Page 124 of Reel Love

The tacos arrive a half hour after we get to her home. Shaka finds a spot he likes in the front room, seeming even more comfortable here than he was at my place.

We dig into the bags and plate everything, and then we take our meals out on the porch. We’re just finishing up ourdinner when Shaka comes out the sliding porch doors onto the deck with something in his mouth.

“What do you have, buddy?” I ask, standing to take whatever it is from him.

It’s a scrap of fabric, that much I can tell, but he’s got it pretty wadded up and secured in his jaws.

“Shaka, drop it,” I command in a firm voice like the one I’ve heard the Dog Whisperer use.

Alana starts laughing. She covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my gosh! Shaka!” she shouts through her laughter.

Alana stands up and approaches the dog. I try to corner him from behind. He darts away. Before I know it, we’re chasing the dog through the house and he’s running around couches and chairs, under coffee tables, into bedrooms and out again. When he returns to the deck, Alana and I head out after him. I shut the sliders and we corner him.

Alana approaches him with her pointer finger extended.

“Sit, Shaka.”

Surprisingly, he sits.

“Drop it!” Her voice is firm and she has her hands on her hips like she means business.

Shaka’s jaw pops open and a hot pink piece of fabric falls to the deck.

Alana scoops it up and holds it behind her back. “That was my … um … undergarments.”

“Yeah. I saw the drawer open when I chased Shaka through there.”

She looks at me and bursts out laughing. “The tabloids would have a heyday with this. I can see the headlines now! Alana Graves and A Mystery Man in Her Bedroom! Her Underwear Drawer Torn Open! It makes for some great clickbait.”

We both chuckle, even though those headlines aren’t so far-fetched.

“I like being your man of mystery,” I confess.

“I love it a little too much, I’m afraid.”

“No such thing,” I assure her.

She disposes of Shaka’s plunder and comes back out of her bedroom. I noticed a wall of framed photos while I was in pursuit of the dog, so I pause there to take them all in. It would be normal for Alana to have photos of herself in designer gowns, accepting awards, and attending red-carpet events. Instead, this wall is full of a very mundane, and obviously curated, selection of photos from her non-Hollywood life.

One photo catches my eye and I nearly swallow my tongue.

It’s me.

But not me currently.

This photo was taken when I was eight or nine years old with a little girl I used to play with on the weekends in our favorite cove. I called her … Oh. No. What? It can’t be! I called herSaturday girl. She only came to that cove on Saturdays. And she stopped showing up the summer after I graduated from elementary school. I never saw her again. She disappeared without even saying goodbye. I think her family had a vacation home here. But most Saturdays she was at the same beach where my family went to spend a good portion of the day. Her name wasn’t Alana, though. It was Gwendolyn. Then again, I was Ren.

I study the photo. It’s definitely me. There’s no doubt. And Alana has it because the little girl isher.

I’m about five seconds away from telling her when her phone rings.

“My mother,” she mouths. And then my phone pings with a text.

Kai:It’s a boy! They named him Koa. And his middle name is Kai—after me. It means warrior and ocean. He’s destined to be a strong surfer with that name—an ocean warrior.

I smile.

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