From the Jump(16)

“Do you care about anything other than music?” I ask.

“Again, I have to admit, surprisingly little.”

I laugh. “I suppose if we had anything in common, we would’ve discovered it by now.”

“Most likely,” he agrees. “Do you want to tell me all about your life?”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know. Past, present, and desires for the future?”

I shudder. “Definitely not. And I know you’re not going to tell me about your past, but do you want to update me on your present or future?”

“The very idea has me rethinking the tuck-and-roll plan.”

“Noted.” I peer up at the endless sky. “It always creeps me out when people refer to themselves in the third person,” I say finally. “Could that be considered a phobia?”

“Ugh.” He cringes. “Definitely phobia-worthy. That’s the worst.”

“This woman in my office does it. I think she’s trying to develop her own catchphrase, too. She keeps saying, ‘Melanie has feelings about that.’?”

“Have you considered trying to get her fired?”

“I did steal the boss’s wallet once and put it in her desk.”

He visibly perks up. “Really?”

“No, Deiss,” I say dryly.

“I’m disappointed.” He shakes his head and does something with his mouth that’s probably supposed to emphasize his point but only manages to highlight the fullness of his lips. “You’ve disappointed me.”

“Now you know how I felt when you pulled up instead of Phoebe.”

“Fair enough.”

“But if it makes you feel better, my friend Elena printed out a fake memo officially banning feelings and left it on Melanie’s desk.” My chest warms at the thought that I can legitimately call Elena a friend now.

“It does, Liv. It makes me feel much better.”

“And that wraps up phobias,” I say decisively. “Moving on to favorites. Shall we begin with movies?”

“Fight Club,” he says without hesitation.

“I haven’t seen it. But it sounds charming.”

“You haven’t seen it?” He looks over at me in disbelief.

“If I had,” I say, “we’d have something in common.”

“Deiss is very glad you gave into the small talk plan,” he says with an evil grin.

I suppress a smile and feign gagging instead.





CHAPTER 5


To my great surprise, the small talk takes us through not only the three-hour drive but also through a leisurely early dinner stop at a town on the water. We sit beneath a brightly colored umbrella, comparing favorites as we share a spicy bean relish called chakalaka and a rich minced-meat dish called bobotie. The flavors are unlike anything I’ve ever had, and I savor each bite before washing it down with a local beer that’s made from corn. When I’ve eaten all I can, I lean back in the woven chair, my stomach swelling with fullness as the sea-soaked air caresses my skin.

Before I’m ready to leave, Deiss is up and moving toward the car. I scurry after him reluctantly, but it’s not until we’re closing in on St. Lulia that his urgency begins to make sense.

“Keep your eyes open for hippos on the road,” Deiss says, causing me to stiffen in the passenger’s seat.

“Pardon me?” I blink at his profile, highlighted by the orange glow of the setting sun.

“It’s possible it was recommended that we return straight here from the airport. Apparently, there are no lights on the road, and hippos tend to wander in the path of oncoming cars. They’re hard to spot once it gets dark.”

I study the road that has gotten progressively narrower since we exited the highway. “And you thought it was a good idea to stop for dinner?”

“I was enjoying having you all to myself.” He looks over, and the orange from the sky reflects off his lenses. “It seemed like a good way to make it last longer.”

I blink beneath my sunglasses, but before I can read too much into this startling confession, he turns back toward the wheel.

“Besides,” he says lazily, “everyone should have corn beer at least once in their lives. You said you liked it.”

“I also like hippos,” I say, scurrying past the momentary shift between us. “But I’d rather not see one of them mowed down by your car.”

“If it makes you feel better, there’s no way this heap of junk is capable of mowing down a hippo. It’s way more likely to crush in on itself and burst into flames.”

“Thank you,” I say dryly. “That does make me feel better.”

He tugs his glasses off and tosses them on the dashboard. My fingers twitch with the desire to pick them up and cradle them gently in my lap. I don’t want them to get scratched. I scan the area for hippos. Beside me, Deiss’s hand remains casually slung over the wheel, but as the sun drops beneath the horizon, I feel the speed of the car drop with it. I look over and catch his eyes, narrowed with concentration.

“You’re nervous,” I say.

“Do you want to be the American who comes to South Africa and provokes a war with the hippos?” Without looking over to see the shake of my head, he says, “Neither do I.”