Chapter 9: A Night of Revelry
The rectory living room glowed under a canopy of paper lanterns strung from the beams, their golden light pooling on the polished wooden floors and dancing over the faces of everyone Riley loved. The air was thick with the scent of roast chicken from Sheriff Hassan’s wife, cumin-spiked lentils from Erin, and the yeasty, comforting smell of Paul’s own freshly-baked bread. Soft classical music hummed from an old speaker, just loud enough to stitch the evening together.
Riley’s mother, Anne, was refilling a pitcher of iced tea, her eyes constantly drifting to Paul with a softness that had taken months to unfurl. His father, Joe, and younger brother, Mike, were in deep debate with Hassan about boat engines by the fireplace. Paul’s ex-wife, Charlotte, was laughing at something Erin’s four-year-old was explaining very seriously, a slice of pear in her hand. Sarah, Paul’s daughter—her similarity to him in the eyes, the set of her jaw, still a quiet marvel—was perched on the arm of the sofa, watching it all with a tentative smile. Erin’s two kids wove between legs, a whirlwind of crumbs and giggles.
They ate from paper plates balanced on knees, passing dishes, talking over each other. A family, assembled from wreckage.
“So the mainland clinic,” Erin said, waving a fork. “Were they decent?”
Paul, curled into the corner of the sofa with a plate of mostly potatoes, nodded. He looked radiant, a subtle flush on his cheeks. “More than decent. The doctor was wonderful. They did an ultrasound.”
A hush, sudden and complete, fell over the room. Forks paused. All eyes locked on Paul.
He took a steadying breath, his hand finding Riley’s where it rested on the couch between them. “We saw the heartbeat.”
The silence broke into a wave of gasps and immediate, overlapping joy. Anne clapped her hands over her mouth, tears springing instantly. Joe let out a loud, “Well I’ll be damned!” Mike whooped. Erin launched herself from her chair to envelop Paul in a hug, careful of his plate. “A heartbeat! Oh, my god!”
Sarah’s face went through a rapid dance of shock, confusion, and dawning, profound wonder. She met her father’s gaze. He gave a small, shaky nod. She stood, walked over, and simply put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard. Charlotte beamed, raising her glass. “A baby. Paul, that’s… that’s amazing.”
Sheriff Hassan just smiled, a deep, knowing thing, and nodded at Riley. “Congratulations, boys.”
The room bubbled with questions—how far along, how are you feeling, what did it sound like? Paul answered them all, his voice warm and steady, but Riley felt the seismic shift inside himself. The ring box was a nuclear reactor in his pocket. His palms were slick.
“Tell them about the sound,” Paul prompted him gently, nudging his side.
All attention turned to Riley. He cleared his throat, which was suddenly desert-dry. “It was… it was this whooshing sound. Like a… a tiny horse galloping. Really fast.” He stumbled over the words, his usual reticence locking his jaws. “And on the screen, there was this… this little bean. A white bean. In a… a dark circle.”
He was stammering, his syntax crumbling. He saw Erin’s eyebrows knit in friendly confusion. His mother’s smile grew concerned.
Paul turned fully to him, his own joy tempering into worry. He leaned close, his voice a private murmur under the chatter. “Riley? Are you okay? You’re pale. Was it the chicken? I told you Hassan’s wife makes it spicy.”
The concern in Paul’s eyes, so pure and misplaced, undid the last of Riley’s control. This was it. Now or never.
He stood up. The room quieted again, sensing a new gravity. He looked at their faces—his family, Paul’s family, their chosen family—all merged into one welcoming, expectant circle.
“It wasn’t the chicken,” Riley said, his voice rough but clear. He stepped into the space before the sofa, right where the lantern light fell brightest on the floor. He turned to face Paul, who was watching him with beautiful, bewildered worry.
“The sound,” Riley began again, forcing the words out. “That heartbeat. It was the first sound of our future. And all I could think, Paul, was that I want to hear every sound that comes after. The first cry. The first laugh. The first word. I want to hear it all with you. Next to you. As your…” His breath hitched. He fumbled in his pocket, the world narrowing to the velvety box.
He sank to one knee on the worn rug. The room ceased to breathe.
He opened the box. A simple, burnished tungsten band gleamed under the lights.
“As your husband.” The words left him in a rush, quiet but absolute. “Paul Hill, you have given me a life I never dreamed I could have. You’ve given me peace. You’re giving me a child. Please, give me this, too. Marry me.”
Paul stared. His plate slid forgotten from his lap onto the cushion. A tremor went through him, starting in his hands and rising until his whole frame shook. His face, always so measured, collapsed into pure, unguarded emotion. A sob broke from his throat, then another. He covered his mouth with both hands, his eyes, wide and streaming, fixed on the ring. He couldn’t speak. He just nodded, over and over, a frantic, joyous bobbing of his head as the tears carved paths through his smile.
He launched himself forward, off the sofa and into Riley’s arms, nearly toppling them both. “Yes,” he choked out against Riley’s neck, the word hot and wet. “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.”
The room erupted.
Cheers, shouts, clapping. Anne and Joe were crying, moving in to wrap them both in a crushing embrace. “Welcome to the family, son,” Joe said into Paul’s hair, his own voice thick. Mike was slapping Riley’s back, grinning wildly. Erin was bouncing on her toes, laughing and crying, her kids clinging to her legs and asking why everyone was yelling. Sheriff Hassan wore a look of deep satisfaction, raising his beer in a silent toast.
Sarah helped her father up, her arm around him, her own eyes shining. “You sure know how to make an announcement,” she said, kissing his cheek.
Charlotte approached, her smile gentle. She hugged Paul, then turned to Riley. “He used to burn every single piece of toast,” she said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “And he cries at those terrible singing competition shows. He’s a magnificent mess. And he’s the most fiercely loving person I’ve ever known. You take good care of our mess, Riley Flynn.”
“I will,” Riley promised, his arm tight around Paul’s waist, feeling the new, firm curve of him.
They drank—except for Paul, who sipped sparkling juice—and ate double-helpings of the lemon cake Erin had brought. The stories flowed now, easier, buoyed by the twin tides of joy. The lanterns burned lower. The children fell asleep in piles of coats. The talk softened into the comfortable, meandering hum of a night no one wanted to end.
Eventually, the goodbyes were long and lingering, full of repeated congratulations and promises to help plan everything. Finally, the door closed, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet, lantern-lit warmth of their home.
Paul leaned against the door, looking at his hand, at the new weight on his finger. He looked up at Riley, exhausted, utterly beautiful, and completely his.
Riley crossed the room and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. He placed his other hand, gently, on Paul’s stomach. “Hello in there,” he whispered. He looked back up at Paul. “And hello, fiancé.”
Paul’s smile was the softest thing Riley had ever seen. “Hello,” he whispered back.
They stood there in the quiet, the proof of their future held between their hands, the echo of the celebration a warm ghost in the air, the tiny, galloping heartbeat a secret song just for them.