Chapter Thirty-Seven. Riley #3
I catch my dads shooting each other worried looks, and they’re close behind me as I wipe my hands off on a towel and step outside after the waitress.
I look around, searching for the fire I’ll need to put out, and then I suddenly realize everyone is silent.
Fuck. This must be something really bad.
A health inspector? We have a liquor license from the shack, but maybe they don’t like the tables being on the beach or—
And then I see her. Luna is standing in the water, facing the tables and You’re My Lobster.
She’s dressed casually in a floral sundress and her hair is loose around her shoulders.
She’s ankle-deep in the water, holding her guitar while the sun sets behind her, and seeing her here actually takes my breath away.
When our eyes connect, I inhale sharply.
I can’t believe she’s here. People on the beach are recording her with their phones, though most of the locals at the restaurant have refrained.
She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t have any security or PAs asking people to stop.
It’s just her. Without saying anything, she begins strumming on her guitar and launches into “I Kissed Her First.”
When she gets to the lyric I suggested—I’d thought that maybe I was cursed—my stomach twists.
I can’t believe she actually put it in the song.
I can’t believe that a song about me, that I helped her with, is going to be on the radio one day.
Actually, I can’t believe she’s playing it right now, because that means that she’s not going to be able to drop it for the first time with a snazzy music video or at a perfectly timed moment for maximum gain.
Luna sings, her eyes never leaving my face, and hearing her out here on the beach is just as incredible as hearing her play for an entire arena. I kick off my shoes and walk toward her as the song finishes, until I’m standing right in front of her, the water lapping against my ankles.
“Riley,” she says, her voice already breaking.
“I love you. And I didn’t know how to actually love someone until you showed me.
I’m used to love that comes with a strict set of ever-changing conditions, but you love absolutely boundlessly.
I’m sorry I took advantage of that. I was so wrapped up in my own life, like I always have been, that I didn’t stop to think about yours.
I am so, so sorry about ‘Suspended Animation.’ I am the biggest, most selfish asshole in the world. ”
I reach out and take her hand. “You don’t need to keep going,” I whisper. I don’t want her to feel that she has to make a grand gesture like this, when I know that every move she makes, every admission of guilt she allows, will be forever scrutinized.
“I want to,” she says. “I love you in a way that isn’t about photo ops and headlines.
If you want to live here, I want to be here with you.
Forget the press and the paps—I want you.
I want you to teach me how to catch lobsters even though it looks terrifying, because I want to learn about all the things you love.
I want to love you so loudly that little girls all over the world know it is okay to love whoever they want.
I want to write songs about you, and play them for you, and even if some of them are only for me and you, that’s okay.
I want to play stupid board games with you and burn a million batches of croissants because there will always be time to make another one.
I want to come home to you, and I want our home to be wherever we’re together. ”
She stops, out of breath from her speech, and I reach up and pull her face to me and kiss her, without stopping to worry what everyone will say about America’s sweetheart kissing a girl in no makeup and an apron covered in lobster guts.
“I love you too,” I say when we break apart.
She takes off her guitar, and Anthony wordlessly runs up and takes it from her, and she pulls me to her.
“You were right,” I tell her. “I wasn’t going after what I wanted.
I was scared. Your song … it was wrong to do it like that.
I wish you’d played it for me and asked me and given me a voice since it’s my own story.
But I also wish I had stayed and talked it out with you.
And Liv … Liv would love the song. It’s a beautiful song.
“And, Luna, I love you. I love you for pushing me to do what I love, to discover my dreams. Because this is it. And I don’t think I ever would have made it here if it weren’t for you.
Watching you chase your dreams so relentlessly inspires me, Luna.
I want to be by your side for all of it.
I want your songs to rule the charts and I want to see you get that fucking Grammy, because you earned it with your music.
And you really, truly have. I know it won’t be easy to build a life together—people are going to talk about us forever, but fuck it. Let them. I love you, Luna Leya.”
Luna kisses me, hard. “I love you too,” she says, wiping tears and mascara from her face. “Now give me an apron and tell me what to do.”
I raise my eyebrows at her, shocked. People will absolutely take pictures of her doing this, and it’s hard to look cute while you’re sweating over a pot of mussels. “Seriously?”
“One hundred percent. No job is too messy.”