From the Jump(28)

My brow lifts in surprise at the realization that she’s right. I have been talking more than usual. The less I’ve worried about what I’m supposed to say, the more I’ve been able to contribute to the conversation. And not just in response to something someone else has said. I’ve actually shared my own thoughts a few times.

“I think it’s the small talk,” Deiss offers. “We had to resort to it when I picked Liv up from the airport. Now we can’t stop.”

I swallow a smile at his explanation.

“Small talk and bickering are two different things,” Simone says.

“So,” I say, “you see why we’ve been practicing. Neither of us knows exactly how to do it.”

Deiss nods. “You can hardly expect us to iron out the kinks if we don’t practice.”

“Well, you’re certainly not going to learn from each other,” Simone says. “You only care about something if you’re heard it on a record player, and Liv isn’t saying a word unless she’s read it in a book first.”

The unexpected criticism hits like a sharp jab to the abdomen.

“She doesn’t get all of her directives from books,” Deiss says. His face stays expressionless, but I know, underneath his glasses, his eyes are sparkling with amusement. “I think the Husband Huntress is a blog.”

I stuff down the bark of laughter that comes from deep within me. How dare he? I’ve certainly never mentioned the Husband Huntress in front of a man, not intentionally at least. If Deiss has heard me speak of her, he was eavesdropping.

“Thato,” I call out to our guide, “if someone were to unknowingly have raw meat in their tent, what’s the likelihood they’d be eaten by a lion?”

Deiss laughs, and Simone’s head whips toward him.

Thato smiles cheerfully through the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry. I keep the raw meat locked in the cooler. The lions can’t smell it in there.”

“And yet, somehow, I do feel a little worried,” Deiss says, quietly enough that Thato can’t hear him.

I flash him a wicked smile. “You always have been smarter than you look.”

“I don’t like this,” Simone mutters. “I don’t like it at all.”



* * *



—

I accept the after-dinner tea Thato offers, even though I know caffeine this late at night is probably a bad idea. Never have I had so much tea as I’ve had in South Africa. It appears after every meal and again between them, thick with sugar, wafting wispy tendrils of steam that smell of bitter leaves. I take a sip, ignoring the way the glass teacup burns my fingers.

The sky has almost faded to black, and the only light at camp comes from the fire we’re sitting around and the Land Cruiser’s headlights, which Thato has pointed at the makeshift kitchen behind us. I shiver in the chilly night air and scoot closer to the fire. Its yellow flames lick at the sky and illuminate everyone’s faces.

“I miss tacos,” Mac says. He pokes at the fire with a stick he’s found, doing nothing to improve the flame.

“We’ve been gone a week,” Phoebe says.

“And how can you even think about more food after that dinner?” Simone asks. “I’ve never been so full in my life.”

“It doesn’t matter how long it’s been or how full you are,” Deiss says. He’s leaned back with his hands on the ground, and his face is tilted toward the sky. “You can always miss something. Sometimes, I wake up in the morning and miss last night’s whiskey.”

Phoebe laughs, and Mac’s gaze goes toward her, doing that strange peering thing I’ve noticed him doing over the last few days. It’s like he’s searching her for something. Or studying her. I can’t imagine what he’s looking for. You’d think after all the years they spent together, he’d have her face memorized by now.

“I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to say aloud,” she says to Deiss. “It could be considered cause for concern.”

Deiss just grins, not bothering to drop his gaze from the sky.

“What do you miss now?” Mac asks him.

“Nothing,” Deiss says.

Phoebe scoffs. “Sure you do. What about your bed? You must miss that when you’re sleeping on the hard ground in that tent.”

“Not really. I like the ground.” He tilts his head toward her. The buzz of hair across his head and jaw has gotten darker and thicker over the last few days, leaving him shadowed and mysterious. “Why? What do you miss?”

“Lattes,” she says without hesitation. “Big travel cups filled with steamed milk and espresso.”

“I love the coffee here,” Simone says. “It’s like a shot to the brain.”

“It’s tasty,” she agrees. “But it lacks the volume I require.”

“So,” Deiss says, “?‘quality over quantity’ isn’t for you?”

“Nope,” she says firmly. “It’s right up there with ‘it’s the thought that counts.’ I mean, who came up with that nonsense? Clearly, it’s the result that matters.”

“For the record,” Mac says, “she’s talking about presents, too. And romantic weekends away.”