Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
RILEY
My finger hovers over the text notification on my phone. It’s from my manager. In the preview screen, I can see him telling me to call him as soon as possible. But there’s more to it that I can’t read unless I open the message, and I’m not sure I’m ready to do that.
I know I’m being immature. Whatever he has to say, it’s probably something I need to know. Something about what comes next for me. A plan. But this summer, especially these last few weeks with Addison, has felt like living in a dream world, and I don’t want to leave this world for reality yet.
Noticing the date on my phone does surprise me a little, though. July has slipped into August without me even realizing. I’ve been too wrapped up in bed with Addison to keep track of the days passing.
Clicking the side button to make my screen go dark, I set my phone on the counter and slide it away from me.
I finish cutting a piece of the peach cobbler Addison made for me yesterday while Freddie winds himself between my legs.
It would be sweet if I didn’t know the cat was only buttering me up to get some food.
But I guess I can’t blame him. He’s already figured out how much of a sucker I am.
After I get my own piece, I grab another small plate and cut the tiniest portion for him, setting it on the kitchen floor. “Happy?” I ask.
He’s too busy scarfing it down to answer me.
I take my plate outside to Addison’s front porch, where I’ve spent the morning playing guitar and writing.
She won’t be home for a while still, but I haven’t been bored.
I was far too comfortable in her bed this morning—under her plush comforter with the air conditioner running—to catch a ride back to the inn with her at the ridiculously early hour she needed to be there.
So she told me to stay, to make myself comfortable in her house, and that she would be back after the lunch shift.
Maybe it should feel weird hanging around her house all day without her here. But it doesn’t.
We’ve been spending so much time together, both here and at the inn, and she has a way of putting me at ease in any situation.
Which is kind of funny when I think about how she intimidated me that first morning at breakfast. But now I understand how she hides her softness under her hard exterior.
And I love that I haven’t seen a trace of that exterior since the night we first kissed.
I eat my dessert, the porch roof shielding me from the worst of the sun when it’s high in the sky, but as it starts to drop down, I can feel it gently warming my skin. When I’m finished, I set the plate aside and pick up my guitar again.
I’ve written a couple new songs on the piano at the inn.
My label will most likely say that the softer sound won’t fit on a Riley Rowland album, but I’ll worry about that later.
Right now, there’s a new melody I can’t get out of my head, and as I strum the chords on my guitar, lyrics start to pour out of me like they’ve been simmering there for weeks, waiting to be set free.
Sitting underneath the summer sun
The taste of peaches lingers on my tongue
This wasn’t expected
You caught me by surprise
Never thought I’d drown in another woman’s eyes
Sweet like peaches, like syrup, like blueberry pie
Let me bask in this world
I don’t want to say goodbye
Sweet like strawberries, vanilla, a bottle of cheap wine
Your touch stirred me back to life
Please don’t ever make me say goodbye
Maybe I needed to venture out on my own
Maybe I’m looking for a new place to call home
When I’m with you, everything makes sense
All the noise quiets, I don’t need a defense
You make me feel like my past is just that
Like the future we could make is more than I’ve ever had
Sweet like peaches, like syrup, like blueberry pie
Let me bask in this world
I don’t want to say goodbye
Sweet like strawberries, vanilla, a bottle of cheap wine
Your touch stirred me back to life
Please don’t ever make me say goodbye
It needs another verse, but as I finish writing everything down, a chill runs up my spine. The same chill I get whenever I write something that has real meaning for me, words that are raw and honest. I can feel how this song will resonate with people, because it resonates with me.
Maybe some of my fans won’t want to hear a song like this from me, and maybe some of them will. But I know there will be people somewhere out there who appreciate it. For the first time, I’m realizing that maybe I could reach an entirely new set of fans with my music.
If I’m brave enough to take it in this new direction.
If my label allows me to.
If I’m willing to invite in all the public scrutiny that comes with it.
But I’ve never been safe from public scrutiny.
The critics and haters have always scrutinized me for my dating life.
For all the men I’ve supposedly dated and been unable to keep.
