Chapter Fifteen. Riley
Chapter Fifteen
Riley
I can’t believe I only liked Luna’s message. What was I thinking?
I was rushing to the kitchen to prep for the morning because I was out late with Rhia, and I didn’t want to not answer at all, and now I probably seem like a total asshole.
Having my favorite singer literally sing to me onstage in front of everyone is probably the coolest thing to ever happen to me.
And also … saying good night is flirting. Definitively.
I try to stop cringing internally and focus on what I’m being paid to do.
Cook Luna breakfast. I set up my phone on a tripod so I can film myself as I prep and use it in my video later today, and start putting together the fresh orange-and-apricot parfait I had planned.
I blend organic protein powder into the yogurt, along with a few flecks of fresh vanilla bean, and spoon it into a mason jar, then start working on a crumble topping.
I want to lean into the cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg flavors that are in the churros here while still making something healthy enough to fuel Luna’s rehearsal and performance today.
I combine steel-cut oats with the spices and a small amount of locally made butter and wheat flour, then mix it until it starts to stick together.
I crumble it atop the parfait, then set that in the fridge.
I peel oranges and, with a sharp knife, cut them into delicate slivers.
Then I dice the apricots and shave off slivers of dark chocolate to echo the liquid chocolate that people dip churros into.
I adjust the phone to get a close-up as I carefully plate this, then make Luna’s coffee, along with a green juice.
I go to pick up the tray, but then I pause. What if …
I grab more fruit and start carefully slicing it. On another plate I carefully make a heart out of oranges and apricots. In the middle, I pipe a musical note made out of melted leftover dark chocolate. I put this plate next to the parfait.
I may have bungled the text. But just like Luna sent a message through her lyrics, hopefully I can send one through my food.
I carry the tray up to her greenroom and knock, but no one answers.
I try the door, but it’s locked, so after lingering for a moment I leave the tray on the floor next to the door.
I can feel my blush creeping up to my ears at the thought of random PAs walking down the hall and seeing the tray. But I don’t take the plate back.
Downstairs in the kitchen I eat the leftover yogurt and crumble and an orange, then check my ingredients for lunch. I send my local runner out to get fresh shrimp, since the seafood market here didn’t open early enough for me to go myself, and I take a minute to edit the clips from my video.
I cut together shots of me prepping breakfast, and I’ll continue filming the next two meals as well.
Once my entire day is whittled down to roughly ninety seconds of food prep and appetizing results, I add a voice-over explaining what I’m doing.
In my typical videos I’d get relatively technical, but in these “day in my life as a private chef on a pop star’s world tour” ones, I include little details about what it’s like to be on tour with a pop star.
Nothing about Luna, but about having a runner and constantly moving and getting to see the show at night.
And while my regular videos do well, these videos are each getting over a million views because even though I never show Luna, people online have put two and two together and know I’m on tour with her.
After I clean everything up, I set my phone back on the tripod and start to prepare the sauce for the gambas al ajillo, Luna’s lunch protein.
I smash clove after clove of garlic with the flat edge of my chef’s knife, then dice it all up into a mound.
Just as I’m finishing that, the runner comes back with the pound of shrimp.
I set aside the garlic and begin to peel and devein the shrimp so I can let it marinate in the fridge with salt and pepper.
I gently peel back the shell and legs from each shrimp, then use a small knife to carefully slice the back of the shrimp and remove the thick vein.
Once the shrimp are in a wet gray pile on my cutting board, I move them to a glass bowl and season them lightly. I’m about to turn back to the sauce when the door of the kitchen bursts open.
I whip around. “Rhia! You scared me!” Typically no one disturbs me while I prep since catering is brought in for the rest of the crew.
She laughs. “Will this make it into the video?”
I roll my eyes, and she comes around to my side of the table. “If you all think this looks good, just wait until you try Riley’s cookie.…” she says suggestively.
“Rhia! Oh my god.” I reach forward and turn off the camera. “What are you doing? What if I was live?”
“I’m making Luna jealous!”
“I—You don’t need to do that. But seriously, shouldn’t you be in hair and makeup by now?”
She shrugs. “Luna ended rehearsal early. It wasn’t going well anyway.
The songs where she just stands and sings and we dance are literally so good.
But when she tries to keep up with us for these new songs …
it’s really hit or miss depending on the night.
We just can’t get it consistently clean, so we can’t have fun with it, you know? ”
I nod. I’ve literally never danced, but I think I get what she’s saying. When I’m using a new recipe or working with totally foreign ingredients, I don’t have any room to play because I don’t know how they’ll behave.
“This doesn’t explain why you’re distracting me in my kitchen.”
“I heard a rumor you have cookie dough in the freezer.” Rhia looks around for a freezer but can’t find anything that looks like one, so she turns back to me and smiles winningly.
I turn the oven to 325 and take a bag of premade balls of dough out of the chest freezer behind her. I put two on a baking sheet and set it aside.
“I also heard a rumor you made Luna a heart out of fruit.”
“Where did you hear that?” I ask immediately.
“Luna’s Instagram story.”
I immediately rip my phone off the tripod and open Instagram. Sure enough, after a few shots of the show last night, Luna’s story has a picture of my heart-shaped fruit in her dressing room. With a heart-eyes emoji.
“Babes, you are such a goner.”
“Don’t I know it,” I mutter, still staring at the photo. “I feel like this isn’t real. Like, how could it be real? She barely knows me.”
“I mean, it’s not like you know her any more than she knows you,” Rhia points out.
“I think I’m going to text her.” I put the cookies in the oven, then start pacing back and forth through the kitchen. “Do you think I’ll get fired?
“I think no one gets fired who Luna wants to stay.”
“You’re right, you’re right. Okay, I’m going to do it. I’ll send a voice memo—that’s more personal.”
“I love it,” Rhia says enthusiastically. We both stand there for a moment. “Oh, did you want … privacy? I don’t get to listen?”
“Come back in ten and I’ll have the cookies and an update.”
“Sold!”
Rhia leaves and I sit on my stool at the prep counter. I open my text thread with Luna and hit record. “Hey. It’s me, Riley. I’m glad you liked the fruit. I, um, I was already asleep—”
Ugh. This is horrible. I delete the message and start again.
“Hey, Luna. Buenas tardes. I was already asleep last night, but I hope you slept well. I loved the song. It—it was really special. I think you’re such a great songwriter, and the outros are so creative.
Whatever happened to that song from Paris?
Maybe I’ll get to hear it set to music one day.
Anyways, I should get back to cooking, but I hope you have a good show tonight.
I’ll be out there after I break down the kitchen.
I … Well, anyways, just thinking of you. Since I’m cooking for you.”
I hit send before I can regret it, even as I cringe internally.
Why am I so awkward around her? She’s going to block my number when she hears this.
But after Liv died, it made it so clear that I never know how many more chances I’ll have left to just say the damn thing.
I wish more than anything I’d told Liv I loved her more often, that I was so proud of her for getting sober, that I missed her.
So I want to at least try to let Luna know that I care, even if I make a total fool of myself in the process.
After all, I’m only here for the summer anyway.