We Dream of Mountains

They had been nearly a mile before he recognised where they were going.

"Are you taking us to Tynemouth?" he asked, taking a lick of his ice cream cone. Despite the fact that it was 13º C outside [55-56º F], Mac had really wanted ice cream, and he'd complied. She had paid, after all.

"Of course! It's only a couple of miles away. How many times have you been?"

"Not since I was twelve, honestly."

"What?!" Mac laughed. "I'd be going every week, I swear."

"I think you overestimate the weather here."

She laughed again. "And I think your explorational skills need updating."

"I don't think that's a word."

"Updating is definitely a word. It means to update."

He chuckled. "You're not supposed to use the word in the definition."

"Well you're a graphic designer. You don't know anything about words! How'd you get into that, anyway? Designing things graphically?"

"I don't think you know what a graphic designer is."

"Explain it to me, then. I know it's something about logos but not pathos and ethos." Mac laughed, turning to walk backwards while eating her ice cream. She had gotten hers in a cup, complete with a red and white striped spoon.

"Pathos and ethos? Who are you?"

"Not a graphic designer!"

He laughed. "I just design things."

"Graphically?"

"You know what I mean!"

"I really, really don't."

He tried to explain it to her as best as he could, mostly using his hands. By the time they reached King Edward's Bay, she moderately understood what he was saying.

"That sounds quite thankless," she said. "You could use a day off."

"Actually, I just had one."

"Oh, what'd you do?"

"I walked to Tynemouth and got ice cream."

"It sounds like a lovely time," she laughed.

"What do you do that you can just bunk off like this?"

"A little bit of everything, really. I used to be a nanny, then I was a bartender, then I was a typist -"

"I didn't even know they still had those," he interjected.

"You hush. Then I worked in a bookstore, and now I work at Tesco's."

"That's a lot, actually."

"I know. I couldn't ever settle on one thing. Something better always came along."

"No university?"

"I did, actually, for a little bit. But I figured if I was going to land myself in massive debt, I would rather be doing something enjoyable. Like buying a house for example."

"Is that enjoyable?"

"I've had quite a good time with it. Perhaps I'm just the exception."

Mac turned around, taking in the lush, green land of the Bay, and the clear blue water just beyond it.

"This is beautiful," she whispered. He couldn't help but agree. It had been so long since he'd visited, that he'd forgotten how massive and gorgeous it was. Even on such a gray day, the view was perfect.

"I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars."

"What's that from."

She turned to look at him as though startled by his presence. "Walt Whitman. Some poem. I've forgotten everything but that line."

"It's a great line."

"He was a great poet."
She smiled softly, then began walking forward, towards the old church. She ignored every sign, wholly focused on exploring the area without any touristy biases. He followed, and the two of them followed the winding paths. They came to a fork in the road after passing under an archway, and she stopped.

"Which way?" she asked, turning to him.

"Right, towards more grass?"

"I dunno. My dad always said, 'When in doubt, go left.'."

"Did he get lost a lot?"

"Yes, actually," she said, heading towards the right.

They wandered around the grounds for over an hour, as Mac touched nearly every piece of the old church, including the gravestones. She refused to be part of the tour groups, though, believing that all of the best exploring was done alone. After that, they played a game of hide-and-seek (or as he thought of it, Mac Randomly Disappears and Pops Up Again), and walked the beach, eventually returning to solid land for food.

Mac talked excitedly about the trip on the way back, and he couldn't help but admit that he had overlooked the Bay for a long time. It had more to offer than he thought it did, and he had merely forgotten about it for so many years. He pledged to go again soon.

When they reached Mac's door, she gave him an appreciative hug.

"Thanks for coming with me, though I sort of forced you."

"I had a good time," he said honestly. Then, on a whim, he reached up to push a piece of Mac's hair, which had been blown out of place by the wind, behind her ear. "Have a good rest of the day."

She smiled, and for a moment, he wanted to kiss her. His hand was still in her hair, and it would have been the perfect moment. But he let it go.

Whatever this was was getting out of hand.