I keep reading as Riley talks, but she’s watching me, watching my reactions. This is what she was talking about . . . if I can handle it.
“That’s part of it. It hurt for a long time. I’d obsess over the negative ones and let the positive ones wash over me. But now, I just try to ignore the bad ones. Focus on the good.”
“That’s a very Riley Sunshine thing to say, but this is a lot of assholes or just evil fuckers,” I growl, seeing another. I’m not upset at what they’re saying about me, but rather at what they’re saying about Riley.
Comments on her swimsuit, her hair, her breasts, and her personality. It’s annihilation by commentary.
“Who’d say this to anyone in real life?”
“They probably wouldn’t,” Riley explains with a shrug, “or maybe they would in hopes of getting a reaction. So I don’t give them one. I choose to use my voice for good, to spread the sunshine and the positive vibes into the world. I’m not perfect, I know it, but I do my best to stay positive and set that example. And it works.” She points at several comments in a row from people saying that Riley made them smile, brightened their day, or even flat-out thanking her for getting them through difficult times. “They make it all worth it. Besides, mean people are lashing out because they’re hurt. They need a little sunshine most of all.”
“Or they’re assholes,” I argue. “I know I’ve been called an asshole, and I even joke about being one myself, but I’m not like that. That’s over the line, trying to hurt people for no good goddamn reason.”
Riley’s lips press together like she’s searching for words. “Once upon a time, you lashed out at me.”
“Riley.”
“No, hear me out. This isn’t about the past. We’re good, but listen . . . you lashed out because you were hurting, but ultimately, it made you learn something about yourself. You realized what you’d done, became a better person, and yeah, you’re still more pessimistic than the average grumpy bear, but you grew from that. What if that comment is that person’s a-ha moment?” She points to one of the rude comments about her shallow lifestyle. “I don’t have to react to it, respond to it, or even be involved, but what if just posting it is their turning point where they look at the words on the screen and realize what they’ve become?”
“But some people are just inherently that way, you know? They’re never going to change, don’t even want to.”
Riley laughs bitterly. “Oh, I know. Some of these people post every single day on my posts, always negative, always trolling. And that’s on them, not me. They’re responsible for what they put out in the world. But they come back for some reason, and I can only hope that one day, my message of sunshine will sink in.”
I’m quiet, thinking through what Riley’s saying. I can’t imagine being that . . . good. I don’t consider myself a bad person at all, but if there’s a spectrum of bad to good, Riley’s fallen off the good end and floated up into sainthood.
“I didn’t end up this way overnight, and I’m not expecting you to understand right now. When I first started, I’d sweat over every post. I thought every word was make or break, that I had to create new content every twenty-four hours, and that everyone had to love me. I spent hours trying to learn the ‘secret’ but what I’ve figured out is, there isn’t one. People want to see people like them, be inspired, and feel like they’re a part of something bigger. They want to find meaning and joy in their typical day, and that’s what I help with.”
“I remember times like that when River and I were working on FriendZone. All these apps made it look easy, and we knew we had a winning idea, but getting from conception to launch to success, it felt like everyone knew how to do that but us.” I think back to those times and mentally compare them to the BlindDate launch, which has been so much better even if it’s not perfect. We learned, and we’re doing better.
“Exactly. And the progress at first was frustrating.” She’s talking about her own, but I nod, knowing how hard River and I had it too. “For me, I’d put hours into a photo, staging and taking hundreds of shots and then using just the right filters to try and make myself look my best. Then I’d post and get nothing but slimy guys who wanted nudes or phishers attempting to troll me.”
“And now?” Admittedly, I’m still seeing a lot of that in these comments. There are way too many versions of ‘hey, baby’ and ‘let’s collaborate’ for my liking.
