Page 76 of The Secret House of Honey and Hope

What? Is he not going to answer me?

We stand for a moment brushing stray weeds off our clothes and looking around us. The level plateau is a large oval, maybe the length of a tennis court. Mostly, it’s overgrown grasses except for a wall of yellow flowering plants at the far end of the pond, with thick cedar trees further behind those.

The pond is shaped like a comma. Clear water reflects the blue sky above and the green trees. It’s heart-stoppingly beautiful with the splash from the stream falling on the rocks at one end and making gentle ripples.

And there are no thorny briars at all. I’ve come down the hill a few times visiting all the beehives, I’ve never known this hidden plateau even existed. “What is this place?” I ask.

“Hell, of course.”

I look sharply at him.

“Isn’t that where you said you were going?” His lips twitch again.

Our argument. I’d said I was going to hell. “Oh God. Our many arguments. I’m so sorry, Hal. I must have been so annoying.”

“Like a tight g-string.” He wiggles his hips grimacing.

This time we both laugh, a little at first then more and more until we are both gasping for breath.

“I don’t know why this is so funny, I mean it’s only a small joke but…” I ask when we’ve calmed down again.

“Stored laughter,” he says. Then he explains. “It’s what they call it in comedy. When you don’t allow your audience time to laugh until the end of a scene, then you get a much bigger laugh.”

“Where did you hear this?”

“My ex was a stand-up comedian.”

I ignore the faint brush of jealousy. “That must have been a fun relationship.”

His eyes unfocus for a second while he thinks. His irises are just like the pond, blue and green. In fact, all of him is a gradient, hard and gentle, hostile and generous, talkative and secretive.

“Stop looking at me like that.” He whispers dragging in a breath.

“So, what …er…” I don’t want to sound jealous asking about this other woman.

He probably guesses because a slow smile curves his mouth. “What?”

“Is there such a thing as stored curiosity? If you don’t ask questions for a long time, do they all come at once and you feel an irresistible thirst to know everything about a person?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Is she the reason you didn’t ask for my number when we first met?”

“Probably.” He leans closer to brush my lips with his, but I put a finger over his mouth stopping him. Because he only half answered my question.

“And now?”

“Now I want to kiss you.”

I lean back away from him.

He mock-sighs. “Fine, what do you want to know?”

“Do you have a girlfriend in England?”

“Not in England,” he tries to pull me closer. “Or in France, or any igneous land-mass capable of supporting human life.”

I can’t help laughing and finally let him kiss me. His mouth is passionate, and my response is even more fervent, before long we’re both clinging to each other again.

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