Page 31 of Light Up The Night
"Riley, wait." I hesitate. "You have helped me more than anyone could expect. You have done enough. You need not wasteany more of your time on this, or me. I am quite sure you have better things to do on a Saturday."
He frowns at me, perturbed. "Haven't wasted a damn thing, babe. I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing." He takes both of my hands. "C'mon. I want you to meet Cole. More to the point, I want Cole to meet you."
"I do not think it necessary to inflict my oddity upon anyone else, Riley," I murmur. "You will erode the goodwill of your friends."
"The fuck are you talking about?" he demands, sounding genuinely disturbed. "No one is inflicting anything on anyone, and also I don't even know what you mean by the second part of that bullshit statement.”
"Never mind. It was an obviously poor attempt at self-deprecating humor."
He stares at me, and I think he can detect the lie in my words. "More bullshit. I thought you didn't lie."
I blush. "Riley, I—"
He frames one side of my face with his palm. "Don't do that, Cadence."
"You engage in self-deprecating humor," I point out.
"Yeah, but I'm an ignorant shithead." He smiles at me, and my stomach seems to twist and to melt and to flip all at once. "You're a fuckin' genius and literal fuckin' saint. Ain't much of a comparison, sweetheart."
"I have yet to see any evidence that you are an ignorant…what you said. Perhaps you are mistaken in your assessment of yourself."
He shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. "Nah. There's a few things you don't know about me." He grabs me around the waist, lifts me like an ice dancer preparing to throw his partner into a triple axel, and deposits me on the step above him. "C'mon, Gorgeous. Best not keep Sheriff Mannix waiting."
He seems oblivious to the fact that I cannot breathe. He touched me—he had his hands around my waist. I know it meant nothing to him, but it does to me.
I am still regaining my mental and emotional equilibrium as we enter the police station. It is a calm, peaceful place. Uniformed deputies sit at desks doing paperwork and using computers and whatever else policemen do when they aren't on patrol. Riley greets them all by name, trading handshakes with them and asking after wives and girlfriends and kids and pets—he is known and well-liked. He leads the way through the office, which is fluorescent-lit, with thin industrial blue carpet on the floor and a drop-tile ceiling, a mostly open space with desks facing each other in three rows of two abreast. Cole Mannix's office is at the rear of the building, with a direct line of sight to the front door and the reception desk—the office is glassed off with built-in louvered blinds, the door propped open by a thick tome of Michigan's laws.
Cole is a large man, not as large as Bear but more heavily muscled than Riley. His golden hair is cut short and brushed to the side, a little messy from his hand passing through it, and a short, neat beard frames a strong jaw. He has blue-blocking glasses on his face as he stares at a large computer monitor, frowning in concentration as he shifts his attention from the monitor to a stapled stack of papers on the desk, a silver ballpoint pen moving from line to line.
Riley knocks on the doorframe.
"One sec," Sheriff Mannix mutters, not looking up. He finishes his line-item comparison and then looks up, a grin spreading across his face when he sees who it is. "Rye, what the fuck are you doing here, bro? Come to turn yourself in, finally?"
Riley goes tense, his shoulders hunching. He did not like that joke, for some reason. "Nah, man. You know me, I'm a goodboy." He juts his chin at the desk. "That looks fun. Love the sexy specs, Manny."
Sheriff Mannix whips the glasses off and tosses them on the desk. "Ah, fuck you," he says, his tone implying affection and humor rather than offense. "Bein' the big boss means going over several hundred pages of expense reports, line by fucking line. Staring at that damn screen all day kills my fuckin' eyes. Some days, I'd rather go back to being a lowly deputy."
“Three Rivers wouldn't let that happen, " Riley says. “You're gonna be in that office till you retire, buddy."
Cole laughs. “Yeah, I know. I just hate paperwork, and I hate computers." He turns his gaze to me. "Who's your beautiful new friend?"
I feel my cheeks burn under the heat of his compliment and his curious eyes. "I am Cadence Creswell, Sheriff Mannix. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
He half-rises from his desk to shake my hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Pleased to meet you, too, Cadence.” He juts his chin at the two chairs facing the desk. “Have a seat.”
"Cadence is in town raising funds for a medical mission trip to Sudan," Riley explains as we sit. "We're hoping you can help get the first responders of Three Rivers on board. We’ve got Mrs. Aldis working on the Chamber of Commerce, Noelle is going to her parents about the church folks, and now we're here hittin' you up."
"Fundraising, huh?" He looks from me to Riley, and then to our hands, which are—yet again—joined. I hadn't even noticed, so accustomed have I become to Riley's insistence on holding my hand wherever he takes me. “How much? I can pass a hat around the office."
Riley chuckles. "This ain't pass-the-hat shit, bro. We’re putting together an event."
"Hmmm," Cole hums. "So, how much?"
"Eighty grand," Riley answers. "And change."
Cole snorts. “Yeah, passing the hat won't cut it." He glances at our hands again but doesn't comment on them. "So…what do you need from me?"
"Just spread the word about the cause. She's presenting to the Chamber on Monday. I’m thinking we pack out the town hall."
