When in Rome(94)

“You ready, Freddy?” says Claire because she’s sort of dorky in the most supportive kind of way. And best of all, she never calls me Rae. Firing Susan was the smartest thing I’ve ever done, second only to driving my car into Noah’s front yard.

“I’m ready.” I stand and slip on my earpiece. My short, sparkly silver dress glints in the dressing room light, and I make sure my heels are secured to my ankles.

Claire and I leave the dressing room. Will drops in line behind us, staying glued to me like he will every day of this tour. The chanting of the crowd grows louder with every step I take down the back hallway of the arena. There are tons of crew members scattered around and wishing me luck as I pass by them. I pass my mom and she squeezes me in a tight hug, telling me I’m going to be great.

No matter how many times I do this, I never fail to feel a swarm of butterflies, adrenaline, and downright fear in this moment. But in about thirty seconds, I’ll be standing dead center stage in front of fifty thousand people waiting to watch me perform, and absolute joy will take over.

Backstage my band is gathered and waiting for me. I step up into their circle and we all hold hands and say a quick prayer that no one face-plants on the stage and has to be rushed off with blood gushing out of their nose (it happened to me once and I’ll never forget it).

A crew member takes my hand then and helps me step inside the riser that’s going to lift me up where I’ll appear in the center of the stage. The roar of the crowd is so intense I feel like it’s going to lift the roof off the arena. I insert my second earbud and it quiets the noise. Shutting my eyes, I breathe in for five more seconds before the riser lifts. On an inhale, I picture myself staring straight into Noah’s woodsy eyes and on an exhale, I imagine him pulling me into his arms.

And then the floor rises. Fire shoots all around the portion of the stage I’ll be emerging from, and I know that while it’s flaming, no one can see me. I take 1.2 seconds to get in position with the mic in my hand, and then just as they are supposed to, the flames dissolve and everyone can see me. The audience erupts and I raise my chin, smiling and looking around the arena, soaking up this moment. The band starts playing and I raise the mic to my mouth.

The only thing that could have made this night better is if I knew Noah was waiting backstage to kiss me when the show is over.



* * *



—

“Thank you, Nashville!” I yell into the mic after finishing the last song of my encore. I take a few minutes, waving and blowing kisses to all the fans, accepting a bouquet of flowers that gets tossed onto the stage and freezing when I realize they are sunflowers in brown paper wrapping tied with a string of twine. My heart races even though I know it shouldn’t. But still, I think of Annie and her flower shop, and maybe…just maybe…I squint out at the crowd trying to see who they came from, but the lights are too bright. When three more bouquets make it onto the stage—all various types of flowers—I have convinced myself these sunflowers are not from Noah.

I give one final air kiss and bow to the crowd while clutching the bouquet to my chest and walk offstage. Immediately, a stagehand is at my side, giving me a towel for my sweaty forehead and a bottle of water. Claire is there, too, telling me how great the show went and going on about the crowd, but I’m exhausted and a little disoriented after being shocked by this bouquet of flowers.

“Claire,” I ask, stopping abruptly in the middle of the hallway, forcing her to stop and face me. “Did you happen to see who threw these flowers?”

She shakes her head. “No, sorry. There were tons of people throwing bouquets tonight. Do you want me to have them all brought onto your tour bus?”

I shake my head and hand her the sunflowers. “Just these. Thank you.”

“Okay,” she says sweetly. “Why don’t you go rest for a few minutes in your dressing room?”

I’m already unfastening my heels and then carrying them with me as I walk toward the dressing room. Currently, I’m wearing my last costume of the night—a floor-length, gauzy dress in dark purple. It has lots of layers that fly all around me as a stage fan blows. It’s my favorite costume of the entire concert, but right now, I’m sweating so hard all I want to do is drop it to the floor the second I step into my dressing room.

As we walk down the hallway, everyone I pass offers congratulations on an epic tour opener, and I feel grateful to be back here, doing this another year. When we arrive at my dressing room, Claire opens it for me and then smiles wide. Too wide. Suspiciously wide.

“Why do you look like that? Did you booby-trap my dressing room or something? Is a bucket of water going to drop on me the second I walk in?”

Her smile only grows. “Find out for yourself.”

I cringe as I step through the door, bracing for any and all kinds of impact. Water, slime, a burst of feathers—I’m ready for it. I never could have braced myself for the impact of Noah’s presence, though. Well, Noah’s and my mom’s since she’s currently releasing him from a big hug. She pats the side of his arm and walks to me, whispering, “He’s cute! I like him,” before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

We’re alone now and my breath catches as my eyes collide with his. Greenest green as intense as an avalanche. He’s here. In this room with me, and all I can think is Dear Lord, please don’t let me be severely dehydrated and seeing things that aren’t really there. Namely, Noah Walker.