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“Yeah.” He nods like he’s discussing trends in the food service sector. “High Tide is still a gamble, though all signs point to a strong opening. And you’re a major industry player…the offers for Milk and Honey are going to keep rolling in. We’re already set financially more than I ever thought I’d be. We’re also damn good at doing what it takes to make a baby, and God knows I want children with you like I want to breathe, so why not start now?”
I’m pretty sure I’ll start to cry if I try to speak. So instead, I push my chair back and go around the table to him. He makes room for me and pulls me onto his lap.
“It’s okay if you want to wait,” he says, sliding his hand through my hair.
I shake my head and nestle against his strong, warm chest. “I don’t want to wait.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I want to have a baby with you. And given the way we go at it, you’ll have me pregnant before the end of the week.”
He laughs and locks his arms around me, rising to his feet in a swift movement. “If I have my way, you’ll be pregnant before the end of the night.”
I haven’t stopped taking birth control yet, but that hardly matters. My husband is nothing if not determined and single-minded—and I have no doubt he can plunge his way past any baby-making barriers.
Two weeks later, I’m proven right.
Epilogue Two
HANNAH
Five years after that
“Ready to go, sweetie?”I slip my handbag over my shoulder and hold my hand out for four-year-old Sophie, who is busy drawing at her little desk in the corner of my office.
“Yep.” She drops her pen and hops up with excitement. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He worked the lunch shift at High Tide, so he’s meeting us there. He had to stop at home to shower and change.”
We leave my office in the building above Milk & Honey’s flagship store in downtown San Francisco. Two of the company’s VPs wave goodbye through their glass-fronted offices, and other employees stop to admire Sophie’s polka-dot dress and matching hair ribbons.
“What about Mimi and Pops?” Sophie asks as she climbs into the car.
“Also meeting us there. They’re driving in with Uncle Wes.”
I navigate the crowded city streets to another parking garage, then Sophie and I walk to a six-story building located on a corner street in the Mission District. People are already streaming into the lobby. Huffing and puffing a little, I hurry Sophie along so we can snag front-row seats.
My mother, Kevin, and Dane’s brother-in-law Wes arrive. Soon the auditorium is packed with people, and the air crackles with excitement.
At six, the lights dim, and spotlights illuminate the stage. Selina hands me a packet of tissues. Sophie bounces up and down on her seat.
The grand orchestral music of “Pomp and Circumstance” comes from the speakers. From the wings, two dozen men and women of various ages, dressed in black graduation caps and gowns, file out to sit in the chairs arranged onstage. Applause rises from the audience.
My throat tightens. In alphabetical order by last name, Dane is in the front row. He looks gorgeous and distinguished in his cap and gown, a gold Honors stole around his shoulders. Sophie waves frantically at him with both hands. He winks at her, then looks at me.
Even in the dim light, our eyes lock. My heart swells along with the inevitable tears as an endless current of love, pride, and happiness courses between us.
Eight more people dressed in higher-level academic regalia—trimmed black gowns, caps, different colored cords—file out to sit in chairs on the other side of the stage. A gray-haired man approaches the podium and asks us to rise for the Pledge of Allegiance and the national anthem.
Several college board members, officials, and a state senator deliver warm, earnest speeches. Then the college president approaches the podium and leans in to the mic.
“Graduates, please rise,” he announces, spreading his arm out toward the graduates onstage. “As you have all completed the necessary requirements—with flying colors, I might add—I invite you to come forward when your name is called to receive your high school equivalency diploma.”
Beside me, Selina, Kevin, and Wes hold their cell phones up for photos and video. I keep my gaze fixed on my husband as he takes his place in line.
“Degree conferred with highest honors to Dane Armstrong,” the college president announces.
Though everyone in the auditorium applauds, our little group goes wild with cheers and clapping.
