Page 63 of Never Thought I'd End Up Here
“I think the fireworks are for a wedding happening nearby,” Cyrus says.
“Well, good for them, and great for us,” I say.
Cyrus gives me a sidelong smile. “Let’s just hope nobody accidentally curses the bride and the groom.”
I raise the hand he isn’t holding to make a threatening motion at him. “Oh my god, if you bring that up again, I swear—”
But he grabs it too and easily locks both my wrists in his grip, tugging me forward until I’m inches away from him, close enough to watch the yellow light of the fireworks through the reflection in his eyes.
And suddenly I remember the note from the Yellow Mountain, written by a steady, careful hand.You remind me of the greatest sculptors, who can turn marble into the impression of billowing silk, the coldest stone into something soft. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that everything you touch turns beautiful. The world becomes beautiful, as long as there’s you.
It really is beautiful, I think to myself as I lean in to kiss him.
***
Before the sun has even risen, I slide out of bed, the mattress creaking behind me. Then I shrug off my pajamas and zip up my sundress, fumbling around in the dim light as quietly as possible to avoid waking Daisy. I can already feel the anticipation building beneath my bones as I brush my hair and teeth and spritz perfume just behind my ear. It’s the same eager flutter I would get on the morning of Christmas or my birthday, when I had everything in the world to look forward to, even if I didn’t know what was going to happen yet.
A cool breeze fans my skin as I step outside, ruffling the hem of my dress.
Dew glistens on the wild grass around me, and the clouds burn gold and pink on the horizon, the early mist softening all that it touches: the wind chimes tinkling from the hotel’s overhanging eaves, the cobbled path leading into town, the sloping, layered lines of the rice terraces. Guilin at dawn looks like something out of a dream. It’s so beautiful that my breath catches, that my throat aches a little from it.
And then I see him.
He’s waiting on a stone bridge, the canal flowing beneath him. His dark hair is wind-rumpled, his shirt loosely buttoned, and the surreal, dreamlike sensation intensifies. When our eyes meet, a small, surprised smile comes to life on his face, like he can’t believe I’m joining him.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks as he makes his way toward me.
“Here is perfect,” I say. Right now, I can’t think of a single place on earth I would prefer to this.
We both stop at the foot of the bridge, and for a few moments we’re silent, the kind of silence that’s as natural and seamless as breathing. It’s enough to simply be standing together, just the two of us, staring at the clear waters and the jade mountains.
“I don’t think I’m ready to leave,” I admit.
“I’m not either,” he tells me. “But you can always come back. We can always come back.”
“Seriously?” I grin, pushing my hair back. “You’re ready to take another trip with me so soon?”
“Who else is going to haggle over lettuce for me?”
“I can show you how,” I say, pretending to deliberate over the serious matter. “Though it might depend on the person you’re bargaining with. It just works a lot better if they’re attracted to you. That way, all you have to do is look at them like this …” I spin around and angle my face so I’m gazing up at him under my lashes. “And lower your voice. Lean over and pout a bit … Trust me, it’sverypersuasive.”
He stares back at me, his eyes wide and almost dazed.
“Don’t you agree?” I add, leaning close, the words whispered against the shell of his ear.
I hear his sharp inhale.
I’m laughing as I pull away, delighted and nearly lightheaded to know the effect I have on him, to see the blush rubbing off his complexion like smeared lipstick.
He still looks half-drunk when he catches my wrist and tugs me close to him again. Some of my laughter dissolves at the heated, intense look in his gaze. “You know, I’ve had fantasies about this,” he murmurs.
“About being taught how to flirt your way into getting cheaper vegetables?” I ask. I’m fighting with every muscle in my body to maintain my composure, but I sound breathless, even to myself. I sound like I’m asking him to kiss me without speaking the words aloud. “You should’ve told me earlier. I’d be happy to teach you in more depth.”
“About you,” he says, swallowing. “About being next to you.”
“And? Do I live up to your fantasy?” I say it teasingly, yet my heart thuds as I wait for his answer. I never have in the past. For every guy who’s claimed to like me, I was just something nice for them to think about, my eyes and my hips and my legs, prettier on posters and in magazines than in real life. Of course they all noticed me. Of course they all left in the end.
Cyrus shakes his head. “No fantasy could ever live up to you,” he whispers. “Nothing can compare to how it feels to look up and see you there. Even though I thought of you every day after you left, my imagination has proven to be painfully inadequate when it comes to the sound of your laughter, or how your brows furrow when you’re focused, or the way you steady yourself before entering a room. And you’re going to make fun of me for saying it, but part of me is worried,” he says, dropping his gaze to the white glimmer of water, “that this is just a spell. This whole trip has been so strange and wonderful and unexpected … It’s like there’s magic here, and I can’t stop myself from worrying that when we leave this place, the magic will disappear for you, and none of it will be real anymore.”
