talk. There's still a ball to prepare for!"

As they rise, Johnny catches Liesel's eye, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction. She smiles back, feeling something stir in her heart—something new, something unexpected.

As the others slowly make their way back inside, laughter and chatter still lingering in the air, Liesel hesitates. The golden glow of the setting sun casts long shadows across the courtyard, and the evening breeze carries the scent of wildflowers and woodsmoke. She glances over at Johnny, who's still tending to the remnants of the fire, poking at the embers with a thoughtful expression.

Gathering her courage, she steps closer. "Johnny?"

He looks up, his blue eyes catching the last light of the sun. "Yeah?"

She hesitates for just a second before asking, "You never said—what would my cowboy name be?"

Johnny studies her, tilting his head slightly as if seeing her in a different light. There's a softness in his gaze now, something deeper, like he's truly considering his answer.

"Your name… it'd have to be somethin' special," he muses, tapping his fingers against his knee. "Somethin' that fits you just right."

Liesel suddenly feels a little nervous under his steady gaze. "And?" she prompts.

A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of Johnny's lips. "Starling."

She blinks, caught off guard. "Starling?"

Johnny nods. "Yeah. A Starling's got a voice that can carry on the wind, just like yours. You've got a way of makin' people listen—even when you don't realize it. And they're strong little birds, y'know? Small, but they fly in storms and never lose their way. That's you, Liesel."

For a moment, she doesn't know what to say. She wasn't expecting something so thoughtful, so… fitting. She glances away, her cheeks warming, and when she looks back, Johnny is watching her with a quiet, unreadable expression.

"Starling," she repeats softly, as if testing the name on her tongue.

"Yeah," he says, standing up and dusting off his hands. "Suits you."

There's something in the air between them now, something unspoken but understood. The moment lingers just long enough for Liesel to feel the weight of it settle deep in her chest. But before she can say anything else, a voice calls from the castle.

"Liesel! Johnny! We need you!"

She exhales, breaking the moment, and Johnny smirks as he jerks his head toward the door. "Guess that's our cue, Starling."

Liesel smiles—just a little—and follows him inside, feeling lighter than she has in a long, long time.