Mark and I looked away, and kept very silent.
“Oh dear, seems like I put my foot in my mouth.” Ian stood up and backed away from us. “Sorry for making things awkward,” he said, but he was smiling, as if that had been his intention all along.
Mark and I finally gazed up at each other again and I held my breath. It dawned on me that we hadn’t really discussed what was going on between us. We’d just fallen into this routine and relationship without actually defining what it was, or asking where it was going. It felt good, but were we still just seeing where this would go, like Mark had said that first night together? Or were we past the “just seeing” and had we arrived at the “seen” bit?
I turned my attention to my dress. This was probably something we should talk about at some point.
CHAPTER 69
We woke up on Sunday morning to the sudden, violent scream of the bloody alarm. It sent us both flying out the bed; falling and jumping and tumbling. Our alarm hadn’t been set for this early in, well, ever.
We raced through showers, breakfast and scrambled into our outfits. When we were done, for the first time since waking up, a small, calm silence settled between us. Memories from the other day, from trying on our costumes, came back to me. I think they must have come back to Mark too, because he was looking at me in the exact way that I was looking at him. Harun was watching us from his perch on the sofa. As if waiting for us to do something, or speak.
“You look . . .” I started, then stopped.
Mark nodded. “You too.”
I smiled. “How do you know I wasn’t going to say you looked ridiculous?”
He smiled back. “I’m pretty sure you were.”
“Hang on, I thought you said I looked sexy in this.” I paused. “Remember, you said that, when we were trying these on?” Hint alert. Me steering the conversation very deliberately, and I don’t think very subtly either. At least I hadn’t come out and said,Remember what Ian said about young love! Hahah! So funny. . .But do you? Love me? Do you? Cos I think I might be falling for you. . .
I waited for Mark to speak. But I think he was waiting for me, because he raised his brows. I raised mine right back, and I think I heard an exasperated sigh coming from the peanut gallery on the sofa.
“We better get going?” Mark said. It sounded like a question. What was he asking? Would you rather stay here and cuddle and tell each other how we were both falling in love?
“Sure. If you think so?” I asked straight back, popping the ball in his court again.
He nodded. “Well, we can’t be late. Especially since you are the star of the show,” he added jokingly.
I shrugged. “I can’t believe it. I’ve only been in town for three weeks.” Double hint. So pointed. Telling him how long I’d been here.
“Really?” He sounded surprised.
“We met three weeks ago,” I said very pointedly.
“Feels like longer,” Mark replied, with a smile.
“Does it?” I asked.
And then, he walked up to me. Slow strides. This was it. The moment I was waiting for us to share. We had spent every single day together for more than two weeks, one of which had been spent almost entirely in bed—it was time to say how we felt. I could feel it on the tip of my tongue, desperate to come out. And I wanted to hear it from him too. I mean, I felt it. I felt it when he kissed me and held my hand and we made love, but I wanted to hear the words. Hear that he was feeling for me what I was feeling for him.
But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he kissed me. It was an amazing kiss. It made my limbs weak and my chest flutter with a fast breathlessness and I could sense that he was putting his words into the kiss. I could feel them. But . . . I also wanted to hear them.
The whole town had gathered at the church at the end of the main road. The atmosphere was electric and everyone was in high spirits. Many of us were in costume, ready to reenact the great trek that the family made when they found this little place and settled down. It was rather miraculous, actually, a family walking for weeks through the desert with all their livestock and everything they owned in the entire world, looking for water and a new home. When you thought about it, this entire town had been built on the back of the bravery and determination of one family.
Faizel was there with his sheep. An old ox wagon had been pulled out of storage, two horses tied to it, ready to pull it down the road in the procession. The streets were lined with residents who were not a part of the reenactment, and for the first time since arriving, I saw the 1950s couple. God, they really were cool and gorgeous. They looked like they had just stepped out of another era. She was wearing a red, polka dot, retro dress with a really cinched waist. Her hair was bleached blonde like Marilyn Monroe and it was piled on her head in huge curls that looked like they wouldn’t move, even in a gale-force wind. Red lips, gorgeous cat-eye glasses and pushing a baby in a vintage pram. Her husband looked like he’d walked off the set ofMad Men. A dapper suit and tie, with a red triangle of fabric peeping out of his jacket pocket. They looked amazing, and I could see why living in a place like this would suit them. I scanned the crowd further, and there she was: the reclusive writer with her sharp, bobbed black hair and black-framed glasses that really stood out against her pale skin, which looked like it never saw the sun. She was wearing black. From head to toe, and to be honest, a cloud of misery hung around her head. Perhaps that was just her artistic persona? The somber, brilliant reclusive writer, who brought masterpieces into the world every decade or so. I saw Jim and Natasha standing there on the side, giving me a massive wave and a thumbs up. This was nice, I admit. It was really good to feel part of something like this, even if it was still possibly—no, definitely—the silliest thing I had ever done before. Although, Samirah and Mark might point out that taking photos of my breakfast and not eating it was probably sillier.
“You ready?” Mark whispered in my ear.
“Uh . . . I guess. I mean, I’m not totally sure what I’m meant to do.”
“Don’t worry, no one really knows what they’re meant to do. We basically just all walk down this road to the spring and have a big party.”
“So why did we rehearse all that stuff?” I asked.
Mark shrugged. “For fun, I guess.” He smiled at me. And I kind of got it. This wasn’t really about being historically accurate, no matter how much Ian said it was and how much we were all dressed up. This was really just an excuse for the whole town to come together in celebration. And honestly, this place and its people were something to celebrate.
