Drew Starkey Imagines

Somewhere Between Hollywood and Home

"FAME GOTTA TAKE A NAP, BABY GIRL"

You're not sure when it started.

Maybe it was the back-to-back press junkets for your third movie release this year. Maybe it was the overexposed red carpet look that had people debating your relationship status on TikTok for weeks. Or maybe it was last week, when you found yourself crying in a supply closet on a studio lot because you forgot what city you were in.

Whatever the trigger, your dad had, had enough.

"You need to remember who the hell you are, Y/N," he'd said over FaceTime, his Southern drawl getting thicker with each syllable. "You've been playing pretend too long. I'm callin' it: you're on a detox. A Y/N Detox. Two weeks. Tennessee. No stylists, no scripts, no Starbucks. Just home."

He said it like a verdict. Your manager tried to argue. You didn't.

You needed this.

But what surprised you more than your own easy surrender was Drew Starkey's reaction.

"Okay," he said after you told him, while sipping coffee at your kitchen counter in your L.A. loft. "I'm coming with you."

You stared. "To Tennessee?"

"Yeah."

"You're voluntarily leaving behind clean juice, golf simulators, and WiFi that works?"

He grinned. "You'll need someone to keep the goats from attacking you."

You rolled your eyes. "We don't have goats."

"Don't ruin the fantasy."

⸻

BACKROADS AND BROKEN PHONES

Three days later, you're in the passenger seat of your dad's old truck, winding through dusty backroads while Drew sings off-key to an old Garth Brooks song.

"No service," you mutter, holding your phone out the window.

Drew smirks. "It's called freedom, baby."

You glance at him, annoyed but amused. "If you start using words like 'y'all' and 'fixin' to,' I'm leaving you in a cornfield."

He leans back, grinning. "Y'all city girls always runnin' from the truth."

You throw a sunflower seed at him.

⸻

COUNTRY GIRL (RE)BOOT

The house is exactly how you remembered it.

White-washed wood, front porch swing, mason jars on the windowsill. The scent of fresh cut hay and your dad's famous barbecue hits you like a childhood memory in surround sound.

"Welcome home," your dad says as you step onto the porch. His eyes linger on Drew. "And who's this?"

Drew extends his hand, all Southern gentleman. "Drew. Friend."

Your dad raises a brow. "Actor friend?"

Drew chuckles. "Yessir."

Your dad hums. "We'll see how long that lasts out here."

⸻

SHOVELS, SWEAT, AND SLOW BURNS

Over the next week, your detox becomes painfully real.

Your phone gets confiscated. You're waking up at 6 a.m. to help fix the barn roof. You're learning how to brush horses properly and getting hay stuck in your bra at least twice a day.