The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara
Eighty-Eight
I get out of the café and run toward the bench. With trembling hands, I text him the moment I see the bench. Our bench. Number 50, you ask? OK. Do you believe in love at first text?
Minutes pass and nothing happens. More minutes. He’s not coming. No, he has to come!
I don’t want to cry, but I feel so overwhelmed by this moment. By the realization of what happened last year, these past few weeks. By my love for him and his love for me.
I hear someone running toward me. My heart is beating like crazy and I’m afraid to open my eyes. This feels too much like a dream. What if I wake up?
Then I feel he’s gently kissing the top of my head like he did it a year ago, but this time I’m not leaving. And I’m not breaking his heart. “I do,” he whispers. “I do believe.”
No, this time I open my eyes, and we stare at each other for a moment before we both say, “I love you,” and I pull him to me and kiss him.
“Can we stay here until the sunrise?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he says, before he kisses me again. “Are you mad at me for not telling you earlier who I was?”
“No. I’m not mad. I hate you,” I say and chuckle.
“It figures. Just put it in the black book.”
“What do you think I’ve been writing in that notebook you gave me?”
He laughs.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me the truth when I came back, although I think, at first, you wanted to, right? In San Francisco? I can see how this all must’ve looked to you. You were just guarding your heart,” I say, holding his hand tight in mine.
“What a great job I’ve done,” he says, pulling me closer.
“I don’t get one thing, though. The Lift. Nobody ever told me you’re a Lift driver and I doubt you drove people around in the Porsche or Mustang.”
“Good catch. I had a Prius I sold to Aaron when I left for Florida. I Lifted from time to time—maybe a dozen times in total—hoping the people I met would inspire my stories.”
“And did they?”
“Funny you should ask. I think you should read my latest book. It’s the story of my last Lift ride. It publishes tomorrow.”
“No free copy?” I ask and wink.
“An author’s got to make a living. How else can I afford this?” he asks and from his backpack, which I didn’t even notice until now, he takes out a square package wrapped in paper.
“What is this?”
“A small gift. Happy early birthday, Maya.”
“You remembered.” I try not to start crying again.
“Maybe,” he teases.
I unwrap it and throw my arms around his neck and hold him close to me. It’s the small painting I wished for. The one from Big Sur, with our sunset. “Thank you,” I say. “It’s perfect.”
“We’ll have to find a place to hang it,” he says.
“How about Café Azure? Oh, did Celine tell you the big news?” I ask.
“She did. And I have a different suggestion for the management of Café Azure for the next few months at least. I’m hoping you’ll be unavailable, and Aaron knows plenty about the place to be just fine.”
“I’ll be unavailable?”
He smiles. “I’m hoping. As for the painting, I had a bit of a different thing in mind.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Something like Dolce Far Niente, perhaps? I heard it’s up for sale.”
“What?” I stare at him, and I get lost in his eyes and this overwhelming moment.
“When we get back, I know someone who would love to sit on the balcony and watch you watch the ocean and be happy.”
I smile. “Get back from where?”
“Well, let’s see. I know about Hawaii, but how high is New Zealand on your wish list?”
“Number two. IF it includes a one-day layover in London. There’s someone who’s dying to meet you.”
“Alright. I’m intrigued. What’s number one?”
“A two-month tour of America for some bookstore visits,” I say, laughing.
“Was hoping you’d say that. How many points on the hate scale will both win me?”
“A few. I think you’ll need much more time to win enough points, though.”
“We’re talking decades here, right? Just asking because I have something in mind—”
“Of course you do,” I say and kiss him again.
And for the first time in my life, all I feel is absolute happiness and love.
THE END