“And what are your thoughts on of all of this, Taryn?” his father asked.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “I think that Ryan is truly passionate about being an actor, and it’s what he wants to do for a career. I’ve seen today with my own eyes that he is a brilliant actor. If, one day, he doesn’t want to do this anymore, well then, it will have to be his decision. I’ll support him with whatever choices he makes.”
My eyes shifted from addressing his father to looking at Ryan. There were too many people roaming around the restaurant so I kept my voice low. “You know how I feel about you. I want you to be happy no matter what you do for a living. We’ll deal with whatever life throws our way.”
He smiled, squeezing my hand privately under the table.
Leaving the restaurant reminded me of seeing the red carpet interviews on television.
Mike flanked Ryan; Ryan had his hand in the small of my back, guiding me along.
Word had obviously gotten out that Ryan was in the restaurant. His fans were lined up on both sides of the walkway outside. A few young girls who looked like they had yet to reach puberty were mixed in with all the other teenagers and women who were there to get a glimpse of Ryan Christensen. Oh how they screamed for him.
Fear struck me once again as our car turned the final corner to deliver us home. Angelica’s car was still parked on the side street, just a short distance from my car. I squeezed Ryan’s hand tightly several times to get his attention. When he looked at me I nodded in the direction of the old blue Plymouth. His lips curled, ready to utter the “F” word. He held his anger inside.
“When we come back from the cabin, I’ll take care of that,” he muttered privately in my ear so his parents wouldn’t hear.
“I think she’s sleeping in her car,” I whispered back to him.
The paparazzi were lined up in the alley behind my bar; I guess they realized by now that this was his main entry/exit point. I stepped out of the car first with Mike and immediately the cameras started to flash. It was hard to get the key in the door while being blinded by the flashes.
Once we were upstairs, we gave his mom her birthday gifts.
“This one is from Ryan.” I handed her the bag with the jewelry in it. Ryan frowned at me, apparently for saying that it was just from him.
She opened the bag and removed a small, black box. Inside were gold and diamond earrings in a channel setting. Elegant and tasteful, just as I would have expected for his mother. She too, stated that they were too much.
I looked at Ryan and smirked. Obviously I wasn’t the only one who thought his gifts to be a bit extravagant.
I handed her a larger gift bag. “This one is from both of us. Careful, it’s heavy.”
“What did you two buy?” she questioned, feeling the weight of the bag.
“We didn’t buy anything, Mom. We made that!”
I smiled, remembering that day fondly. She removed the tissue paper that surrounded the frame.
“Oh my! This is absolutely beautiful!” Her face lit up, looking at the frame in the light. “You made this?”
“Ryan cut and ground all of the glass and even did most of the soldering,” I stated proudly, wrapping my arm around his waist.
He put his arm around my shoulder. “I had an excellent teacher!”
“I can’t believe you made this!” Ellen rose from the couch and hugged us both. “Thank you!” she said as she kissed us one at a time. “I love it! I absolutely love it! Now maybe I could get you two to pose so I can take a picture of you while you’re all dressed up. That way I’ll have the perfect picture to put in this beautiful frame.”
This was one photo I didn’t mind posing for.
The next morning, I hurried down the alley to get my car, much to Ryan’s dislike, but I wanted to move the car closer to the back door. I didn’t want to haul all our bags down the street and give the photographers even more fuel for their tabloid lies. It was bad enough that the paparazzi
followed me down the alley.
We packed the trunk and Ryan smiled briefly when I handed him the keys. I knew that gripping the steering wheel and pressing the gas pedal in my car would make him happy. He got some sort of elation from driving; whether it was fleeing the photographers and fans or if it was simply the exhilaration of speed, I wasn’t sure.
“White van just pulled behind us,” I informed Ryan while we waited at a red traffic light two blocks away from the pub.
“Don’t worry, I’ll lose them.” He thoroughly enjoyed testing the limits of my car on the open highway.