The Numbers That Brought Our Fates Together 343 A Ribbon.

Amelia looked around with interest, unable to contain her admiration. It seemed to her that she was in a fairy-tale world, filled with joy and sincere delight, so unlike the gray everyday life of the big city in which she grew up.

"Would you like to drink something? They sell a local drink similar to punch. It's delicious," suggested Marcus.

Without waiting for the girl's answer, he sat her down on a bench, gave a sign to wait for him, and walked towards the yellow trailer, where a cheerful little man with a big belly poured a red drink with air bubbles sp.a.w.ning in the sun into gla.s.ses.

"Czy to twój pierwszy raz na festiwalu? Skąd się tu wziąłeś?" An unfamiliar guy with a beaming smile on his face sat down next to Amelia and asked something.

"What?" she was confused. The guy asked something again, pointing to her wrists and hair.

"I'm sorry I do not understand. Do you speak English?"

The guy laughed at Amelia's question, and with such a charming laugh that the girl smiled back, examining the dimples formed on his cheeks. He pulled a blue ribbon from his wide belt, took Amelia's hand, twisted the ribbon around her wrist, and tied the ends of the ribbon into a neat bow. He said something else, winked and, with a satisfied smile on his face, disappeared into the crowd as if he had never showed up.

"And what was that now?" the girl looked with interest at the new accessory, which now flaunted on her wrist. The ribbon matched perfectly to her dress, and even the gold thread, which was embroidered with a narrow strip of fabric, perfectly combined with the embroidery on Amelia's skirt. She raised her hand to better see the strange gift and noticed small letters woven into the overall pattern.

"Where did you get this from?"

Amelia flinched in surprise and looked up. Marcus was standing near her with two small cups in hand, but his frown look was focused on the blue ribbon. He was staring at the piece of cloth, like a bull at a red rag, and the girl even thought that she saw a fire flash in his eyes.

"Some guy tied it on my arm and left. Is this some kind of local tradition? Do you know what it means? Look what a beautiful embroidery! There are even letters, only I have not yet had time to figure out what is written there."

Marcus put the cups down on the bench, sat down, grabbed the girl's hand and pulled off the stranger's gift. Before Amelia could utter a word, blue silk flashed in the man's palm and turned to ash in an instant. He removed the hat from the girl's head, untied the bow attached to the straw head-dress, gathered a lock of her hair and tied it with a new ribbon removed from her own hat. He threw the long ends of the bow in front that they fell in a wave on the girl's left shoulder, put the hat back on her head, thrust a cup of drink into Amelia's hand, leaned back on the bench and began to drink his portion with an air of complete satisfaction from the actions he has just done.

Amelia blinked her eyes, opened her mouth to say something, but her brain had not yet had time to a.n.a.lyze what had just happened. Therefore, she decided to follow the example of her companion. The girl leaned against the back of the bench, brought the cup to her mouth and took a sip. A slight smile pa.s.sed over her lips. She seemed to understand what that ribbon on her arm meant.

"If you touch my lips now, our kiss will taste like cherries. Very sweet."

Marcus choked and began to cough. The girl laughed loudly and patted the man on the back, "Wow, Mr. Taubert, it turns out you are so easily embarra.s.sed."

"Oh, you little ..."

Amelia jumped off the bench and stepped aside, "Raspberry one or chocolate one?"

"What?"

"I'm going to buy ice cream. In the meantime, think about which flavor you prefer - raspberry one or chocolate one," the girl winked, turned and walked towards the trailers with sweets, feeling a burning look on her back. This time, Marcus did not even try to hide his emotions, and they swept Amelia headlong. And if this was his sweet revenge on her defiant joke, then she was ready to provoke the man again and again.

The girl stopped in front of one of the pavilions decorated with artificial bindweed and roses. The flowers were burnt out, as if they had been under the sun for several years, from the once red color there were only pink stripes in the folds of the fabric, and the green petals were covered with a gray layer of dust.

Amelia did not know why she was attracted to this particular trailer, when there were many others around which looked brighter and neater. But she always tried to listen to her feelings.

"Pretty girl wants some homemade ice cream?" a woman appeared from behind the counter, who looked about sixty years old, in shabby gray clothes that did not match the bright colors of the festival seething around.

"Do you speak English?! Sorry, I haven't made up my mind yet." Amelia smiled and stared at the nearly empty display case, where there was no raspberry or chocolate ice cream.

"Girl, try this one," the woman smiled kindly and handed Amelia a small bowl with a round white ball, "I know that my booth is unsightly, and I'm not chasing customers either. I just like to look at people. So they don't even notice me," the saleswoman laughed, the cobwebs of wrinkles in the corners of her eyes emphasized the playfullness that sparkled in their depths, "But you know what, Aunt Martha's ice cream is the most delicious in this square. Try it."

Amelia hesitantly took a bowl of ice cream, and in order not to offend the good-natured woman, she sc.r.a.ped off a small piece of ice cream with a spoon. Imagine her surprise when the white ma.s.s melted on her tongue like cotton candy! "G.o.d, this is amazing! Did you cook it yourself?!"

"By myself, by myself, dear. With these hands," Aunt Martha twirled her dry calloused palms in the air, "Young people are used to beautiful colors. They always wish something new to make the taste different. They look at the exterior, and they no longer like plain white. But the essence of any ice cream is the same - good milk, good work and love for what you do - and you have the ice cream ready, which will cool you on a hot day and give a smile if you are sad. Happiness is simple, it doesn't need colored dyes and bright wrappers. All this is unnecessary when you know exactly what you want."

Amelia looked thoughtfully at the white lump, sparkling with tiny pieces of ice in the sun. It was airy and delicate, but so fragile, as soon as it got under the warmth of light. But even melting and losing its shape, this ball remained fragrant and attractive. One would want to enjoy it to the end, to the last drop.

"Give me two, please!"

"Sure! Your fiancé will like it so much that he will probably want to steal it from your lips! I already know what I'm saying," the woman winked mysteriously, and Amelia's cheeks flushed with a blush that Martha read the girl's secret thoughts.

"He's not my fiancé," Amelia sighed.

"What do you mean he is not your fiancé? And who tied a ribbon in your hair? You did yourself or something?"

"No, not myself," the girl answered and leaned closer to the woman, asked a little quieter, "What do these ribbons mean? One guy tied one on my arm too."

The woman laughed, and then said in a suave voice, "That's what I'm saying - your fiancé. When a man knits a ribbon on the wrist, he offers you to date him, when he puts it on your hair, he proposes to you, and when the tail is braided, he calls you his wife. That how it works. If you have a ribbon in your hair, then not a single available guy will approach you, it is clear that you are taken. And if it's a tail, then even more so. They won't even look at your companion."

So this is how it is. An inexplicable warmth spread in Amelia's chest. She knew that the ribbons and bows meant something, but Marcus wouldn't be Marcus if he didn't pretend he didn't care.

The girl took off her hat, untied the ribbon that the man carefully fastened on her hair, gathered the strands in a high ponytail and pulled them back with the ribbon. She definitely liked the traditions of this festival.

Aunt Martha prepared two waffle cones and filled them with airy ice cream, "Here you go, girl. I cooked it with all my heart. You will see, it brings joy," the woman smiled and refused to take a payment from Amelia.

The girl did not argue with the kind woman and left her hat as a gift. In the end, she didn't need a hat anymore. After all, everyone could see her high tail, intertwined with a delicate blue ribbon.

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