Truly, Madly, Like Me - Jo Watson Page 0,135

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