And I sit there.
And sit there.
And sit there, praying for inspiration to strike. My fingers move on strings. I try to write things down, feelings of falling in love, of having a crush, anything that aligns with the direction I have for this album, but nothing fucking comes.
All I can think about is my conversation with Adam the day before.
After an hour of sitting at a blank sheet of paper, all I’ve got to show for it is a couple of doodles in the corners, the word love and crush written a dozen times, along with a couple of other words I’d hoped would spark an idea before I sit back with a resigned sigh. A small yawn leaves my lips, and when I look at the clock, I realize it’s time for my afternoon coffee. I stand, about to make my way downstairs to make it for myself, when I pause.
Get out of your routine.
Maybe Adam was right.
Maybe I just need to switch up my routine a bit.
Picking up my phone, I tap the screen until I get to Gabe’s name, then hit send. It rings just once before he picks up.
“Hey, Gabe, can we go to the coffee shop downtown? I want to get a drink.”
“Of course. When?”
“Uh, now?” I ask, walking towards the door and my shoes.
“No problem. I can be there in five.”
Excitement fills me at the prospect.
“Or I could go get one and bring it back to you,” he offers.
“No, no. I want to get out of the house.”
“I’ll be right there.” He clicks off.
Change your routine.
For as long as I can remember, my life has been structured. A strict morning routine, gym routine, followed by practices and interviews, and strategy meetings… Each day is perfectly lined up, crafted to turn me into the powerhouse I’ve become.
It’s still moving through my mind as I slide into the back seat of the G-wagon, a requirement made by Leo Sinclaire, even though I have always hated the feeling of being driven around. But in the front seat, the windows can’t be tinted, so the cameras can get a snap of me in a moment when my guard is down, something that will inevitably be torn apart by the media that seems to control my life.
When we pull up to the coffee shop, Gabe gets out first before opening my door and guiding me in. There are a few whispers, and the cashier clearly recognizes me as I place my order, but when I give her my name, she squawks at the confirmation. I let out a little laugh and take a photo with her, and then the rest of the staff while they make my drink.
Once it’s in hand, I wave goodbye to my new friends, and suddenly, I’m excited to get back home and try to write again. The hint of melodies plays on the edges of my mind, and I wonder if maybe this is exactly what I need: a bit of a change-up. As I move to the door, I contemplate if maybe this could be a new part of my routine, a mid-afternoon pick-me-up to break up my day.
“Ready?” Gabe asks, and I nod, though when I look out the door, I bite my lip, seeing a handful of paparazzi outside. Ithought I’d have time, that I could get in and out before anyone reported I was here, but clearly not.
I suppose the thought of coming every day is out the window. I’ll have to opt for the drive-through next time, or else I’ll get bombarded every time. With a hint of disappointment, I take in a deep breath, closing my eyes and centering myself, putting the shield up before nodding to Gabe, who pushes the door open. I smile and wave at the paparazzi, making sure each gets the photo they need as I move toward the car, Gabe at my side, a hand hovering over my lower back.
“Willa, one moment, please!” a man holding a large camera calls, stepping closer. “Just a few questions!”
“I’m sorry, I have to head out,” I say, giving the man a tight smile. I don’t recognize him, but the tag on his chest is for one of the more well-known tabloids. While I can probably talk my way out of getting spotted this morning, stopping to answer questions would absolutely not please Leo.
“Come on. You spent a while in there with the staff.” I grit my teeth at his entitlement but force the soft smile to stay on my face, no matter how much I want to curse this man out.
“I was just chatting with some fans while I waited for my coffee,” I say, lifting the drink up and taking a step towards the car.
“I’m a fan, too. Give me something. When’s the next album coming out? Are you dating anyone?” He steps closer, crossing the line that isn’t so much required as implied. All of the paparazzi in town know not to get too close, to respect personal space, but this man is new and clearly doesn’t.
“I really—” I start, unsure of what to say or how to get out of this, but then he reaches for me, his fingers just barely touching my upper arm before Gabe pulls me back and behind him.
