The Blind Date

At that exact moment, the fountain starts up behind me, surprising me and causing a huge gust of wind. Time slows, clicking by with every frame Eli is still taking, and I fight valiantly but lose my balance. My dress flies up to my chest, my mouth and eyes go wide in shock, and several onlookers let out scandalized gasps.

No, no, no! Oh, my God! No! I think to myself as I struggle to control my dress, hoping a cop isn’t lurking somewhere in the park, waiting to give me a citation for indecent exposure. Thank God I wore the granny panties that came in my new sponsor’s monthly box today! They’re the only thing hiding my ass from the people behind me and my vajayjay from the camera!

I drop my pose and any semblance of decency to fight with my dress, trying to push it down against the wind while balancing two-footed now on the too-narrow fountain edge. Eventually, I get the fabric locked between my thighs in the front and can hold the back down with my hands. Arielle runs over, holding a hand out, trying not to laugh.

“Need help getting down?”

I shake my head, not willing to let go of the back of my white skirt, which feels wet from the fountain’s mist. Great, now that I’ve gotten it down over my ass, it’s probably gone sheer from the moisture. I hop down to laughter and applause, and deciding, like Jane Eyre, that I’d rather be happy than dignified, I bow dramatically.

“Thank you, thank you.”

“Damn!” Eli says in awe, scanning through the photos on the screen. “Would you look at that?”

Now that the show is over, I can also hear some whispering pearl-clutchers nearby, but I ignore them to rush over to see the photo. At my side, Arielle whistles.

I look Marilyn Monroe-esque, my hands trying to push down my billowing dress with the water arcing up behind me. Surprisingly, it doesn’t look awkward but instead classy, old-school sexy, and pretty. In the background, the bright spring sky, the water, and the trees of the park make it look almost like a postcard.

The more I stare at it, the more I like it.

It strikes the perfect tone, quirky and fun! The perfect photo to post, too, because it’s so spontaneous and kooky.

“I love it!” I breathe in awe at my luck of getting such an awesome shot. “I’m going to have to frame this!”

Eli nods and adds, “Maybe the whole series.” He scans left a few shots, and I watch the progression of my posed shot, the shock of the water coming on, a picture with my panties on full display, me fighting with my skirt, and then the iconic Marilyn pose. The last shot is one of me giving in to the craziness and smiling widely as I laugh out loud, my eyes closed and my face lifted to the sun.

He’s right, the whole series is . . . me. Riley Sunshine. And also, really me, Riley Watson.

“Congratulations, honeychops.” Eli has the worst terms of endearment, but this one makes me chuckle.

I grin, touching the screen to zoom in on my smile. The post is already writing itself in my head. Something about inspiring people, their giving my life a purpose, and appreciation for what we’ve built together. And most of all? Excitement over what the future holds.

Arielle hugs my shoulders. “I can see that you’re already working in your head, and I’ve got to get back to work myself. But we’re on for Friday.” She points to me and then Eli, not asking us but telling us. After we nod our agreement, she makes quick strides down the street to get back to the nursing home where she works.

Eli watches her every step.

“What’s up with that?” I ask, not needing to be any more specific than that because it’s obvious where his mind is.

“Just thinking we’re not kids anymore,” he says contemplatively.

“You sound like you want to settle down,” I answer quietly, making a big leap about his thoughts.

“I’m not searching for it, but if it happens, it happens,” Eli says. “I’ve got a mortgage, for God’s sake. Who the hell thought I was a good bet for a six-figure loan?” He presses a hand to his chest over his hundred-dollar dress shirt, his gold watch glinting in the sun.

I grin. “Uh, your boss? You’ve come a long way, baby.”

“Maybe that’s what you need too?”

“A mortgage?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “No, thanks. One of my goals is to buy my first house ‘cash on the barrel’, as Daddy says. I’m fine with apartment life until then.”

“I won’t even go into that with you,” Eli says, forgoing the lecture on smart financials to stay on track with his current advice train. “But what I mean is, you’re not just the happy girl on Instagram anymore. You’re a legit business. You’re a brand, Riley Sunshine. And maybe what you need isn’t Mr. Right Now, but Mr. Right.” It seems he’s turning around from his earlier declaration that dick is all I need.