Truly, Madly, Like Me - Jo Watson Page 0,81

small hill and when we reached the other side of it and emerged into the valley, I gasped.

“This is amazing,” I said, looking at the massive fields in front of us in the valley. They were bursting with the most vibrant colors I’d ever seen before. Oranges and pinks and reds and greens and sky blues and little pops of white that seemed to make all the other colors stand out that much more.

“Incredible, right?” Mark said, standing next to me.

Their shapes were the things of Dr Seuss books. Round and fat flowers, strange long grasses with fluffy, cloud-like, cotton-candy tops, spikes and bushes and things that looked delicate and petaled and things that looked like they would prick.

“It’s kind of alien.” Mark started moving into the field and I followed him.

“Completely,” I agreed.

“You know, these flowers and plants grow nowhere else in the world except here. They are unique to this area.”

“I didn’t know that.” I reached out and ran my hand over a huge pink protea. It felt soft and fluffy to the touch.

“Most people only know the protea, since it’s your national flower, but there are over 9,000 different types of fynbos; the protea is just one of them.”

“I had no idea.” I was in awe of everything around me. It was like I’d driven off this dry and dusty road, straight into a paradise of bright plants that I couldn’t—in my wildest dreams—have imagined.

“Pick what you like,” Mark said. He was holding out his arms, running his fingers over the riot of colors. “I like to experiment with different types of fynbos. They give the gin a different flavor each time.”

“Okay, I will.”

I continued to walk along the path that had been created through the field, and then something caught my eye. I bent down.

“These,” I said, pointing to the bright turquoise flowers that stared back at me. Their centers were round and yellow, and reminded me of Harun’s one good eye.

“Pick a few.” Mark walked up to me and bent down. I picked them delicately and gently, careful not to damage them. They were gorgeous, and when I was done, I held them out for Mark. He took them and slipped them into a small basket he was carrying. We stood up together at the same time, and when we were fully upright, our eyes zoned in on each other’s. There was a breeze around us, warm and soft, blowing through the flowers and bushes, making a soft rustling sound. Without warning, Mark reached up and touched the side of my face. The sensation was hot and sticky, like lava or something molten rushing over my skin. I briefly closed my eyes; well, I let my blink last a few seconds too long.

“There,” he said.

“There what?” I opened my eyes and looked into his. Brown. Kind of hazel. With flecks of gold. Complex. Not plain brown like I’d previously thought.

“The flower.” He pointed at my head and I raised my hand to feel the flower he’d pushed behind my ear.

I reached into my pocket immediately to take out my . . .

“Oh. That’s right,” I said blankly. No phone. “I can’t see what it looks like.”

He smiled at me. Small. Gentle. Just a flicker on the corners of his lips.

“Looks perfect,” he said softly.

CHAPTER 40

We sat on the veranda and watched the sun set over the great, endless Karoo. The sun here seemed to paint the sky all sorts of different colors when it set. It saturated it with shades of dark purple and maroon and then, on the edge of that, lavender-colored clouds. I sighed as I settled into the daybed, sipping my glass of gin. One of Mark’s gins. When we’d gotten back, we’d put the blue fynbos flowers into the gin to infuse and I couldn’t remember having a day like this in a long time. A day actually spent doing things. Kyle and I used to “do things” but not really. We didn’t do them because we enjoyed them, we did them for everyone else. But today, I’d just enjoyed it. For no one else in the world other than me.

“I can see why you like it here,” I said, as Mark walked outside and sat next to me.

“Yeah, she’s a real beauty, the desert,” he echoed, sounding very Australian again. He made himself comfortable on the bed, only a little way away from me.

“She is,” I repeated with a smile, suddenly thinking of this place as female.

“But not in an