I’m quiet, thinking through what Riley’s saying. I can’t imagine being that . . . good. I don’t consider myself a bad person at all, but if there’s a spectrum of bad to good, Riley’s fallen off the good end and floated up into sainthood.
“I didn’t end up this way overnight, and I’m not expecting you to understand right now. When I first started, I’d sweat over every post. I thought every word was make or break, that I had to create new content every twenty-four hours, and that everyone had to love me. I spent hours trying to learn the ‘secret’ but what I’ve figured out is, there isn’t one. People want to see people like them, be inspired, and feel like they’re a part of something bigger. They want to find meaning and joy in their typical day, and that’s what I help with.”
“I remember times like that when River and I were working on FriendZone. All these apps made it look easy, and we knew we had a winning idea, but getting from conception to launch to success, it felt like everyone knew how to do that but us.” I think back to those times and mentally compare them to the BlindDate launch, which has been so much better even if it’s not perfect. We learned, and we’re doing better.
“Exactly. And the progress at first was frustrating.” She’s talking about her own, but I nod, knowing how hard River and I had it too. “For me, I’d put hours into a photo, staging and taking hundreds of shots and then using just the right filters to try and make myself look my best. Then I’d post and get nothing but slimy guys who wanted nudes or phishers attempting to troll me.”
“And now?” Admittedly, I’m still seeing a lot of that in these comments. There are way too many versions of ‘hey, baby’ and ‘let’s collaborate’ for my liking.
“Now, I know that what I do isn’t for everyone. The people who see me, feel my message resonate, those are my people. My Sunshiners. The people who leave vitriol like this” —she points to a comment about her nose, of all things, which is cute and freckled and perfectly fine—“those are not my people. That doesn’t mean I don’t try to change them, but all I can do is keep being me. Maybe they’ll come around, maybe they won’t. But if one person smiles because of something I post or volunteers because they saw me doing it, or even if someone buys a mascara because I did and they find a product they love, it’s all worth it.”
Wow. Looking at her, I realize why Riley Watson was able to make Riley Sunshine a success. Yes, she’s positive. Yes, she’s smart and beautiful and has all the things people can point out and go, ‘She’s got it.’ But what really makes Riley successful is that she’s somehow tough and determined, but at her core, she’s a truly sensitive soul.
“That’s a lot to handle.”
I mean for her. She’s amazing, so much so that I’m basically blinded by her brilliance.
Riley closes her laptop, setting in on the table to take my hands. “Noah, I’m not going to think less of you if you don’t want to do this, go full reveal. I can’t do what you do, that’s for sure. I could never, ever do all the stuff that you do. So you don’t have to be a part of what I do, either. It’s okay.”
She’s giving me an out. Not of this thing between us but of this corner of her life. I’m just not sure I want it. I know how important her posts and being authentic are to her.
She’s right—she would never make it in the corporate world, and I gave up on the entrepreneur life. But this?
I won’t give up on this. I want Riley, all of her, and if that means being a part of Riley Sunshine, so be it.
“I want to tell the whole world about us. I want to shout it from the rooftops and write it in the sky. I want everyone to see the smiles I give you, and even more, the smiles you give me.”
Riley eyes widen in hopeful surprise, and then she gives me one of those bubbly smiles that make her look like the happiest angel in existence. “Think you’re ready?”
“If you are.”
Riley squeals as she climbs into my lap, straddling me and covering me with sweet, soft kisses all over my face. I grin, loving it, but in the instant before her lips meet mine, I have to ask myself . . . am I ready?
I bury that down, instead asking through Riley’s kisses, “Do I get a cool nickname like Riley Sunshine? Noah Sunshine? Or Naughty Nick?”
Riley’s laugh vibrates against my neck. “Mmm, maybe Moonlight Mark? That way you still get a little bit of anonymity.”
“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.”