“Now, I know that what I do isn’t for everyone. The people who see me, feel my message resonate, those are my people. My Sunshiners. The people who leave vitriol like this” —she points to a comment about her nose, of all things, which is cute and freckled and perfectly fine—“those are not my people. That doesn’t mean I don’t try to change them, but all I can do is keep being me. Maybe they’ll come around, maybe they won’t. But if one person smiles because of something I post or volunteers because they saw me doing it, or even if someone buys a mascara because I did and they find a product they love, it’s all worth it.”
Wow. Looking at her, I realize why Riley Watson was able to make Riley Sunshine a success. Yes, she’s positive. Yes, she’s smart and beautiful and has all the things people can point out and go, ‘She’s got it.’ But what really makes Riley successful is that she’s somehow tough and determined, but at her core, she’s a truly sensitive soul.
“That’s a lot to handle.”
I mean for her. She’s amazing, so much so that I’m basically blinded by her brilliance.
Riley closes her laptop, setting in on the table to take my hands. “Noah, I’m not going to think less of you if you don’t want to do this, go full reveal. I can’t do what you do, that’s for sure. I could never, ever do all the stuff that you do. So you don’t have to be a part of what I do, either. It’s okay.”
She’s giving me an out. Not of this thing between us but of this corner of her life. I’m just not sure I want it. I know how important her posts and being authentic are to her.
She’s right—she would never make it in the corporate world, and I gave up on the entrepreneur life. But this?
I won’t give up on this. I want Riley, all of her, and if that means being a part of Riley Sunshine, so be it.
“I want to tell the whole world about us. I want to shout it from the rooftops and write it in the sky. I want everyone to see the smiles I give you, and even more, the smiles you give me.”
Riley eyes widen in hopeful surprise, and then she gives me one of those bubbly smiles that make her look like the happiest angel in existence. “Think you’re ready?”
“If you are.”
Riley squeals as she climbs into my lap, straddling me and covering me with sweet, soft kisses all over my face. I grin, loving it, but in the instant before her lips meet mine, I have to ask myself . . . am I ready?
I bury that down, instead asking through Riley’s kisses, “Do I get a cool nickname like Riley Sunshine? Noah Sunshine? Or Naughty Nick?”
Riley’s laugh vibrates against my neck. “Mmm, maybe Moonlight Mark? That way you still get a little bit of anonymity.”
“I like that. The moonlight to your sunlight,” I say, letting my hands trace down her back.
“It was Eli’s idea,” she says.
“I’m liking it a lot less now,” I growl, but Riley reaches down to pull my shirt off and I forget what we were talking about as I lose myself in her warm sunshine.
Chapter 20
Noah
The park’s beautiful at sunset. Or it will be in a few minutes when the sun hits the horizon line. Right now, I’m standing at the top of a hill surrounded by trees and a playground where kids are getting their last-minute wiggles out before dinner. I’m waiting on Riley as the sun sinks lower and lower in the sky.
She texted and told me she might be late because a friend, Becky, needed help, and I can absolutely understand that. But according to the weather app, sunset will happen in twenty-two minutes, and I don’t want us to miss it. Riley said something about ‘golden hour’ pho
tos, but I don’t know if that’s an actual sixty-minute hour or more of a description.
It’s one of the adjustments that I’ve been making, what River calls ‘unclenching my asshole’. For years, I’ve lived by a schedule. You tell me to meet at three in the afternoon, I’m walking in the door at two fifty-eight because a minute earlier, I was working. I packed more and more into each day to make damn sure that when the bad times come, I’d have a bulwark against the storm.
Riley does the same, but in a Sunshine way. She packs her day, but not because she’s worried about the bad times but to make the joy of the good times last longer. And so, when a pregnant friend needs a bit of help, a bit of sunshine in her life, Riley’s right there. Because that’s how she packs her day full.
Somehow, she gets it all done, too.
From the bottom of the hill, I see a flash of yellow and gold, a smile coming to my lips automatically. Amazing how much I look forward to the color yellow nowadays.
