Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

22. Riley

Chapter 22

Riley

“ R

iley!” my mom cries, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug the second I walk through my front door. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

“I’ve only been gone a couple of months, Ma.” I laugh, as though I didn’t miss my parents as much as they missed me. “I was gone for stretches that long in college.”

“It feels different when we know you’re across the country instead of in Boone, though,” Dad adds, pulling me into another hug the second my mom lets go.

“How was it? You’re a world traveler now,” Mom says, looking me up and down like she’s assessing for injuries. “Are you hungry?”

“I ate on the road.” I chuckle bemusedly at her fussing. “And I’d hardly call myself a world traveler…I just went to the West Coast and Canada. That’s hardly the world.”

“Hey, it’s more than we’ve been to,” Dad says.

“Fair enough. It was cold.” I shrug. “Nothing compares to West Carolina.”

“Mhm. You don’t have to make us feel better, son, we know it’s not much, ” Dad says, gesturing to the cozy two-story home I grew up in.

“I’m serious. I missed this place. Oh, Mom, I saw your flowers out front. They look great.”

“Thank you! I’ve been giving them a new fertilizer, and they seem to be responding well. They’re blooming pretty early, but hopefully they’ll last another month or so at least.”

“Mind if I cut some?”

“To bring to your little friend?” she asks, cocking a brow.

“Yes, my friend .”

“Sure, go for it. I’m sure your friend will appreciate it.”

“How come you never give Nash any flowers? Seeing as he’s your closest friend and all,” Dad joins in.

“He’s allergic.”

“What about Waylon then? I know for a fact that boy’s not allergic to daisies. My sister would have told me.”

I groan. “Fine, forget the flowers.”

“No, no,” Mom clucks. “Don’t let us bully you. Bring her flowers. I’m sure she’ll love the gesture.”

“If I do, will you stop teasing me?”

Dad laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. “Oh, son, you know we can’t promise that.”

We spend the evening catching up. I tell them all about the places I visited, funny stories from the tour, and the crazy ‘I’m a celebrity now’ moments. We eat a home-cooked meal—the best meal I’ve had in months—and finish the night with a double feature of Mission Impossible movies.

After I go upstairs for the night, I make sure to tidy up Olivia’s room, where Willow will be staying. Then I sleep like the dead on my own mattress, which is infinitely better than the cot I have on the tour bus.

I’ve been to Charleston a few times, but I’ve never been to Kiawah. And I realize why, as I drive by house after house that could really only be described as mansions. After passing through two gates, I finally reach the giant, looming hotel Willow and her family are staying at. I pull up to the front and shoot her a text, letting her know I’m here. When I look up from my phone, I have the shit scared out of me by a guy standing at the passenger side door.

“Welcome. Need any help with your bags?” he asks through the open window with a friendly smile.

“No thanks, I’m just picking someone up,” I say, stepping out of the car and walking around the front to face him and the front doors. “She should be down in a minute,” I add, feeling a little uncomfortable loitering around such a nice place.

“Holy shit…” the uniformed man breathes. “You’re Riley Coleman.”

“Yep.” I nod, still struck by the shock of being recognized by strangers. “And you are…”

“Tim,” the man answers quickly. “This is just…insane,” he says, staring at me before shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m just such a huge fan, this is…insane. I literally play your songs all the time. I have them all memorized vocally and on guitar. This is just insane.”

“So you’ve said.” I laugh, feeling put at ease in this ridiculously fancy place by Tim’s earnestness. “No worries, Tim, it’s nice to meet you too.”

“I’m so starstruck right now.” He chuckles. “I can’t wait to tell my friends that I met you. They’re gonna be so jealous. We’re actually going to your show here in a few weeks.”

“No way! That’s awesome. I’m so glad you’re coming. I’ll have to give you a shoutout on stage. Really rub it in to your friends. ”

“That would be incredible ,” he says as I lean against the truck. “Is that a ‘69 Ford F250?” he asks.

“Damn, you know your cars. Yeah, I bought it from an old neighbor of mine when I was in high school. It had been just sitting in his garage for years, so he gave me a really good deal on it. Still, I had to save up for a year to buy it, and then I worked day and night for a few months to get it into driving shape again.”

“It’s such a beauty,” he says, admiring it. “I wish my neighbors had cars like these to sell to me.”

Over his shoulder, I see the doorman open the door and Willow gracefully thanking him as she walks out, my heart stopping at the sight of her. She somehow gets more and more beautiful each time I see her. Her long golden hair is free, cascading loosely down her back and around her face. She’s wearing light wash daisy dukes and a white top made up of two panels that tie at her chest, leaving a stretch of her abdomen exposed. She looks so flawless and ethereal that I wouldn't be surprised to discover that she’s an angel walking the earth, sent here to remind us all that God exists through her utter perfection.

Her eyes lock on mine, and I stop breathing as her schooled expression melts into something akin to relief. And I forget about the wealth, forget about Tim, forget about everything as I pull her into my arms.