21. Ridley
TWENTY-ONE
RIDLEY
Standing in the green room of a downtown television studio at six in the morning is not something I ever thought would be on my to-do list, but here I am.
It’s a no-brainer that me and the entire crew came down to support Wren, and thankfully I got some sleep last night.
It helped a lot that I had a sexy ginger next to me and came so hard I saw stars.
Speaking of Wren, he’s a nervous wreck, so I put my hands on his shoulders and squeeze gently, massaging his knots. He melts into my touch, leaning his head back before catching himself and clearing his throat.
“Thanks,” he whispers, then blows out a breath. “I’ve got this.”
“You’ve absolutely got this.”
He turns to face me, searching my eyes for a second. “Weird timing, but if I don’t tell you now it’ll be too late.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m gonna be late coming in tonight. I have an appointment, but Carlos has everything under control.”
“No problem.” I rub his arm. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He forces a smile to his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. Not even close. “I would’ve planned it for another day so it wasn’t on top of this, but it’s the only opening they had for a few months.”
“You’re fine, Wren. You can take time off. I’m asking personally if you’re okay.”
His eyes soften as he nods. “Yes, I promise. I’m finally taking care of something.”
“Cool. Let me know if you need anything?”
“Definitely.”
Two people enter the room and pull Wren away as Salem calls “Good luck” after him. Then all eyes are on me.
“What? Do I have a booger or something?”
Indy chuckles. “Nah, man, you’re good.”
Salem leans against his man. “Wren told me he’s been sleeping well the last few weeks. Isn’t that what you told us the other day at Moby’s?”
Rolling my eyes, I drag my hand through my hair. “Yeah, yeah. I think it’s pretty obvious at this point that we’re…” I pause, searching for the right word but wanting to keep the details to myself.
“You don’t have to tell us everything,” Jerryn says. “We’re close, but we’re all allowed privacy.”
“Thanks, man. It’s not that I’m hiding anything—it’s not only my story to tell. But yeah, we hang out. It’s been helping us both with our sleep patterns.”
That’s a good answer, right?
Bane is looking through the curtains, but then he glances over his shoulder. “Glad you at least took it to your bedroom.”
Jerryn smacks his arm as I scrunch my nose. “Shit. You saw us?”
“Caught you twice but didn’t see anything.”
“We were up late a few times,” Jerryn explains. “We figured it out and avoided the area.”
“Sorry. It was, uh, impulsive, I guess.”
“I’m happy for you.” Bane smiles. “I can only imagine how good it must feel after pining for so long.”
There’s a touch of melancholy in his tone that Jerryn seems to pick up on as he turns to his bestie and tilts his head. Bane quickly turns back to the curtains, peering out again.
“Ooh, they’re on set. Wren is behind the counter and they’re putting his mic on.”
I settle on the couch to watch the screen in the room with us, but one of the producers pops through the curtains.
“Hey, guys. You’re welcome to watch from the side of stage.”
“Heck yeah,” Kit says, already walking that way, followed closely by Stewart.
Lowen, who was sitting on Oakley’s lap, gets to his feet, stopping to rub my arm. “I’m happy for you too.”
I follow the guys out and we all hover as best we can, but then Indy and Salem push me to the front so I can see Wren clearly. People are fussing around him and setting out pre-chopped food, but he searches the area until he finds me. He smiles and I give him a thumbs-up, mouthing, You got this.
“Okay, people,” a producer shouts. “We’re back in five… four… three…”
The two hosts of the show, Pete and Sabrina, flank Wren, looking excited as the camera pans to them. Sabrina turns to face the audience and cameras.
“We’re excited to welcome an up-and-coming local chef to our show. All the way from cozy Willow Bay, Chef Wren, who heads the very hot Moby’s Bar and Dining. Welcome, Chef.”
“Thank you, Sabrina. I’m happy to be here.”
They launch into a conversation about the bar, the food offerings, the vibe, and like a well-practiced maestro, Wren doesn’t miss a beat, focusing on his food prep while managing to hold a conversation. The hosts do most of the talking, as is the norm, but at least in my opinion, Wren shines.
“He’s doing so great,” Salem gushes, squeezing my arm. “I’m so glad he answered our ad.”
Me too, Salem. Me too.