Ten

London, Friday, November 24, 2017

Alex lunged at an electrical cord dangling from the headboard between her side of the bed and the wall, stuffing the plug into the wall socket. Three strings of intertwined fairy lights came alive, arching over the head of the bed in a soft, romantic glow. A trio of white candles in glass vases on the dresser was next. A quick strike of a match, and Alex set each wick alight—best to take care of that bit of business now since her hands would be otherwise occupied once Mark arrived. She happily blew out the match. The scene was set, and everything was ready, spare one Irish actor.

She exited the bedroom and stepped into the open-plan living room, which gave way to the small kitchen tucked into the corner. Chocolate mousse chilled behind the door of the under-the-counter fridge, the appliance’s surface papered in love notes and private photos of Mark and Alex that the paparazzi would probably kill for. Soda bread made from scratch rested on the counter beside a bottle of red wine, and a hearty Irish stew—Mark’s favourite—bubbled in the oven, immersing the flat in the comforting aroma of thyme and onions. Alex had followed Niamh’s recipe exactly, dicing carrots and potatoes until her hands were sore. That was the easy part—she had also fought her gag reflex and shed a few tears while chopping up raw lamb into precise cubes. Everything had to be perfect. She had been so determined to get the freshest ingredients, she’d charged the whole lot to her already over-extended credit card. The things we do for love.

Mark was due home any minute, no doubt tired from the previous night’s wrap party in Vienna. He had texted earlier before boarding his final flight…something about a white-knuckle journey on a prop plane from Tyrol to Vienna and an airsickness bag.

If only he didn’t have to start his next movie in Ireland on Monday…but an early Friday night supper followed by unlimited kisses and a weekend in bed was just what they both needed.

She dove her hands into a pair of plump oven mitts and opened the oven, carefully placing the covered casserole dish on the stovetop. One last taste test, just the veggies and broth, not the—ugh—lamb.

A key clicked into the flat’s lock, right on time.

The taste test could wait.

She whipped off the mitts, tossing them onto the counter. With a cheek-busting grin, she ran to the door.

“Thanks, mate.” Mark dropped his keys on the chair and smiled at the taxi driver who rolled his two large suitcases into the flat. “Mouse! I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“I’ve got one for you!” She lunged at him, airborne.

Catching her, Mark clenched his jaw. “Oof! Careful.” A burst of laughter left his lips as he reunited her feet with the floor. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Don’t be shy—I brushed my teeth on the plane.”

He kissed her eagerly and squeezed her butt. “Mouse, I’ve been dying to tell you: I’m whisking you away for the weekend…to the Birmingham comic expo!”

“Er, the what?” She looked flummoxed.

“The con in Brum. I’m a last-minute special guest. We’ve got just enough time to toss some things in a bag and go. The train leaves Euston in an hour.” He squirmed out of Alex’s embrace and gingerly lifted his backpack from the extended handle of one of the cases.

“But, Mark…we’ve got dinner…I-I made your favourite …”

“Oh, I thought the flat smelled like onions. I’m sorry, Mouse. I had no clue you were going to all this trouble.” He hobbled to his left and through the doorway of the bedroom—still wearing his mud-crusted boots—pulling magazines and headphones out of his backpack. “Stew will keep, though, yeah?”

“I just vacuumed…” Alex muttered, following his footsteps. She crossed her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me in your text?”

Mark dropped the magazines, headphones, and the little yellow Matchbox car he always had in his bag on the freshly made bed. He opened a dresser drawer, scavenging for socks and boxer briefs. The flames of the white candles bowed with each shift of the furniture. “The arrangements were all last minute. Plus, I wanted to surprise you.” His hunched shoulders turned around, his hands grasping her crossed arms, tugging her closer. “A con, a nice weekend away together…it’s all good, right?”

Alex frowned.

Mark winced, running his fingers over the Doctor Who ‘We’re all stories in the end…’ quote on the inside of her forearm. “Or so I thought?”

“Aw, babe. My surprise was better. Two days, just us, wine, home-cooked meals…somehow a weekend of hand sanitizer, scary fan-drawn portraits, and greasy con pizza doesn’t measure up.”

“I thought you’d be excited.” Mark let go and returned to the drawer. “Once a fangirl, always a fangirl. You love cons.”

“I do.” She accepted the socks he handed over. “But I also love spending alone time with you, and we’re never alone…and I sweated over that meal for hours. I touched raw lamb…”

“Lex, I’m sorry, but Wink thinks it’s a great opportunity to promote my guest spot in the Doctor Who Christmas special. Now, I know you’re excited about that!”

“I am—really excited—but I’ve been so looking forward to it being just us.” A ghost of a smile raised her lips.

Mark stuffed three pairs of boxer briefs in his backpack and pointed to the socks in her hands. “Can you put those in here?” He strode stiffly to the closet and opened a slim garment bag hanging from the back of the door. “I’ve got a gorgeous hotel suite—there’s a bloody great soaker tub with your name on it.” He selected a navy blue button-down shirt and turned slowly with a wink. “Dirty girl.”

“It’s no fun if I’m on my own.” Alex did as Mark asked, stowing his striped socks in the bag. “And you’re away again Monday afternoon…”

“Ireland isn’t Newfoundland. It’s easy to visit.”

“A visit isn’t the same as a whole weekend at home.” Alex ducked over the candles and blew them out with quick bursts of breath. A dark swirl of smoke curled slowly towards the ceiling. “I’m really pissed about this, Mark…”

“Babe, I think you’re making too big a deal out of this. You’ll have fun once you’re there—”

“It IS a big deal! This isn’t like when you eat all the Jaffa Cakes. This is the first weekend we’ve had together in months, and you’ve chucked it—to work. So much for balance…”

He slipped the navy shirt into the garment bag along with two others. “Mouse, I couldn’t just say no to this, and I can’t disappoint the fans, paying good money…”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t? Yeah, better to disappoint me than a bunch of people you don’t even know.”

He closed his eyes, his lips a tight slash. “Alex, are you coming or not?”

Alex stared at him, shaking her head. She bent down and pulled her backpack out from under their bed.