“Hey, Sunshine,” I greet Riley as she comes up the hill to me, looking beautiful as always in her knee-high yellow socks, white Doc Martens, black skirt, and yellow top. On anyone else, it’d look like a bee costume gone wrong. But on Riley, it looks happy and sexy and like all that I want in life. “How’s Becky?” I ask, taking the duffle bag at her side.
“Just fine,” Riley says, smiling. “She needed a ride to her prenatal appointment because she’s had a bit of nausea and can’t throw up and drive at the same time.”
I make a face because that definitely sounds like something that could be skipped—by me, Becky, or basically anyone.
“Simon’s in training this week, and I was happy to play chauffeur and be there for the emotional support. But Becky’s good and the baby’s fine. I’m late because I insisted on stopping to get Becky the vitamins that the doctor said would be easiest on her belly and best for the jellybean. Who would’ve known they’d be that hard to find? We went to three pharmacies.”
“Jellybean? Is that the official name?” I ask, hoping not. But people have named their babies stranger things.
Riley laughs. “No, just a cute nickname until they find out the gender.”
“Good. And I bet Becky’s got a nine-month supply of those vitamins now, right?” Riley grins, her shrug saying ‘maybe’ and her innocent glance to the side saying ‘you know it.’ “You’re good to your friends.”
“They’re good to me, like Arielle checking on Raffy tonight. And you’re great for waiting on me,” Riley says, snuggling into my chest and looking up at me sweetly.
“Sunset in fifteen,” I remind her, and she jumps, clapping her hands.
“Yes, let me set up.” She takes the bag back from me, dropping it carefully to the grass to dig around. As she sets up a travel-sized expanding tripod, she asks, “How’re you feeling? You still sure about this? And you know you can change your mind at any time until I hit Post. We can do cute pictures and then hoard them like greedy trolls, maybe only showing them to our family if they feed us cake and pie.”
She’s rambling adorably, but her hands are sure and experienced as she gets everything prepped. “Anxious, excited . . . ready,” I tell her honestly. “I’m not all that photogenic, but I want everyone to know I’ve got my very own sunbeam, and she’s all mine.”
“Whatever, Mr. Model. You know you’re hot, so don’t pretend to be modest with all that ‘oh, not me, I’m just like any other guy’ stuff.” Riley throws her voice deep, I think in an imitation of me, except I’d never say that. She’s right, I’m more likely to arrogantly proclaim my good looks and put them to good use.
“Well, the Sunshiners seem to think so.”
It’s taken us a few days to coordinate our schedules, choose the park as the perfect place, and decide what to wear. In the meantime, Riley’s been building up excitement for the big announcement with more teaser photos.
She’s posted my shoulders from behind in sharp black and white contrast, which garnered more than a few ‘carry me, Daddy’ comments, an extreme close-up of my eye that had people arguing over what shade of brown they are. We’d laughed when someone suggested that Riley ask me to be the deciding factor in the battle and I’d simply said ‘brown’. The best teaser photo was the one of her Docs next to my work dress shoes, though. Apparently, there’s a whole lot of people who subscribe to the edict of big feet equaling a big dick, and those comments went wild. I’d made Riley read a bunch of them to me just to hear her say ‘cock’ and ‘dick’ over and over. That had backfired, though, getting me so riled up I only lasted a minute, while she was still laughing at how silly she thought she sounded talking dirty. To be clear, she didn’t sound silly . . . at all.
Even the memory makes me need to shift a bit to readjust in my slacks.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but keep that smirk. You look arrogant and sexy.” I lift one brow, thinking that not too long ago, those words would not have gone together for Riley, but now, for me, they do. I smirk a bit more, turning up the smolder. “Okay, move to your left a bit? That’ll be the best background. Ready?”
Riley snaps the shot and nods at the screen. “Good. Okay, here we go . . .”
She runs my way, and I open my arms, wrapping them around her waist as she steps into me. She looks up into my eyes, cocking a leg up as she stands on tiptoe. “I’m glad you’re in your boots,” I murmur as we touch foreheads. “Makes this a lot easier.”
