Truly, Madly, Like Me - Jo Watson Page 0,145

in.

“I’ll see you at breakfast at nine,” I said. “The hotel is on this road, a few blocks up.” I pointed. “You can’t miss it. This place is really small.”

She smiled at me. “I saw it when I drove in.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Mark said.

She nodded, her cheeks going pink again. She climbed in and closed the door. I gave her a wave and then blew her a small kiss. She smiled right back at me and then drove off. Mark and I watched her, and when she was gone, he put his arm over my shoulder and looked at me.

“What say we get home?” he asked.

I nodded. “Please.” It had been a pretty action-packed day and I also wanted a bath and bed. When we made our way to the car, we’d had to walk all the way up the main road, and by the time we got there, we both fell into it, utterly exhausted. I looked at Mark, and he looked at me. And in that look, I could see that something between us had changed. The confession of our feelings had made this feel super real. And full of possibilities.

I started the car and we both laughed when the blue glow surrounded us.

“Don’t you have to take this car back at some stage?” he asked.

“I leased it for a month, so I guess in about a week, but . . .” I patted the steering wheel and couldn’t believe I was about to say this out loud. “Maybe I’ll ask them if I can buy it.”

Mark laughed. “Really?”

“Sure, why not? It’s what got me here in the first place so it’s special, in some way.” I looked in the rear-view mirror to see what Harun was doing on the backseat. He was just sitting there, looking at us again. He always seemed to be thinking something through.

Mark reached over and grabbed my hand. “I’m glad it brought you here,” he said, pulling me into a kiss.

“Mmmm.” I pulled away. “Did you smoke?” I asked, blocking my nose.

“Faizel and I shared a cigar after our set.”

I cringed.

“It was disgusting,” he admitted. “But manly, don’t you think?”

“No.” I swatted the air around us.

“Yeah, Samirah hates it too when we do it.”

“How often do you do that?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Once, twice a year. On special occasions.”

“Well, keep it that way, and warn me next time you’re about to do it, so I don’t almost kiss an ashtray.”

“So, you’re planning on staying here then?” he asked a little tentatively.

“Uh . . . if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine. It’s good,” Mark quickly corrected. We looked at each other and leaned in.

“God, I really want to kiss you right now,” I said, and then remembered. “Oooh, I have mints in the glovebox.”

“Great.” Mark opened the glovebox and reached inside. But instead of pulling out mints, he pulled out the envelope.

I stared at it. I’d forgotten that I’d shoved it in there because I was tired of always seeing it in my bag. I hadn’t thought about it in days either, but now that I was looking at it, the raw emotions that I’d felt hit me all at once again.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s from my dad.”

“Your biological dad?” he asked. “The one who left you?”

I nodded.

“What is it?”

“Don’t know. I can’t bring myself to open it.” I took a deep breath. “He died. A couple of months ago. This is what he left me.”

Mark turned the envelope around in his hands. “I can see why you’re struggling to open it.”

“It’s the closest I’ve been to him in years,” I said, a tear forming in my eye.

He grabbed the flap between his fingers and looked up at me. “May I?”

“Okay.” I nodded.

Mark pulled the envelope open. I watched intently as he did, his fingers moving in slow motion. When it was open, he tipped it over and two pieces of paper fell out.

We looked at them in his lap. “Which one do you want to look at first?” he asked.

I picked up one of the pieces of paper and opened it.

It was a handwritten note. In my father’s writing.

I started to read it.

“Dear Frances, I know I wasn’t there for you when I was alive. And to be honest, I sometimes think it was best. I’m not father material. I never was . . . Oh my God,” I gasped loudly. “That’s, uh . . . Wow. I don’t know what to say, that’s . . .”

“Not what you were expecting?”