Love Unscripted
Page 189
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Airport security had us surrounded as we walked to our next gate. Mike escorted us to our gate, then turned to say goodbye. He was headed to South Carolina to see family.
“Have a good holiday, Mike!” Ryan patted him on the arm and shook his hand.
“You too, Ryan. Taryn.” Mike gave me a hug.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mike! Thank you for everything!” I hugged him warmly.
“I’ll see you in a week.” Mike tapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Don’t eat too much turkey!”
TSA agents and airport security walked us to our departing flight bound for Pittsburgh. Three young girls ran after us begging for Ryan’s attention. Ryan graciously stopped to take a picture with them... forever smiling… forever pleasing his fans.
When we landed, we were again escorted by airport security who walked us towards the exit. As we hurried through the terminal, people were pulling out cameras and cell phones to capture the sight of Ryan Christensen walking through the airport.
I felt Ryan’s hand squeeze mine tighter when we caught sight of his mom and dad standing there waiting for us. All four of us were smiling, happy to see each other again. Sure enough, a few paparazzi were waiting outside the airport doors.
The afternoon sun was starting to dip in the sky as we approached Ryan’s hometown. He pointed out 12th Street, showing me the infamous hill where he took the maiden voyage in the laundry basket.
Ryan edged closer to the car door; his hand was reaching for the door handle. I could see the excitement in his eyes and the overwhelming anticipation he was feeling for being home.
I tried to visualize the neighborhood Ryan grew up in when he talked about it, but no verbal description could compare to seeing it with my own eyes. The tree-lined street was beautifully tinted with autumn’s different colored leaves, many of which were already in piles on the ground.
The houses on his parents’ street were situated fairly far apart. Each home was set back from the street and had large front yards with plenty of grass to mow.
We turned onto a long driveway which was lined with trees and simple but tasteful landscaping. Ryan let out a sigh.
His childhood home was beautiful; a two story brick and vinyl home with a large flagstone porch leading up to the front door. The porch eaves had decorative wooden accents formed to look like archways, and from the center of each arch hung a basket with the remains of green ferns wilted from the cold.
We parked in front of the two car garage that entered into the side of the house. His father pressed the garage door opener that hung from his visor. It was apparent that they were used to entering their house through the garage.
Ryan didn’t even make it to the kitchen door – he had to pull the gray car cover up off the front end of his Shelby. The car was a beautiful shade of sapphire blue with two silver racing stripes from bumper to bumper. It surely was impressive.
“I’ve been running it every once and a while. She should start right up,” his father informed.
Ryan pulled the entire cover off of his car and bunched it up in a pile in the corner of the garage.
“Don’t just leave it lay there! Fold it up!” Bill reprimanded him.
“I will, Dad. Just give me a minute to say hello.” Ryan beamed at his car. “Hello, baby!” He touched the car fender lovingly. “Did you miss me?”
I couldn’t help but smile at Ryan. Boys and their toys! He reached into a cabinet mounted on the wall and pulled out the car keys, unlocking the doors to his precious car.
He was already hopping in the driver’s seat when his father yelled at him again. “Aren’t you even going to invite Taryn into the house first?”
“I just want to make sure she starts,” Ryan defended.
I held up my hand to his father and tried to dismiss his anger. “It’s all right. Let him start his car. He won’t be able to think of anything else.” I set my backpack down on the ground next to my suitcase.
A turn of the ignition and his car roared to life. The smile on his face was so huge it was like he died and went to heaven.
“Hop in. Let’s go for a ride,” he yelled over to me.
I ran for the passenger door.
I slipped down into the black leather bucket seat and snapped on my seatbelt. Ryan revved the engine and the car vibrated and purred beneath us. His long fingers wrapped around the gear shifter with white-knuckled anticipation.
He, of course, had to squeal the tires when he pulled out onto his street, causing the rear end to fishtail a bit. Look out neighbors, the crazy Christensen kid is back in town!
He drove out on some long back roads lined with farms and cornfields, driving too fast most of the time. He made a left turn and mashed his foot down on the gas, shifting forcefully through all the gears. At one point we were slightly airborne over a little knoll in the road. His driving was dangerous and exciting. I knew he’d been looking forward to this adrenaline rush more than anything.
