The Blind Date

“That was amazing,” she sighs.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I tease, and she swats at my chest playfully. “I was a bit worried about the treadmill, but I think it worked out.”

I feel Riley’s cheek lift as she smiles at my silliness, and I squeeze her tightly, enjoying that I can make her smile. I’m still not used to being that for someone, but I’m damn glad I am for her. “I love you, Sunshine,” I whisper into her hair.

“I love you, Moonlight,” she whispers back.

“I think we just made a thing. Is that a thing?” I ask.

Riley wiggles happily, and the warmth of our bodies beneath the blankets makes everything feel more intimate. It feels . . . right.

We feel right.

I want this life with Riley—her in my arms each night, Raffy waking me up with his cold nose every morning, and every moment in between.

As we drift off to sleep, neither of us even thinks about the other big thing that happened tonight. The post on Riley Sunshine’s page. It seems secondary to everything else—to our saying, ‘I love you.’

Chapter 21

Riley

I almost hate to do it, but I have to. I hit submit on the post, knowing that the influx of fresh images is going to push the ones of Noah and me down my page.

I’ve been reading the comments on our reveal post all morning, and I’d say they’re at least ninety percent positive. So many people are happy for me, intrigued by ‘Midnight Mark’, and already wondering when they’ll hear wedding bells. Like . . .

JuniorMintzzz930- Please tell me that he’s got a twin brother, or maybe even 2?

Like I told Noah, the negative comments don’t hit me the way they once did. I can understand people being upset or jealous. I’ve been there myself, watching friends like Becky and Simon fall in love, get married, and start a family while I focused on work. I didn’t begrudge them their happiness. I supported it whole-heartedly, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a tiny thought of ‘Why not me?’ Of course, no one considers that Riley Sunshine might’ve been lonely. Honestly, not even me.

But I’m not lonely now, that’s for sure. And I’m proud of the pictures of Noah and me. Even if they’re moving further down my feed after this morning’s auto-post of daily inspiration and the photo album from my collaboration with India.

The photos she took at Big Mike’s are amazing. Truly, the best images I’ve ever had taken. I look fresh, fun, and sunny, with a little dash of sexy in them. I’ve never seen myself the way India saw me, which is probably half of what makes her such a stellar photographer.

I send a link to Mike so he can see his diner in all its glory, and if he wants to, follow the comments. I tagged the restaurant in the post too, so hopefully, it’ll help boost his business. Not that he needs it, judging by the line of people who were waiting to get in by the time India and I left, but publicity is always good.

I pull a few images that are close-ups of my face, highlighting the cat-eye eyeliner and ruby red lipstick I’d gone with for the shoot, and send them to my contact at Joroast. They’re tagged in the album too, but I want to make sure they see what their investment in me is netting them.

And though we’ve talked back and forth a few times since the shoot to go over the photos, I send India another email to thank her for the amazing experience and beautiful work.

All told, this single post has hours and hours of work involved in it before I hit the submission button, and I’m not even the photographer. I know India also has hours of editing work in the photos. Our work might be different, but nothing online is spontaneously recorded and posted anymore. There’s so much that goes into it behind the scenes, even when it looks quick and easy.

I spin in my chair, stretching my arms overhead and wiggling them in the air to get some of the tension out. I have a video conference in thirty minutes, and I’ve been hunched over my computer since eight AM.

Raffy barks, and I eye the clock, deciding I have time to run him downstairs for a potty break before my call.

“Come on, boy. But you’ll have to be fast. No sniffing the whole block when we both know exactly where you’re going to pee, ’kay?”

Raffy sticks his nose in the air and twitches his mustache as he struts to the door. I choose to take that as his agreement to my negotiation.

Outside, I’m standing by Raffy’s tree, my back turned so he’ll do his business, when I hear my name.

“Riley! Oh, my gosh! Hey, girl,” a female voice calls.