can’t think. I’ve had barely any sleep. My skin prickles every time I think back over the night we’ve just had.
There’s a rustle of sheets and Dutch turns over, blinking as a ray of light catches his eyes. For a moment we look at each other. Then slowly his face creases into a smile and he murmurs, “Good morning.” He draws me in for a long, lingering kiss, then gets out of bed and pads to the bathroom.
As I flop back on my pillow, my head feels like a marshmallow. All sweetness. All bliss. Dreamy and soft. When Dutch reappears, freshly showered, I say impulsively, “I missed you!” and it’s true. I don’t want to be apart from him for a second. It’s not chemistry we have, it’s magnetism. It’s a pull. It’s a scientific force. It’s inescapable.
But does he feel like that too? Where are we with this? Where do we go from here? I sit up and wait till Dutch looks round from putting on his shirt.
“What now?” I say momentously—then remember that this is what Clara asks Chester as he gets on the hay wagon. For a ridiculous moment I imagine Dutch saying, “When next you see me, Aria, you will know that I am a man of my word!”
But instead he blinks and says, “Breakfast, I guess.”
“Right.” I nod.
I mean, that’s the obvious answer.
As we walk along, brushing shoulders, the morning sunshine dances on our heads and I feel lighter than I have for months. Years. We approach the courtyard and I suddenly realize we’ve been absent since yesterday lunch. It might seem conspicuous; people might ask questions….
But as we join the group around the big wooden table, no one bats an eyelid. It turns out quite a lot of people ducked out of yoga yesterday afternoon—and a few went out to supper at a local restaurant. (Verdict: not as good as the food here, don’t bother.)
So no one asks or guesses or hints at anything. And I’m glad. I don’t want any scrutiny. I want to be able to gaze at Dutch over my orange juice, undisturbed, thinking delicious, private thoughts.
Except I need to share this with the squad. (That still counts as private.) After breakfast I get my phone from reception, citing a family emergency, and head out to the corner of the street, where I’ve heard there’s a patch of good 4G. And after standing there for five seconds, my phone starts to come alive. It’s kind of magical, as though the world is talking to me again.
All my WhatsApp groups flood with notifications, and I feel a pang of longing. I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without chatting to anyone. But somehow I force myself to ignore the 657 messages beckoning me. I’ve promised I won’t look, because once I look, I’ll get sucked in. Instead, I turn to a new group, entitled Ava’s Emergency Hotline, which Nell set up for exactly this eventuality.
Hi, I type, and after only ten seconds, Nell starts typing a response. It’s almost as though she’s been waiting for me to make contact. A moment later it arrives:
He’s fine.
Then a photo of Harold pops onto my screen with a caption: See? He’s happy. Stop stressing. Go and write!!
A moment later Maud chimes in:
Ava! How’s the book?
Now Sarika is typing too:
How come you have your phone? Isn’t this against the rules?
They’re all online, I realize. This is perfect timing. Joyfully, I type:
Never mind the rules. Because, guess what, I’ve found a guy. I’ve found the perfect guy!!!
I send it off and watch the responses arrive, my mouth curving into a smile.
What??!?!?!
Wow.
That was quick!
Have you been to bed?
Spill!!!!
I can’t help laughing out loud, their excitement is so infectious.
Yes, we have been to bed, thank you for asking. And he’s amazing. He’s wonderful. He’s…
I’m running out of words, so I type sixteen heart emojis and send them. Immediately the answers bombard me.
Got it. :))
Good to know ?
More details!!! What’s his name????
I type my answer—Dutch—and wait for the barrage.
Dutch!
Dutch??
Is that a name?
Does that mean he is Dutch?
I’m about to type No when I realize I don’t know. Maybe he is Dutch but was brought up in the UK so he has a British accent. You can’t assume anything.
I’m not sure what nationality he is.
???
Well, where does he live???
Don’t know
What does he do??
Don’t know
You don’t know????
I heave a sigh of slight frustration and start typing again.