Coincidentally, the first place we hit is Pottery Barn. I’m quickly learning that shopping with River is rather comical. As we enter the store, he approaches the more-than-willing-to-help young brunette, who instantly bats her eyelashes at him. She blinks at first, as if trying to place him, but blows it off as soon he mentions the wares he’s looking for. I laugh as he jumps on one of the mattresses and tries to take me with him. In a matter of no more than thirty minutes, we have selected neutral bedding, soft towels, and fluffy pillows. We also select a mattress, box spring, and a black leather tufted headboard. The flirty salesgirl didn’t have to bat her eyelashes to convince him to add the coordinating nightstands; he would have done it anyway. He quickly pays and arranges delivery for later today.
As we walk among the stores, his arm slung over my shoulder and my hand in his back pocket, he tells me that he wants to take me to a place called Smitten’s tonight. It’s a local neighborhood bar that The Wilde Ones have been practicing at every Tuesday night for over five years. He informs me I’ll get to meet his brother, sister, and bandmates. That makes me a little nervous, but I’m more excited to finally see him perform with his band.
Our next stop is Williams Sonoma where we select the newest Starbucks coffee pot and purchase coffee pods, cookware, modern white plates, and silverware. Once again, as he pays, he arranges for it all to be delivered later today.
As we walk through the very festive outdoor mall, we pass by an H&M. “Mind if I duck in and grab a few things?”
Nodding, he motions with his head to the side and says, “I’ll be over there. I have a few calls to return,” then he kisses me, slides his nose to my ear and whispers, “So take your time.” He knows what that does to me. I smile at him and run my fingers up his stomach. “It won’t take that long.”
I quickly select a few things to hold me over until I figure out if River has a washer and dryer or until I go home. Approaching the cash register, I hear the urgent pulsing, almost soaring track of an unmistakable musical opus. The distorted vocals, heavy electronic chords, and pounding bass beat all mixed together are undeniably the masterpiece of Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back.
Looking around to figure out where the music is coming from, I finally determine it is my purse singing. As the word sexy blares out and the lyrics of the first verse come to an end, I can’t help but smile and step out of line. Reaching into my bag, I grab my phone. The name River Wilde is flashing across my screen.
“Heeelllooo,” I beam, glancing toward the front of the store. There he is, leaning against the wall between two glass window cases. His foot is propped against the pink flowery wallpaper of the store’s decor. He has one of his hands in his pocket and the other is holding his phone to his ear. He smiles his full dimple smile and I smile back. Holding his phone out for me to see, he then puts it back to his ear. “Do you like the ringtone I picked?”
I watch as he pushes the phone to his shoulder as a couple of fan girls approach him, pens in their hands. He gives them an obligatory grin and signs the back of one’s shirt and the shoulder of the other’s. Shaking my head and rolling my eyes that he claimed no one really notices him; I bring myself back to the ringtone issue. I guess he must have assigned himself that ringtone when he added us to each other’s contacts. “Yeah, I do actually, Mr. I’m Not Really That Famous,” I answer while giving him a thumbs up and raising my shoulder indicating that I want an autograph too while miming a pen in my hand. Then I add while giggling, “But I didn’t know sexy ever left.”
Shaking his own head, he hangs up the phone. I almost stop breathing from his perfection as he charmingly waves goodbye to his two groupies and starts walking toward me. I step out of line to greet him. “Hey sexy didn’t you . . .” I start to ask when he’s close enough, but he ducks his head and kisses me, quickly preventing me from finishing my question.
“Hey sexy yourself”, he says when he pulls away, and I’ve forgotten what I was going to ask and figure it didn’t really matter anyway. Before taking my hand, he pretends to sign his name on my shoulder, and his touch sends shivers up my spine. “Thank you Mr. Rockstar,” I say and then he leads me back to the line.
Leaving the store, he takes the bags. “I have something I want to show you.”
“What? The line of groupies outside waiting for you to sign their bare skin?” I joke.
“No smart ass, that was random and seriously hardly ever happens.”