Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
RILEY
Waking up in my very comfortable bed at the inn this morning, I notice that the sense of melancholy I’ve been feeling since I got here is gone.
Maybe it’s because of the bright summer sunlight coming in through the blinds, or the gorgeous view when I open them.
Maybe it’s because I’ve gotten to spend more time with my brother than I have in a long time.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve made a new friend. Kind of, sort of. Maybe.
It's also nice that the staff at the inn has gotten more used to me staying here. Not that anyone was standing around gawking at me before. But I could sense their nerves and urgency, like everyone was always making sure to give me their absolute best level of service, and they were constantly worried about doing anything that might displease me. It feels like they’ve relaxed a bit now.
Which is good, because I don’t want to make anyone’s lives more stressful.
So it’s just my luck that when things are going smoothly and I’m feeling good, I walk into the bathroom to turn on the shower and... nothing happens.
Actually, something happens. A high-pitched squeaking sound comes from the pipes. But that’s it. No water.
Fuck.
I’d rather not have to bother Brenden with this problem, because I can already picture him freaking out and apologizing to me a hundred times for the inconvenience.
It’s hard to tell if, like his staff, he’s trying so hard to provide the best hospitality because I’m famous, or if that’s how he always is when running this place. Probably a little of both.
But I will need to shower at some point.
I turn toward the sink and crank the hot water tap. Immediately, a steady stream of water pours from it. So I’m assuming that means it’s not an issue with the water supply for the whole building. I’m not a plumber, however, and I have no idea what could be wrong with the shower.
Sighing, I resign myself to going downstairs and telling someone about the issue.
After brushing my teeth, I change into jean shorts and a plain, light gray shirt, not feeling clean enough to wear a dress. Then I slap an old Red Sox cap on my head to hide my hair, because it really needs a wash. When I’m as presentable as I can get, I head downstairs to the lobby.
The assistant manager, Danny, is behind the front desk, but Brenden is there too, leaning sideways against it and chatting animatedly with him.
I feel bad that I’m about to ruin his day.
I suppose I could go over to Andrew’s place every day to shower, but that would be annoying for both of us.
Plus if there’s an issue with my shower, there could be issues in other guest rooms too, and Brenden will need to know about it.
“Good morning, Riley!” Brenden greets me with a genuine smile when he sees me approaching.
“Hi,” I say nervously. “Do you have a minute? I have sort of a situation in my room.”
The happy expression on his face quickly falls. “What’s wrong?”
Tugging at the brim of my cap, I shift my gaze slightly over his shoulder. “When I tried to turn on the shower this morning, nothing came out.”
“Ah, shit,” Danny mutters. Then he grimaces when Brenden shoots him a dirty look. “Sorry. Let me find the number for the plumber.”
As Danny starts typing on the computer, Brenden turns his focus back to me.
“I am so, so sorry for the inconvenience. I promise I’ll get this sorted out as quickly as possible.
I would move you to another room right now, but I’m afraid we’re completely booked at the moment.
But maybe I could offer one of the guests—”
“No, it’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m not going to demand another room. Hopefully, it’ll be an easy fix. It’s not an emergency yet.” With a small chuckle, I add, “That is unless I’m already starting to smell.”
Brenden laughs loudly, my joke seeming to put him more at ease, though it’s obvious he’s still stressed.
“I’m gonna check it out and see what I can do first, while Danny gets a professional out here.
But don’t expect any miracles from me. This isn’t my forte.
My boyfriend’s the one who handles it when things break at my house.
Come to think of it, I can probably get him out here faster than the plumber and see if he can help. ”
“I’m sorry about this,” I offer, although I know it’s not in any way my fault. But apologizing for things that aren’t my fault is a habit I’ve picked up from being in the public eye for so long. From trying to be the country sweetheart all the time.
“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head furiously.
“We’re the only ones who need to apologize.
Now why don’t you go to the dining room to have breakfast—on us, of course—while I go up to your room and try to figure out what’s going on.
Unless you’d prefer to be present while the staff is in your room. ”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. Do whatever you need to do.” Tugging on my cap again, I add, “I hope I haven’t left things too messy.”
He smiles at me. “Nonsense. You’re here for an extended stay. We expect you to make yourself at home in the room.”
I nod, thinking about how I have started to feel at home here. Which is silly. This is an inn. It’s only meant for temporary visits. My home is back in Nashville. A house that’s much too big for me, sitting on seven acres.
But having all that space to myself can get lonely, even if my parents stop by a lot.
There’s something nice about being here, around other people.
If I get lonely up in my room, I can come downstairs, and even if I’m not talking to anyone, the feeling eases.
And then when I’ve had enough, I can escape right back up to the room.
When Brenden leaves me, I do as he suggested and grab a table in the dining room.
I eat breakfast slowly, killing time. But I haven’t gotten an update from him by the time I’m done, so then I head out onto the porch.
There’s nothing for me to do out here but sit and think.
I wish I had my guitar, but I don’t want to go upstairs and disturb anyone if they’re working on the shower.
Taking out my phone, I start scrolling social media, even though it’s a bad idea.
And I remember why when I come across a post titled “Hidden Queer Coding in Riley Rowland’s Songs.
” It has way too many slides, which I only briefly swipe through, curious and yet also not really wanting to know the “evidence” people have compiled in their quest to determine my sexuality.
I’ve learned from being in the industry long enough that people can twist anything a celebrity does or says to fit into whatever narrative they’re trying to push.
But this is exactly the kind of thing I’m supposed to be ignoring right now.
I can’t afford to send myself into another spiral like the one that led me to those bad decisions in that dive bar.
