by Lisa Ferrari
“I thought you might be hungry,” he says.
And I am. I’m too wired to sleep, that’s for certain.
After the meal, the caterers leave and Kellan and I take a nice relaxing shower together and get into bed. The sky is beginning to lighten. The sun will rise soon. We make love. We take our time, savoring one another. Dawn has broken by the time we find our release and fall fast asleep curled together, wrapped around one another, one.
THE NEXT DAY, which is of course the same day but about six hours later, we get up and decide to go out to breakfast.
The gold statue is on my nightstand where I put it last night.
We swing through our neighborhood Starbucks and everyone is smiling and congratulating me. The barista takes my order and when I try to insert my card into the chip reader, he says it’s on the house.
“Oh, come on, you guys. Let me pay. That’s sweet, but I should pay.”
“No. Your money is no good here.” He grins.
“Well, can I at least tip you?”
“Sure, if you want to.”
The tip jar is on the counter beside the register. I pop the clasp on my wallet to find some cash. I see a few hundreds and some twenties, a five and some singles. Suddenly I’m aware that all eyes in the coffee house are on me, and I’m embarrassed. Several people are holding up their phones, recording all of this, probably doing a livestream to umpteen gazillion people.
I grab all my cash and stuff it into the tip jar.
The barista’s eyes widen.
“Is that good?” I ask.
He nods. Briskly.
Kellan leans down close to my ear. “That better be one good cup of coffee.” He kisses my cheek.
The barista calls, “Noah!”
The young man at the coffee machine looks at him. “Yes?”
“Make it good!”
Noah nods and smiles at me. He hands me my warm venti mocha a couple minutes later. “Forever Love is my favorite movie of all time. You were awesome.” He laughs nervously.
“Thanks,” I say.”
“You think there will be a sequel? I heard a rumor about that. Or a prequel. Or maybe a trilogy. That would be awesome.”
“There’s been talk.”
His eyes widen. “Really? Awesome. How’s the coffee?” He nods at the cup in my hands which I have yet to sip.
I taste it. It’s good. Really good. “Noah, that might be the best mocha I’ve ever had.”
Noah smiles and gives me two thumbs up. “Cool.”
“Where’s mine?” Kellan asks.
Noah blanches. “Oh. Sorry. Coming right up, Mister Kearns. Please don’t bench press me.” Noah finishes Kellan’s coffee and hands it to him.
Kellan tastes it. “Noah, that might be the best mocha I’ve ever had.”
I swat Kellan on the shoulder. “Thanks, guys,” I say.
Everyone shouts bye.
Outside, as we’re getting into the Range Rover, Kellan says, “Sweet kid. What do you think of the name Noah?”
“What do you mean what do I think of it?”
“I mean, Misses Kearns, what do you think of the idea of naming our child Noah?”
Holy shit. Or, something less blasphemous.
I did not see this coming.
But it warms my heart. At the same time, it fills me with a bit of fear, the notion of actually being a parent. “Um, if, um, it’s a boy, then I guess that could be good.”
Kellan laughs. “Relax. It was just a question.” He leans over and kisses me. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, “you’ll be the best mom in the whole universe.” He kisses me again and throws the Range Rover into drive and whips us out onto Sunset Blvd. heading west.
We drive to south bay, to Manhattan Beach, and have breakfast at an Irish pub right on the sand. We sit upstairs on the second level, looking out at the ocean and waves and vast, clear blue sky while we eat.
When we finish, we head across to a French bakery. We get a couple of coffees and a chocolate-filled croissant. We stroll out onto the pier and sit on a bench. We watch the surfers and the birds and the children playing while we enjoy our coffee and dessert.
By the time we finish, the sun is going down. We stroll arm in arm together, Kellan and me, out onto the pier, and off into the sunset.
To Be Continued…
