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“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’ photos, 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.
