Page 10 of Rumor Has It

“I appreciate that. Except, I doubt you’ll score reservations at this hour.”

“The people who work for me take care of those details.”

“You don’t have to. There’s a dress code. You brought nothing else to wear.” I roll my lips, trying to give him an out.

“Again, people take care of the details. I’d like to repay your kindness with kindness. What do you say, is seven okay? I,uh,know where you live. I already have the directions memorized.” He taps his forehead.

My mouth forms an “O”. As I stare at him, gaping and trying to figure out how to respond, a piercing squeal breaks into my thoughts.

“Oh, my God, you’re Isaiah Roomer!”

Chapter Four

ISAIAH

When it comes down to it, I’m used to fangirls. But it’s hard to play it smooth with one woman when another is standing in the wings screaming your name.

The private moment has turned embarrassing as hell.

Cassidy is the prettiest girl I’ve met in years. Of course, the recently deceased wife means my timing is all off. Except, my timing always seems to be off. I’m almost certain that’s how I wound up married to begin with.

I don’t know if I’ll see Cassidy again, and I didn’t want the opportunity to ask her out to pass me by.

I’d hate to see how this scenario would’ve played out had we met backstage months from now when the tour stops in Houston. Somehow I know I’d be as interested in her then as I am now. Her hesitance to answer me makes it obvious she doesn’t understand that I hoped to score a date with her.

A bright red blush covers Cassidy’s face as she introduces Rhiannon, her “sister from another mister”; a not unattractive brunette, who I recognize in an instant I’m not the least bit attracted to.

The subtle reassurance gives me confidence to pursue Cassidy.

“I knew something was up when Gatlin said to meet him over here with my camera.” She stomps her feet gleefully, her dark ponytail bouncing.

I notice the strap dangling over Rhiannon’s shoulder. It was hidden by her comfortable, all-black ensemble. Sweat prickles my neck. I’ve hidden from cameras for months.

“Rhi shoots private events on the property and takes all the pictures for our social media. She is the official family photographer as well,” Cassidy explains.

“Don’t worry. I’m under an NDA and most of the pictures are for Uncle Cris’s personal use. He has me document sessions when other artists visit. We’re strict about making sure we’ve been granted permission to use anyone’s likeness. Anything that’s shared widely, you’ll have to sign a release for. More people than singers and songwriters don’t want random pictures of themselves circulating on the internet.” Rhiannon puts me at ease. “I swear, now that I’m over the shock, you won’t even notice I’m there,” she continues. “But I told Gatlin you’re on my list of people I’d die to photograph. So, I also plan to murder our cousin for not warning me you were at Kingsbrier.”

“There’s a lot of that sentiment going around.” I wink at Cassidy.

Her eyelashes flutter, and she looks away.

I need her attention back like the air I breathe. “So Cassidy, I’ll see you at seven?”

Asking Cassidy to accompany me here was a bit of a ruse to spend more time with her. I have a good sense of direction both geographically and with women whose bodies I’d like to map. I could’ve found my way to Cris’s and I know my way back.

“I’ll be at the inn.” Her reply is cagey, yet the way her tooth sinks into her plump lower lip, I’m able to read between the lines.

Cassidy’s not entirely on board and I can’t say I blame her. I’ve been on lockdown and I’m just as confused about the way I’m suddenly feeling. It’s on me to clear things up and I have a few tricks up my sleeve to help her understand my intentions.

Cassidy turns to go. The only thing stopping me from following her like a stray pup is missing my chance to compose with the duo I came to Kingsbrier intending to meet.

Escorting me to Cris’s studio, Rhiannon is bubbly about her work, but loads calmer.

The epitome of what you’d expect from someone artsy, she mentions her upcoming excitement over snapping pictures on Christmas Day.

“I’d like to see your work,” I say, about to ask her for a preview of the photographs she takes while I’m with Cris and Jake.

Rhiannon flicks up her index fingers, pointing to either side of the hallway covered in black and whites. Her portfolio is impressive, filled with candid snapshots of singers I’ve gotten to know over the course of my career.

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