“Have a good holiday, Mike!” Ryan patted him on the arm and shook his hand.
“You too, Ryan. Taryn.” Mike gave me a hug.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mike! Thank you for everything!” I hugged him warmly.
“I’ll see you in a week.” Mike tapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Don’t eat too much turkey!”
TSA agents and airport security walked us to our departing flight bound for Pittsburgh. Three young girls ran after us begging for Ryan’s attention. Ryan graciously stopped to take a picture with them... forever smiling… forever pleasing his fans.
When we landed, we were again escorted by airport security who walked us towards the exit. As we hurried through the terminal, people were pulling out cameras and cell phones to capture the sight of Ryan Christensen walking through the airport.
I felt Ryan’s hand squeeze mine tighter when we caught sight of his mom and dad standing there waiting for us. All four of us were smiling, happy to see each other again. Sure enough, a few paparazzi were waiting outside the airport doors.
The afternoon sun was starting to dip in the sky as we approached Ryan’s hometown. He pointed out 12th Street, showing me the infamous hill where he took the maiden voyage in the laundry basket.
Ryan edged closer to the car door; his hand was reaching for the door handle. I could see the excitement in his eyes and the overwhelming anticipation he was feeling for being home.
I tried to visualize the neighborhood Ryan grew up in when he talked about it, but no verbal description could compare to seeing it with my own eyes. The tree-lined street was beautifully tinted with autumn’s different colored leaves, many of which were already in piles on the ground.
The houses on his parents’ street were situated fairly far apart. Each home was set back from the street and had large front yards with plenty of grass to mow.
We turned onto a long driveway which was lined with trees and simple but tasteful landscaping. Ryan let out a sigh.
His childhood home was beautiful; a two story brick and vinyl home with a large flagstone porch leading up to the front door. The porch eaves had decorative wooden accents formed to look like archways, and from the center of each arch hung a basket with the remains of green ferns wilted from the cold.
We parked in front of the two car garage that entered into the side of the house. His father pressed the garage door opener that hung from his visor. It was apparent that they were used to entering their house through the garage.
Ryan didn’t even make it to the kitchen door – he had to pull the gray car cover up off the front end of his Shelby. The car was a beautiful shade of sapphire blue with two silver racing stripes from bumper to bumper. It surely was impressive.
“I’ve been running it every once and a while. She should start right up,” his father informed.
Ryan pulled the entire cover off of his car and bunched it up in a pile in the corner of the garage.
“Don’t just leave it lay there! Fold it up!” Bill reprimanded him.
“I will, Dad. Just give me a minute to say hello.” Ryan beamed at his car. “Hello, baby!” He touched the car fender lovingly. “Did you miss me?”
I couldn’t help but smile at Ryan. Boys and their toys! He reached into a cabinet mounted on the wall and pulled out the car keys, unlocking the doors to his precious car.
He was already hopping in the driver’s seat when his father yelled at him again. “Aren’t you even going to invite Taryn into the house first?”
“I just want to make sure she starts,” Ryan defended.
I held up my hand to his father and tried to dismiss his anger. “It’s all right. Let him start his car. He won’t be able to think of anything else.” I set my backpack down on the ground next to my suitcase.
A turn of the ignition and his car roared to life. The smile on his face was so huge it was like he died and went to heaven.
“Hop in. Let’s go for a ride,” he yelled over to me.
I ran for the passenger door.
I slipped down into the black leather bucket seat and snapped on my seatbelt. Ryan revved the engine and the car vibrated and purred beneath us. His long fingers wrapped around the gear shifter with white-knuckled anticipation.
He, of course, had to squeal the tires when he pulled out onto his street, causing the rear end to fishtail a bit. Look out neighbors, the crazy Christensen kid is back in town!
He drove out on some long back roads lined with farms and cornfields, driving too fast most of the time. He made a left turn and mashed his foot down on the gas, shifting forcefully through all the gears. At one point we were slightly airborne over a little knoll in the road. His driving was dangerous and exciting. I knew he’d been looking forward to this adrenaline rush more than anything.