Riley smiles and with her ‘hidden’ hand hits the remote control she uses for taking photos like this. We stay in the frame, taking another set of photos with our lips touching before Riley turns and I hold her from behind, the two of us looking out at the golden sunlight.
“Some goofy ones too?” Riley asks.
I don’t answer, just scoop her up and plant her on my back piggyback style. “Just keep the camera snapping.”
We play, not posing at all but rather having fun with each other. I honestly have no idea when the camera shutter closes because I’m lost in Riley . . . in her smiles . . . in my own happiness.
But too soon, the sun sets, the kids on the playground go home with their parents, and the trees become blacker shapes against the dark night sky.
Breathless from rolling around in the grass—yes, for a photo, but mostly because I liked the way Riley’s hair looked like spun gold against the green grass—we sit on a bench. Scrolling through the pictures, I feel a growing warmth in my chest, in my heart.
Riley looks stunning in each and every one. Her smile is bright as she looks at me, her eyes alight with emotion, her body turned toward mine. That doesn’t surprise me at all. Riley is nearly always happy like this. But what I notice is . . .
I look happy in these photos, happy deep down in my soul. There are no harsh lines between my eyes, no scowls, no worries of what I should be doing written on my face.
I look complete. I look completely different—softer, kinder, blissfully lost in Riley.
“What do you think?” Riley asks, chewing her bottom lip. “I like this one best.”
She’s picked perfectly. It’s from our first set of pics, where we’re looking into each other’s eyes, not kissing, but our gaze says everything necessary. The light’s just right, and I see what she meant by a golden hour. Riley looks beautiful, her hair an angel halo from the sun, and the way she’s looking up at me, I feel like the man I want to be.
She makes me feel like there’s more to the world than what I’ve ever thought possible.
I nod agreeably. “You’re the professional, so I’ll go with whichever one you want.”
Riley flips between the one she’s selected and one of the playful shots where she’s on my back, her mouth open in a way that makes her whoop of surprise almost audible from the photo alone.
“Do you like this one?” Riley asks.
“I’m just here to look good, not paid to offer opinions, though I can get you my consultant rate if you’re interested. But as a freebie, why not post both?” I tease in a sal
esman’s voice.
Riley bumps me with her shoulder and mutters, “Dork.”
I take it as a win, a solid tally mark for me in the funny column.
“We should talk about what we want to say,” Riley says. “This is about both of us.”
She goes quiet, letting me speak first.
This is hard for me. I’ve gotten better at being open with Riley, better at sharing my emotions. Hell, better at being aware that I even have emotions. But this is important, something that needs to be perfect because it’s her brand, her business, her life. Letting me into it, to be a public piece of it . . . while a big deal for me, it’s an even bigger deal for Riley.
“I’m not sure on the exact words. I just want everyone to know that you’ve brought so much to my life. I didn’t know I was living in the dark until I felt your sunshine. You make me happier than I ever dreamed and have shown me the possibilities and opportunities of the world are endless if you open your heart to them. You’re beautiful on the outside of course, but on the inside too, where it really matters, and you share that beauty with everyone you meet—authentically, generously, and without judgment. I know that because that’s what you shared with me. And now I feel . . . the warmth of hope . . . the warmth of you.”
Riley stares at me for a long time, not saying anything. My cheeks heat, embarrassed at how much I just exposed. I want to chase the words, swallow them back down, and hide the vulnerability.
Finally, Riley clears her throat. “I love you too.”
I look up to see Riley with tears in her eyes, tears of happiness. I recognize them this time and don’t panic.
But the words feel alien in my ears. I’ve only ever heard it from the women in my family. It’s hard to say back, not because I don’t feel it, I realize, but because I never knew what this feeling was. But it’s apparent in everything I just said, boldly obvious. “I love you,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Riley Watson . . . I love you.”
The Blind Date Page 25
