Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

24. Willow

Chapter 24

Willow

“ W

e’re almost there,” Riley assures me after about four hours of driving. During the long drive, we’ve been talking nonstop about anything and everything, from childhood crushes to his brief basketball phase to my postcard collection. I played all of my favorite Keith Whitley songs, and he played all of his favorite 2Pac songs. All in all, my mood has lightened significantly since I got in the car what seems like mere minutes ago.

“No worries at all, I’m having fun. It’s a pretty drive,” I say, admiring the curvy mountain back roads. “Thank you for making this drive twice in one day. I can’t even imagine how draining that is. And on your break, too.”

“Please.” He waves me off. “I love to drive. I don’t mind.”

“So, what are your parents like? Will they be there when we get to your house?”

“Probably. My mom is one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet and a really good judge of character. She’s also one of the best cooks I’ve ever met. My dad is more extroverted. He’s never met a stranger.”

Warmth flows through my chest. “Sounds familiar. ”

He looks at me. “Something tells me you don’t meet many strangers either, Willow Jordan.”

I shrug and change the subject. “So, any tips to impress your parents?”

“They’ll love you just as you are,” he says, pulling into a long, private driveway that leads to a modest two-story house. He parks out front and helps me get my bags out of the back. As we struggle to get everything, the door opens, and a friendly-looking middle-aged brunette woman appears.

“You guys made good time,” she says cheerfully in the same drawl Riley has. “Here, let me help,” she says as a similarly aged, salt-and-peppered man steps into view behind her.

“I’ve got it, honey,” he says, walking past her to reach us. “You must be Willow.” His smile is almost a mirror image of Riley’s.

“Yes.” I smile back, shaking his outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to meet you two.”

“Riley’s told us so much about you,” his mother says, approaching us. “But wow, he failed to mention how absolutely gorgeous you are.” She raises her eyebrows, looking from me to her son.

Riley groans as I feel my face heating. “ Mom! ”

“Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Here, hand me that,” she says, reaching for the bag in my hand.

“It’s okay, I can carry it. I don’t want to trouble you any more than I already am.”

“I insist, you’re our guest,” she says.

I figure it’s probably ruder to fight her, so I hand her the bag.

They lead us into the house with my bags in tow. The foyer opens to a staircase and a dining room to the left. The floors are worn, sun-bleached hardwood, and the beige walls are lined with photos of their family. They set my bags at the foot of the staircase, promisi ng to help me bring them up when I’m ready and lead us into the kitchen, where there’s enough food to feed an army spread out on the counter. I slyly remove the bottle of wine I brought from one of my bags as I follow.

“I don’t know if y’all are hungry or not, but I made a little late lunch just in case.” Riley’s mom smiles, gesturing to all the food.

This is little?

“Oh my gosh, that looks amazing ,” I gush, truly meaning it. “Mr. and Mrs. Coleman, you didn’t have to do all this for me, truly.”

“Please, call us Dave and Laura,” Riley’s dad says. “And it’s our pleasure, really. Any friend of Riley’s is a friend of ours.”

“Well, I’m grateful, nonetheless. And to thank you for letting me spend some time here, I brought you this as a small thank you,” I say, holding up the bottle of 2012 Romanée-Saint-Vivant Pinot Noir.

“Willow, darling, you really didn’t have to do that,” Laura says, but the sparkle in her eyes doesn’t lie—she’s thrilled. “Romanée-Saint-Vivant,’” she reads. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”

“It’s a pinot noir from Burgundy. I was just on a little trip to France, and I brought back some bottles for my family, too. It’s really good—I mean, if you like reds,” I ramble.

“I love reds. Thank you so much,” she says. “And the effort you went to getting it for us is…wow. Thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you so much,” Dave echoes. “I guess we’ll save this for another time unless anyone wants some mid-afternoon wine?”

Riley and I laugh, both politely passing.

“Fair enough,” Dave says, setting the bottle on the counter. “We’ll come back to it. Thank you again, Willow, it looks delicious. ”

“It’s the least I could do.”

We get our food and settle around the table to eat.

“You know, Willow, you remind me of someone,” Laura muses as we begin eating.

“Oh,” I say. Riley gives me a concerned look, but I just nod. “Who?”

“Like a young Izzy Michaels, back in her early days.” I stiffen at the mention of my mom, but luckily no one notices. “We used to go see all her movies when they came out. Do you remember that, Dave? How I dragged you to those?”

“I remember,” he muses. “I remember how we went to those movies, but then you’d have to go back to see them again with your friends because we always?—”

“And I think that’s enough,” Laura says, cutting him off.

“Ew, guys.” Riley wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Really?”

“Really,” Dave confirms with a wink.

I laugh.

“But really, you look just like her, Willow. Doesn’t she, dear?”

“Mhm.” Dave nods again. “It’s the eyes, I think.”

“Yeah, they’re so blue. Really beautiful. It’s a compliment, don't worry. Izzy Michaels was—still is—gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” I smile. “She’s uh—she’s…”

They all look at me expectantly, Riley’s eyes still dripping with concern, telling me through his gaze that I don’t have to say anything. But it just feels wrong not to at this point. I hope they don’t treat me any differently because of it, but I know that they will. Everyone does.

“She’s actually my mom?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement.

It seems I caught Dave mid-sip, and he coughs on his water.

“She’s…what?” Laura asks .

“She’s my mom. That’s why I look like her. I’m Willow Jordan . The daughter of Robert and Isabelle Jordan.”

“Holy shit,” Laura whispers, her eyes widening.

“Sorry to drop that on you. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I just thought it would be better to be honest instead of dancing around it,” I start rambling again.

“But she really wants to keep it private and just have a low key weekend,” Riley adds. “So please don’t mention it to your book club or anything, Mom.”

“Of course not. Thank you for telling us, honey,” Laura says, recovering herself. “My lips are sealed.”

“And don’t worry, we won’t gawk at you all weekend,” Dave adds. “Well, Laura and I won’t, at least,” he teases, eyeing his son.

“Y’all,” Riley says exasperatedly. “You promised me you wouldn’t make this weird. I told you, we’re just friends.”

“Obviously.” Laura snickers. “She’s way out of your league.”

I laugh again and realize that I’ve done enough laughing today that my abs hurt—despite last night’s terrible news.

“Mom!”

“Last one, I promise. I just had to get it out of my system.” Laura grins deviously, subtly revealing her crossed fingers to Dave and me.

I think the Colemans and I are going to get along just fine.