The First Last Kiss Read Online Free Page A

think he’s going to do? Oh my God! He is! He is!
    It’s then that I realize the song I’ve been humming along to is John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ . It is playing somewhere nearby. And not on an iPod, it sounds like a . . . like a . . . string quartet. I open my eyes but I don’t turn around. A small crowd of people have gathered and are all looking at me, smiling. Some of them have cameras. I blink and swallow. I want to turn around, I desperately want to, but something tells me to wait for Ryan’s next instruction.
    ‘Now,’ Ryan says softly, ‘imagine that I am behind you, telling you, Molly Carter, that I love you, that I always have and always will, and that right here, right in the heart of Central Park, I want to ask you if you’ll accept my heart, look after it forever and let me take care of yours. You can turn around now . . . ’
    I put my hand over my mouth as the tears stream down my face, for once my camera is forgotten as I spin around to see the smiling faces of the string quartet, but still no Ryan.
    ‘I’m down here,’ he laughs, and he’s there, on bended knee, his arm stretched out and one hand cupping a velvet box, the other hand hovering over the closed lid.
    ‘No!’ I gasp.
    He laughs. ‘I’ll be honest, that’s not quite the reaction I was after—’
    ‘No! I mean! No, look at me – I look ridiculous! How could you do this!’ I kneel down and pummel him in the chest, openly sobbing now.
    ‘I think you look gorgeous,’ Ryan laughs, pinging the Statue of Liberty G-string.
    ‘This is not how I planned to look at such a big moment!’ I wail.
    ‘You can’t control everything, Molly,’ Ryan smiles, ‘sometimes you have to just roll with it . . . ’
    I look at him and there is a look of quiet determination that I recognize from when he is battling a wave, shooting a goal or when he’s gripping on to the sail of a boat and guiding it back to shore.
    ‘Molly Carter,’ he says, slowly, ‘will you marry me?’ He opens the box and there is a beautiful ring, a cluster of small diamonds on a gold band glittering like a constellation of stars.
    ‘Yes! Yes!’ interrupting him as I laugh through my tears. I swipe away my tears quickly and sink to my knees and I grasp Ryan’s face and he cups mine and we kiss and there is laughter and tears and it feels familiar but different. So, so different.
    Because this is the kiss to end all kisses. It’s the kiss that I didn’t even know I was waiting for. I close my eyes again and press record in my head, to internally capture the moment that Ryan Cooper puts an engagement ring on my finger. And it is the best present in the world.

7.47 a.m.
    The letterbox clatters and, dragging myself away from the DVD, I wander out into the hallway with the lovely original Victorian tiles and corniced ceilings, still keeping one eye on the TV. The removal men should be here soon to finish packing up the rest of the stuff. I seem to have acquired two lives’ worth of it: before and after, and they didn’t manage to get it all done yesterday. I smile as I think about my purposefully minimal bedroom at uni, bare of any personalization apart from my Annie Leibovitz print of John Lennon and Yoko Ono that was pinned over my bed and the film poster of Before Sunrise above my desk. God, I was so serious back then. My duvet was white, my wardrobe full of black clothes. Funny how people change, I think as I look around my messy abode. The thought of keeping anything tidy now brings me out in a sweat. Mind you, most things bring me out in a sweat, these days.
    I bend down slowly to the Union Jack ‘Welcome’ doormat and make a mental note to remember to pack it. I pick up the pile of envelopes, flicking through them quickly, muttering as I do so: ‘Bill, bill, notice of bill paid, bill . . . doctor’s appointment and . . . ’ I pull out the card that has my name and my address written on the envelope in a small, neat print:
Molly Cooper
7 Avenue