kiss him again, then press my cheek against his strong, stubbly jaw.
“We’re meant to be,” I murmur in his ear. “That’s what this is. We’re meant to be.”
Seven
By the time we board our plane the next morning, I’m bursting with anticipation. I’m finally going to find out about Dutch! And Dutch will find out about me…and our happy life together will begin.
We’ve decided we won’t spill our details to each other on the plane. (At least, I decided.) Even though I’m dying with curiosity, the moment needs to be right. We’ve waited this long; we can wait a little longer.
So my plan is this: We arrive at Heathrow, find a bar, sit and face each other, take a deep breath—and reveal everything. Meanwhile, just for fun, we’re going to write down a few guesses on the flight. Name, job, hobbies. That was my idea too. I was going to add “age,” and then I suddenly realized what a terrible idea that was and amended, “Everything except age.”
A few of us from the course are on the plane, all scattered around. Dutch has been seated four rows ahead of me, but that’s fine. We don’t need to sit together. We’ve got the rest of our lives to be together.
We’re both wearing normal clothes by now. I’m in a floaty dress and Dutch is in jeans, with a linen shirt he bought from the monastery gift shop. His outfit doesn’t give much away, although I’ve noticed a nice watch. He’s tanned and brawny and he’s wearing flip-flops. He looks just like a carpenter.
I write down carpenter and Jean-Luc and then lean back in my seat, trying to picture where he might live and work. I can definitely picture his workshop. And him in it, wearing a frayed gray undershirt. Maybe he saws a few planks and builds up a sweat, then heads outside with a cup of coffee and strips off his undershirt to do martial-arts training in the sunshine. Mmm.
This is such a delicious vision that I close my eyes to imagine it even more vividly, and then I guess I must have fallen into a doze, because it seems about five minutes later that we’re preparing for landing. The London sky is white and cloudy as we descend, and I feel a pang of longing for Italy—but it’s soon swamped by excitement. Not long now!
We’ve agreed to catch up with each other at the baggage carousel, and as I arrive there I see Eithne and Anna. (It still feels weird not to call them Beginner and Metaphor.)
“It was wonderful to meet you,” says Eithne, hugging each of us tightly before leaving.
Anna doesn’t hug us but says, “Good luck,” with one of those snarky smiles of hers, and I force myself to beam back pleasantly and say, “You too!”
Then finally our cases appear and we’re wheeling them toward the exit.
“Where shall we go?” I ask as we pass through the arrivals gate into the melee of drivers holding up signs. “One of the airport hotels, maybe? Sit at the bar? Order some wine?”
“Good idea.” He nods.
“So, did you make any guesses about me on the plane?” I can’t resist asking, and Dutch laughs.
“Actually, I did guess a few things. I mean, I’m sure I’m wrong,” he instantly backtracks. “It’s just speculation.”
“I like speculation,” I say. “Tell me.”
“OK.” Dutch pauses for a moment, grinning and shaking his head, as though embarrassed by his own thoughts, then blurts out, “I think you might be a perfumer.”
Wow. A perfumer! That’s actually pretty close to aromatherapist! Which I will be once I’ve done the course.
“Did I get that right?” he adds.
“That would be telling.” I smile at him. “All in good time. Why a perfumer?”
“I suppose when I think of you, it’s sitting with flowers all around you,” he says after a moment’s thought. “Wafting their scent round you. You’re so tranquil and serene. So…I don’t know. Unruffled.”
I gaze at him, enchanted. Unruffled! Serene! No one’s ever called me serene before.
“And you know what they say about dogs,” continues Dutch, warming to his theme. “They always suit their owners. So I’m thinking you have a whippet. Or maybe an Afghan hound. A beautiful, elegant dog with beautiful, elegant manners. Am I right?”
“Er…” I root in my bag for a lip balm, slightly dodging the question. I mean, Harold’s beautiful for a beagle. And his manners are beautiful, too, in their own way, only you have to get to know him. Which I’m sure