Whether they dump me or I dump them, it’s somehow always my fault.
Many people have suggested that there must be something wrong with me if I’ve gone through so many breakups.
I guess if they’re going to scrutinize and judge me, I might as well let them judge me for the truth.
Rather than judge me for a long string of failed relationships in my twenties—some of which weren’t even real—they can go ahead and judge me for growing if they want to.
For realizing who I am, and for loving a woman.
Er. Well.
Not loving. But being with.
Potentially loving. Maybe, possibly, someday.
If I let myself, and if Addison lets me... then yeah, I’m pretty sure I could fall in love with her.
I’m pretty sure I’m nearly there already, despite all my efforts not to be.
I read over my lyrics again and then play the song one more time. Writing my jumbled thoughts into songs has always helped me to clarify them for myself. And if this song is clarifying anything, it’s the fact that I want a lot more from Addison than what she’s offered me so far.
The time I’ve spent with her has been perfect. But if I don’t want it to end, then I need to tell her that, don’t I?
I spend a little more time out on the porch, running scenarios in my head.
Trying to figure out a way that I can keep doing music as a career but stay here in Mayweather.
At least part time. And I keep wondering if telling Addison how I feel will scare her away, or if she’d be willing to give us a real chance.
Worn out from overthinking, I go inside to take a quick nap on the couch. Freddie jumps up and curls his body against my side. I doze off with my fingers buried in his soft fur, and when I open my eyes, he’s lying right on my chest, staring at me almost threateningly.
“What?” I ask him.
He kneads one claw into my shirt and continues to stare at me.
“Let me guess. You want a snack?”
The way he immediately stands up, trampling on my stomach, and jumps down from the couch suggests he actually understood that word.
I get up and head into the kitchen with the cat trotting along right at my side.
I feed him some treats, then take a look in Addison’s fridge to see if there’s anything I can make us for dinner.
Maybe it’s presumptuous to assume she’ll want me to stay for dinner, but I think her suggesting I stay here while she’s at work is a pretty good sign that she plans to spend time with me afterward. That she doesn’t mind having me around.
And if I’m going to be here, I want to do something nice for her. Like she’s always doing for me.
I don’t know exactly when she’ll be home, only that it will probably be too early for dinner, so I try to come up with something I can at least get prepped for us so that it’ll be easy and ready to make when we’re hungry.
There are a couple chicken breasts in the fridge, her spice cabinet is full, and her pantry is stocked with just about everything. Surely, I can work with this.
I’m not a natural chef like Addison is, but after scrolling for ideas on my phone—and pointedly ignoring the unopened message from my manager—I decide on making a balsamic marinade for the chicken and pairing it with roasted sweet potatoes and green beans.
It sounds simple enough that I don’t think I can screw it up.
I mix the ingredients together for the marinade, then pour it into a Ziploc bag with the chicken and leave it in the fridge for the meat to absorb the flavors.
Then I trim some fresh green beans and dice a couple sweet potatoes into cubes, seasoning everything.
Now when we want to eat, all we have to do is pop a couple pans into the oven.
Feeling satisfied with the prep, I take my guitar back out to the porch, but this time I grudgingly take my phone with me too.
Ignoring that message won’t make it go away.
And plus, I want to talk to my manager about the new songs I’ve written.
I need to figure out how much pushback I’m going to get if I say I want to take my music in a different direction.
I carefully set down my guitar and take a deep breath before opening the text. Call me as soon as possible. Need you to get back to Nashville.
My first thought is that this can’t be right. It feels like I just got here. But then reality kicks in and I realize that, of course, summer is nearly over. The plan was never to stay here forever.
I want more time, though.
If I leave now, I’ll never find out if Addison and I could have something real.
Steeling myself, I make the call. I know I need to, and yet as it starts to ring, I find myself hoping that Davis won’t answer. I’m sure he’s busy with all his other clients. But no such luck—he answers on the third ring.
“Riley! Thank fuck. Why’d it take you forever to get back to me?”
Internally, I scoff, because it’s only been a few hours. But I don’t say anything, and my manager goes right on.