The Blind Date

“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 salesman’s voice.