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Sarah’s laugh was something to behold, the way it rang out like a bird song in the clearing of the woods. It hadn’t even been that funny a joke, Maru mused, but her cheeks flushed nonetheless. Sara was mesmerising; she threw her head back with no self-consciousness. Maru’s fingers itched to reach out to her, to touch her, to pull her close.
She resisted.
“Okay, okay,” Sarah said, shaking herself out. “Can we try that again?”
“Yes,” Maru said, with perhaps too much eagerness.
Sarah was in a dress, something Maru rarely saw her in. It was strange really; she looked pretty, but so different. Sarah was the only person Maru had ever seen who could make overalls and boots look better than a tailored suit.
Although, Maru thought she must have looked strange too, in her white dress. She only ever brought it out for the Flower Dance, and she always felt silly in it. Like she was playing dress up.
This was a good place for it though, the trees pressing close, like they wanted to hold onto secrets. Maru loved this time of year, when the green of the trees was at its brightest.
She stepped back towards Sarah, and put one hand on her shoulder. She hesitated, then put her hand again on Sara’s waist. She could feel her body heat through the frothy layers of the dress. But Maru was not easily overcome with her own emotions, so she held herself steady. It was easy, as long as she concentrated on the task at hand.
They ran through the same steps they had been doing, the opening moves of the Flower Dance. Maru had always been a little embarrassed at how difficult she found the dance when she was growing up, when everyone else in Pelican Town seemed to know it intuitively, so she was, a little guiltily, glad that Sarah seemed to struggle in much the same ways—might have even been, Maru admitted to herself, worse than her. They had been at it for almost an hour, and Sarah was still getting caught up, tripping over herself, and, just a moment ago, had fallen onto her butt, soiling her pretty white dress with grass stains.
Thank Yoba that the Dance was still a week out; Maru had some cleaning spirits that would get the dress back to white for Sarah, in no time.
Sarah almost tripped again, and Maru caught her, holding her steady, close to her chest. She was warm, and she looked at Maru with such a disarming smile, that Maru’s insides turned somewhat to jelly. And only somewhat because Maru was always determined to fix problems, so half her brain was still trying to work out how best to explain the dance to Sarah in a way that would be helpful.
Sarah righted herself, a blush visible on her tanned cheeks.
“It’s fine,” Maru assured her.
“That’s not—thanks,” Sarah said, looking flustered. She shook her head. “I’m just no good at this, am I?”
“You’re not too bad,” Maru said. But Sarah fixed her with a sardonic look and Maru relented. “You’re better than we started.”
“Hardly!” she laughed.
“Remember what I said—think of it like a formula. Step one leads into two,” Maru said, demonstrating by sliding her feet across the grass, “then into three, and—“
“I’m not sure I have your brilliant mind,” Sarah said. And even though she was being self-depracting Maru still blushed.
Maru bit her lip, and thought. Sarah was looking at her closely, eyes flicking to her lips, and Maru had to turn away, so as not to get distracted. She could worry about everything else once they had nailed this.
“Okay, okay,” Maru said finally. “What if you pretend there’s a chicken eating your crops?”
“I don’t have to pretend, that’s my daily reality,” Sarah said, grinning.
“No, I mean—let me show you.” It was nice to have the excuse to touch her again, to pull her close. Her body heat was addictive. But Maru shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.
When she looked at Sarah, a little starry-eyed, she saw that Sarah was also concentrating hard, a frown marring her forehead.
“So this first move, where you step one foot out, and swing it round? That’s for your cauliflower, trying to make sure no pesky chicken gets to the leaves,” she said, and slid her foot out and around.
“Huh,” was all Sarah managed. “And then?”
“And then when you step back and to the side, it’s getting round a green beans stick,” Maru said, realising suddenly she wasn’t sure what those sticks were even called.
“Staking, it’s called a staking,” Sarah provided.
“Right,” Maru nodded. She filed that information away for later use.
She looked at Sarah, whose head was cocked and whose lips quirked. She even looked beautiful when confused, and Maru suddenly felt warm and a little self-conscious.
“I know it’s silly,” Maru said.
“No—well, yeah,” Sarah said, then laughed in that way of hers. “But I get it. It’s fun and silly this way, and I so prefer fun and silly. In my dance moves, at least.”
Maru nodded, a little relieved at that final addition. Fun and silly, she was not. But she needed to concentrate, instead of mooning.
“Let’s go through it all again, and see if any of it sticks,” Maru said, to distract herself.
Sarah looked like she was going to say more, but then just nodded, letting Maru lead her through the next few moves. And maybe she was a little sillier than necessary, as if to prove something, and also because getting Sarah to laugh had become one of her favourite things, after the first time she had ever heard Sarah laugh. They ran through it once, and then again, and then a third time where Maru said nothing and, miraculously, Sarah only got a few of the moves wrong, and didn’t trip over her feet once.
“Wow, you’re a really good teacher,” Sarah said, when they finished.
Maru blushed hard.
“You were very patient,” Maru said. “And determined.”
Sarah shrugged, then smiled, some colour in her cheeks.
“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to be close to you all day.”
Maru couldn’t help her grinning, nor her insides turning to a more soup-y consistency than normal. Without the task at hand to distract herself with, she had to work extra hard not to dissolve under Sarah’s disarming smile.
Suddenly, Sarah straightened, and Maru wondered if the moment had passed. Or maybe she had imagined the way Sarah had leant into her body, had lingered in her touches.
“So, how does the dance traditionally end?” Sarah asked.
“Usually we just help ourselves to punch and cakes,” Maru said, trying to bury her disappointment. “Jody makes them, she’s really a really good baker.”
Sarah snickered.
“No, I meant—right after the dance is finished.” She stepped close to Maru again, taking Maru’s hands and placing them back into position on her waist and shoulder. She looked up at Maru with bright eyes, full of…something that made Maru gulp. “Such as, is it tradition for the flower couple to share a kiss?”
Maru wanted to say yes. But she hated being inaccurate, even as her hands grew clammy and her cheeks warmed. She shook her head, unable to speak, or even really breathe.
There was a flicker of doubt, worry, that swept over Sarah’s face. Maru realised she might be missing her chance, if she didn’t speak up now, so she pulled Sarah tighter.
“But…maybe…we start a new tradition?” Maru said. Her voice was too high-pitched, too full of nerves.
But Sarah only smiled again, even more brightly this time.
She leaned up, and Maru closed her eyes, and then they were kissing. Soft, and tentative, and then with more passion. Maru wanted to slow time down, to remember every single detail—of Sarah’s lips, of her scent of earth and flowers, of the way Sarah’s hand slid around Maru’s waist, of the little sound, oh the best sound in the universe, that escaped Sarah when Maru deepened the kiss, one hand winding in Sarah’s hair.
They were breathless when they broke apart, and Maru felt giddy, outside of herself, and yet more grounded than she had in a long time.
Sarah laughed, and Maru could see that she felt much the same way.
“Mmm,” Sarah said after a moment. “I would like to start a lot of new traditions with you.”
Maru bit her lip, her imagination immediately running amok.
“But, perhaps,” Maru said, “we can start by practicing this one a few more times.”
Sarah pretended to look pensive, before she nodded.
They didn’t leave the forest until sundown, so busy were they with tradition.