Right as I’m sliding my phone away, I notice a white van traveling slowly up the inn’s driveway. It pulls into the employee lot, and when it parks, I can read the words in faded black paint across the side. roscoe's plumbing service.
Guess I’m not getting back into my room any time soon. With a sigh, I push out of my seat and decide to go for a walk. I could call Andrew and ask him to come hang out with me, but I’m pretty sure he goes to a yoga class right around this time today with Toby.
After I get tired of wandering the inn’s grounds, I head back inside. In the lobby, Brenden is talking to Danny, looking far more stressed than he did when I first found him this morning. Which probably means he doesn’t have good news for me.
“Riley, there you are.” His greeting isn’t quite as warm as before.
“We were able to get the plumber out here right away, but I’m afraid it’s going to be a couple days before he can fix the problem.
Whatever the problem is. Honestly, I didn’t understand half the words he was saying, but I guess he needs to order some parts with names that sound like sneezes, and I’ve been calling other inns in the area, checking for an open room I can get you into, but I haven’t had any luck so far.
Everyone’s booked up. Which is good, right?
Good for summer tourism, I mean. Not good for you, or for me, or—”
“Dude, breathe,” Danny says, thankfully cutting Brenden off before he passes out. His face was starting to turn red.
Brenden frowns. “Right. Well. What I’m trying to say is that I’m still working on finding a room for you.”
I’m about to tell him it’s fine, that I can live without a working shower for a couple days. I can grab a shower at Andrew’s when I need to. But then Addison walks by, heading down the hall. She stops as she spots us by the desk and changes course to come over.
It’s possible that Brenden’s obvious frantic state drew her in like an emergency beacon.
“What’s going on over here?” she asks, glancing cautiously between me and him.
I give her a tiny wave and a half-smile as Brenden says, “Nothing, no worries. Just a minor crisis, but I’m handling it.”
She eyes him skeptically.
“It’s fine,” I jump in to reassure Brenden. “I’ll still stay in the room. It’s only the shower. I can grab one somewhere else for a couple days.”
Rather than looking relieved, though, he flinches, sucking his lip between his teeth. “Yes, but, um. See, the problem is, I may have touched something I shouldn’t have touched while I was foolishly thinking I might be able to fix things, and, uh... now your toilet isn’t working either.”
“How is that even possible?” I say, though I meant to keep that as an inside thought.
Addison chuckles. “Don’t underestimate his abilities to mess things up.”
“Hey!” Brenden exclaims, sounding offended. The look she gives him shuts him up, though.
I try not to laugh at their interaction. The fact that she can talk to her boss like that must mean they’re friends.
“You don’t have another room you can move her to?” Addison asks.
“No.” Brenden shakes his head. Then he stops, his eyes widening as he stares at her. She steps backward, looking worried, but he lunges forward and grabs her arm. “Wait a minute. You have a spare bedroom in your house, don’t you?”
Her mouth drops open.
“Oh, no, I don’t need—” I start to say.
“It would only be for a day or two, and you could cook meals for Riley, so she’d still be getting full-service accommodations,” Brenden goes on, looking strangely excited now about this completely absurd idea.
Addison, on the other hand, looks flabbergasted, and maybe a little annoyed. “You can’t be serious. That’s entirely unprofessional.”
“It’s a bit unorthodox, sure,” Brenden admits. “But this is Mayweather, right? Riley’s from here, so she must understand the quirkiness. Besides, aren’t you two friends now?”
“No,” Addison says, too quickly for my liking.
She must catch the hurt look I don’t quite manage to hide, because her expression softens as she turns to me.
“I didn’t mean that. I only mean that I’m sure you don’t want to come stay with someone you just met.
I wouldn’t mind having you, but you’re paying to be a guest here, not at some random woman’s house. ”
“I’m not going to charge her, of course!” Brenden argues. As if that’s the issue.
Addison ignores him, her eyes still gently focused on me. “You do not have to agree to this just for his sake. It’s his job to figure out a reasonable solution.” She turns back to him, eyes sharpening. “Key word being reasonable.”
Brenden finally looks sheepish, but my mind is spinning now.
I should say no. Obviously. Because again, the idea is completely absurd.
And it’s way too much to ask of Addison, expecting her to host me at her house.
But a tiny thrill runs though me at the idea of getting to spend that much more time with her.
At getting to know her better. At leaving the simple bubble I’ve made for myself at the inn for a bit.
It's crazy, though. Right? I can stay in Andrew’s studio apartment with him if it’s only for a couple days. We’ll be fine.
I’m about to tell Brenden and Addison as much, but the two of them seem to be locked in some sort of silent conversation.
Or argument. Battle of wills? Whatever they’re doing, their facial expressions are wild.
I glance at Danny to see that he’s also watching them with fascination from behind the desk.
I can’t exactly tell who won, but then Addison turns to me again. “I do have an extra room, and I’m leaving early today and have tomorrow off. So it wouldn’t be any trouble for me if you wanted to come stay at my place. But please, please, do not feel obligated.”
“Are you sure?” I find myself asking, despite knowing the polite thing to do would be turning down the offer she was seemingly coerced into making.
She gives me a smile that doesn’t feel forced, though, and says, “I’m sure. If you want to.”
Although I know the answer to that, I’m hesitant to voice it. Because doing what I wanted to do is a big part of what landed me here.
But I’m almost thirty, for heaven’s sake.
My career started when I was barely an adult, and I’ve spent all these years letting people treat me as if I was still eighteen years old and clueless about the industry and life in general.
I’ve let my manager make all the decisions for me, trusting that he knew what was best for my career.
Maybe it’s time I start trusting myself to know what’s best for me.
“Okay,” I say. And everyone looks at me like they can’t believe I agreed to this. But even so, Addison is still smiling at me, so I feel good about my decision.