When the singalong ends and everyone starts packing up to leave, Andrew turns to me and Riley and asks if she needs to crash on his couch. I experience an unwarranted flare of annoyance at that, but I press my lips together and let her answer.
“Addison’s sober!” she announces louder than necessary. “So I don’t need to.” Tugging on my hand and gazing at me with slightly unfocused eyes, she says, “Take me home?”
Andfuck me, why does that sound so good? I don’t know if she means to my house or back to the inn, but the delicate warmth of her fingers wrapped around me has me making the decision for her.
I untie the flannel from around her waist and convince her to put it on, though she leaves it unbuttoned. Then I drive us to my house and helpher inside. She’s still energetic and happy, but she’s probably going to be in pain tomorrow.
As I sit her on the edge of my bed and start to get her undressed, she says, “That punch was so good!”
“Have you never had it before?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head so hard she tips over sideways, but I sit her back up. “I was too young the last time I was here for the singalong.”
That makes me worry that she underestimated how drunk she’d get and how hungover she’ll be, but it’s too late now. I manage to get her naked and tucked under my covers. Once she’s lying down, the energy appears to rapidly drain out of her.
Now she’s quiet and her movements are slow. She murmurs something I don’t entirely catch about sexy shorts and maybe collarbones, and I nod like I understood her.
I grab the small wastebasket from the bathroom and bring it to the side of the bed in case she needs to throw up. Then I run downstairs for a glass of water, and I convince her to sit up long enough to take a couple of Tylenol.
Satisfied that I’ve done all I can to take care of her, I slip into the bed on the other side. She rolls over to face me, and with her eyes half-closed, she finally says something that’s clear enough for me to understand.
“Ireeeallylike you.”
Alarmingly, I feel the shield around my heart start to crack.
CHAPTER TWENTY
RILEY
Myfingerhoversoverthe text notification on my phone. It’s from my manager. In the preview screen, I can see him telling me to call him as soon as possible. But there’s more to it that I can’t read unless I open the message, and I’m not sure I’m ready to do that.
I know I’m being immature. Whatever he has to say, it’s probably something I need to know. Something about what comes next for me. A plan. But this summer, especially these last few weeks with Addison, has felt like living in a dream world, and I don’t want to leave this world for reality yet.
Noticing the date on my phone does surprise me a little, though. July has slipped into August without me even realizing. I’ve been too wrapped up in bed with Addison to keep track of the days passing.
Clicking the side button to make my screen go dark, I set my phone on the counter and slide it away from me. I finish cutting a piece of the peach cobbler Addison made for me yesterday while Freddie winds himself between my legs. It would be sweet if I didn’t know the cat was only buttering me up to get some food. But I guess I can’t blame him. He’s already figured out how much of a sucker I am.
After I get my own piece, I grab another small plate and cut the tiniestportion for him, setting it on the kitchen floor. “Happy?” I ask.
He’s too busy scarfing it down to answer me.
I take my plate outside to Addison’s front porch, where I’ve spent the morning playing guitar and writing. She won’t be home for a while still, but I haven’t been bored. I was far too comfortable in her bed this morning—under her plush comforter with the air conditioner running—to catch a ride back to the inn with her at the ridiculously early hour she needed to be there. So she told me to stay, to make myself comfortable in her house, and that she would be back after the lunch shift.
Maybe it should feel weird hanging around her house all day without her here. But it doesn’t.
We’ve been spending so much time together, both here and at the inn, and she has a way of putting me at ease in any situation. Which is kind of funny when I think about how she intimidated me that first morning at breakfast. But now I understand how she hides her softness under her hard exterior. And I love that I haven’t seen a trace of that exterior since the night we first kissed.
I eat my dessert, the porch roof shielding me from the worst of the sun when it’s high in the sky, but as it starts to drop down, I can feel it gently warming my skin. When I’m finished, I set the plate aside and pick up my guitar again.
I’ve written a couple new songs on the piano at the inn. My label will most likely say that the softer sound won’t fit on a Riley Rowland album, but I’ll worry about that later. Right now, there’s a new melody I can’t get out of my head, and as I strum the chords on my guitar, lyrics start to pour out of me like they’ve been simmering there for weeks, waiting to be set free.
Sitting underneath the summer sun
The taste of peaches lingers on my tongue
This wasn’t expected
You caught me by surprise
