“Raffy, good job. Let me open the door, boy.” I hear Raffy let out one more bark, but he must move because Noah says, “Hey, Sis, good to see you . . . this time.”
“Can I uncover my eyes now?” Arielle answers. “You got clothes on? I do not want to see your dick and balls again.”
“Arielle! You said you didn’t see anything! And yes, get in here before the neighbors hear you.”
There’s a feminine squeal and then a laugh, and I can imagine Noah jerking his sister into the apartment. Little do they know, my neighbors are probably watching out their peepholes and listening through their doors, enjoying the whole show they’re putting on.
“What can I do to help?” Arielle asks, coming in the kitchen. She sets a bag on the counter and starts unloading. “I brought the cheesecake as instructed. Luckily, Noah didn’t smash it when he pulled me inside.” She yells the last bit, a dig at her brother, as she slides the dessert into the fridge.
She slips her arm around my shoulder, side hugging me. “How’re you holding up? Come to your senses yet? I’d be happy to kick him in the ass, or balls, or to the curb. You know I’d do anything for you, Riley.”
I laugh and lean into Arielle. “No, not changing my mind. Just worried about River. I don’t want to blow up their friendship.”
Arielle points her finger in my face, clucking her tongue. “Listen to my words of wisdom, girl. Sex ruins friendships. Love does not.”
“You okay?” I ask gently, concerned that she’s no longer talking about Noah and me.
She waves me off. “Fine. Put me to work.” Her jaw is set as she scans the counter, spying the stack of plates. “I’ll set the table.”
I lose my chance at finding out more about her and Eli because there’s another knock on the door, followed by Raffy’s bark and Noah’s hushing. Several new voices fill the living room, and I drop the spoon into the finished potatoes to go greet my guests.
“Hi, Mom, River,” I tell them. “And you must be Ms. Daniels.”
Natalie Daniels is smaller than I imagined. After hearing about her from Noah and knowing Arielle’s big personality, I guess I expected her to be larger than life somehow, but she stands at Noah’s side, the top of her head even with his chest. Her eyes are just as dark and intelligent, though, and her deep brunette hair is cut in a crisp bob.
“You must be Riley,” she says, shaking my hand. “Please, call me Natalie.”
I make introductions around, mother to mother and River to Natalie. Noah hugs his mom, and I can see the love and closeness between them.
“Mrs. Watson, it’s been a long time. Good to see you again,” Noah tells my mom.
She’s having none of that. She wraps him in a hug. “It’s been entirely too long, and stop that nonsense and call me Rachel. You help me keep River out of trouble, so you and I are a team.” Mom points from Noah to herself before throwing River a side-eye of shade, but the grin she’s fighting says it’s all in jest.
“Of course, Rachel,” Noah answers, cutting his eyes my way at the name. I fight the laugh that tries to bubble up. We both know if things go the way my mother’s going to anticipate, ‘Rachel’ is going to be quickly replaced with ‘Mom’. Although thinking about it, that’s not a bad thing.
“Please, have a seat and let me get everyone a glass of wine.” That’s what we need . . . alcohol to relax everyone before we drop the bomb.
“On it,” Noah says. He grabs the wine bottle from the kitchen counter and opens the cabinet to take out glasses.
Mom follows us into the kitchen. “If we’d been meeting next week, I would’ve had tomatoes to bring you, honey. I’ve got a handful of them that are almost ripe.”
“I’ll come by and get them whenever they’re ready. Can you pull the biscuits out, please?”
I’ve always appreciated the cooking skills my mother taught me growing up. I’ve put them to good use since I got my own apartment. I might not make fancy stuff, no escargot or lobster, but good food is always good. And if some basic roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and biscuits make people happy, then I’m happy to make it.
Mom pulls the buttermilk biscuits, her own famous recipe, from the oven, sniffing deeply. “These look delicious.”
Mom’s compliment means a lot to me. “You want to do a video with me? We can split one as a taste test.”
Mom rolls her eyes but nods. “A quick one, honey.”
Whipping out my phone, I put on my smile and hit Record, my fingers already waggling with Mom in the background. “Hey, Sunshiners! Happy Sunday! Just here to give a huge shout out to my mom, who taught me so much.” I look to Mom, my eyes getting a little glassy as I think about all the lessons she’s shared with me. Even the obsession with clean underwear in case of a car wreck. Back to the camera, I say, “Including these amazing buttermilk biscuits! Seriously, some good homemade biscuits will brighten any day. Drop a pat of butter or jam, and take some time to enjoy!”