Chapter 25 #3
I smile as I stir the eggs around the pan with my spatula. I’m making scrambled eggs with mozzarella and spinach, paired with sourdough toast and apricot preserves I got from the farm store. “It’ll be ready soon.”
“Unless I distract you,” she says, leaning in to kiss my neck.
“Well, don’t do that,” I tell her, but I still can’t stop smiling. I put my free hand on her arm where it’s resting over my stomach. “You’re hungry, so you don’t want me burn the eggs.”
She laughs softly in my ear and presses another light kiss to my neck before letting me go. “I suppose you’re right.”
Leaning back against the counter beside me, she watches me cook with an infectiously happy look on her face. Then her phone starts buzzing loudly, and when she pulls it out of the pocket of her shorts and looks at the screen, the smile on her face quickly falls.
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my forehead wrinkling in concern.
She shakes her head. “It’s my manager. He said he was going to call back about the stupid PR relationship thing. I should take it.”
I nod, and she gives me a small, sad smile before she turns away, answering the phone as she walks out of the kitchen.
When I finish the eggs, I remove them from the heat, and then I go looking for her.
I know I should give her privacy. And I know she can handle her business herself.
She already told me she was going to refuse the PR stunt, so I shouldn’t be worried.
But beyond refusing that, I don’t think she has a solid plan yet, and I don’t want her to get waylaid into accepting something else that she doesn’t really want.
Okay, fine. My concern for her might also be slightly motivated by my own desire not to lose her. I’m not exactly proud of that, but it is what it is.
So when I don’t find her in the living room, and I peek out the front window to see her on the porch, I can’t stop myself from watching her.
She’s pacing back and forth with the phone to her ear, and she looks upset.
I fight to not go out there and take her in my arms. To not go plead with her not to leave me. She has to do whatever’s best for her.
Before too many of my doubts can creep in, she turns and spots me. She smiles, and that one smile is enough to quiet all the noise in my head.
She loves me. She said she’d make it work.
I need to give her the chance to do that.
I go back to the kitchen and pop the sourdough in the toaster, hoping she’ll be off the phone in time to eat before everything gets cold. And sure enough, less than a minute later, she comes back inside.
“I’ll get the plates,” she offers, going for the cabinet. And at first, I think she’s not going to let me know what happened. But then she says, “I told him I’m not doing a fake relationship.”
“That’s good,” I say, feigning casual and trying not to show how relieved I am to hear that. I don’t want her to think I doubted her.
She sets the plates on the counter by the stove and turns back to me, reaching for my hand. “I told him I’m not doing it because I’m already in a real relationship with a woman I’m very much in love with.”
“Oh.”
“And I told him this is more important to me than my reputation, or the fans that might hate me for it, or whatever the music industry thinks of me.” She squeezes my hand, her eyes filled with love as she smiles reassuringly at me.
“He was too surprised to say much, although I think he was less shocked about my sexuality than he was about everything else I said. I didn’t give him a chance to argue with me.
I just told him I’d call him later today to discuss my next steps, and then I hung up on him. ”
I raise our hands to kiss hers before slowly letting my fingers slip out of her hold so I can plate up the eggs and grab the toast. “I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself.”
“It was way past time. I should probably fire him, but I guess I’ll see if he’s open to still working with me and doing things the way I want.”
Right after she says this, her phone starts buzzing. She glances at it and declines the call. A few seconds later, it buzzes again. Another decline. And then, when the phone buzzes for the third time in a row, she shuts it off.
“He obviously still wants to talk to you,” I comment. “That might be a good sign.”
“Yeah, as long as he doesn’t try to convince me to change my mind,” she says. “I’m going to call him while you’re working. Right now I want to sit down with you and eat this food that smells so good.”
We do that, taking our breakfasts into the dining room, where we’re immediately joined by Freddie.
He rubs his head against Riley’s leg, and she laughs and tosses him a bit of egg, which he happily gobbles up.
It’s obvious that she’s won him over as easily as she did me.
Probably easier, in fact, since all it takes with him is food.
She’s given me so much more.
When it’s time for me to go to work, she comes to the inn with me. After I pull into my parking space, I check around us to make sure no one’s watching, and then I drag her in for a very thorough kiss.
“There. That should get me through the day.”
She kisses me one more time and tells me, “I’ll meet you when you’re done.”
We walk inside together, then Riley heads up to her room while I go to the kitchen. I check in with the staff, who are getting things ready for lunch, and jump in to start helping. Everything appears to be going smoothly, which leaves my mind with room to wander.
I feel reassured by Riley telling her manager she wouldn’t do the PR stunt, so I don’t need to worry about that.
Mostly, I just keep catching myself replaying the sex we had this morning.
At one point, Sam also catches me doing it, but luckily, he can’t see inside my head.
He only calls me out on being distracted.
As much as I don’t want to be, I’m also a little distracted by the idea of Christy still wandering around the inn.
I know I made it clear to her yesterday that I want nothing to do with her or her restaurant, and that she’s wasting her time here.
But since she’s stubborn, I can’t guarantee that she actually took off.
She does have the room booked until tomorrow morning.
I stay in the kitchen and don’t take a break, just to be safe.
In the lull between the lunch and dinner rushes, Brenden wanders in seeking to fuel his caffeine addiction.
As he helps himself to the coffee pot, he asks me how I am.
And when I say I’m good, he grins at me like a lunatic.
There’s no way he could possibly know about the huge step that Riley and I took in our relationship last night when we said we loved each other, but he has an annoying ability to pick up on my happiness, even when I’m sure I’m not outwardly displaying it.
“Okay, yeah, I’m better than good,” I tell him when he won’t stop grinning at me. “Riley and I... we talked things out. And we’re really good. I only wish I didn’t have to worry about Christy trying to corner me again.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Brenden sing-songs. “I kicked her out.”
“You what?” I ask in disbelief.
He nods, setting his full mug down on the counter. “Yup. I’m not going to let a guest harass my employees. So I refunded her and told her to get the hell out.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, though a warm feeling is swelling up inside my chest at knowing he did. For me.
“Well, okay, I didn’t actually swear at her. But I wanted to. And I waved sarcastically at her as she walked out with her bags.”
“I—”
Words I don’t know how to say catch in my throat. I feel bad about my personal drama affecting his business, but I truly appreciate that he cares enough to have my back like that.
“What if she leaves a bad review?” I ask.
He shrugs that off. “I really don’t give a shit.”
“Thank you,” I finally manage to say. Though it still doesn’t feel like enough. So I take a couple steps toward him and put my arms around him for a hug. “You’re a really good friend.”
He cheers and says, “I knew I’d get you to call me your friend eventually.”
“Shut up,” I tell him. But I let him hug me back for a little bit longer before I pull away.
When I’m done with work for the evening, I find a text from Riley letting me know she’ll meet me outside.
I don’t see her on the porch, but as I turn toward the parking lot, that’s where I find her.
She’s leaning against the side of my car, wearing a mint green sundress with her red cowboy boots, and looking like everything I was foolish enough not to know I wanted a couple months ago.
But I know now.
“Ready to go home?” she asks when I reach her.
It takes all my self-control not to pull her close and kiss her for all I’m worth right here where anyone could see. “Yeah, I really am.”
Her smile grows. “Me too,” she says.
Like my home is hers. Like maybe our home has nothing to do with Nashville or Mayweather, but our home is simply each other. And I love that.