Sweet Peril (The Sweet Trilogy #2)(26)

I have another prospect, but the timing hasn’t worked out yet. In the meantime I want you and Kopano to go to London to inform the girls. Your itinerary is attached.

Sweet! I was going to see the twins! I printed my itinerary and deleted the email. Patti squeezed me tight from behind as I grinned.

A week later, in the middle of October, I was skipping school to fly to England. I sent Jay and Veronica a vague message telling them I’d be out for a few days doing some stuff for my dad. I could tell them where I’d gone when I got home, even though mentioning Marna might not be a good idea with those two.

Kope flew down from Boston and met me at the departure gate for our flight from Atlanta. I could hardly contain my excitement as we boarded the plane, and Kope seemed to be lighthearted, as well. Our last trip had been so stressful, but this one had a different feeling.

I looked forward to sitting next to Kope during the flight since we hadn’t on the way to Syria. Being the diligent do-gooders we were, we both took out our schoolwork after takeoff.

I turned to Kope and found him watching me, a heavy book open on his lap. It was always a little startling to discover his serious eyes on me, and he must have sensed my surprise because he gave a shy smile and let his attention fall back to his book.

After several hours I needed a break from math problems and history facts. I laid all my stuff in the open seat between Kope and me. He closed his book and laid it with mine.

I looked down at his texts. Population and Development Studies. Biological Studies in Public Health. His eyes were on his hands as he rubbed his palms back and forth. I wished I knew how to make him more comfortable around me. He used to be more open, but lately it was like he was too careful.

“How much longer do you have in college?” I asked him.

“This is my final year.”

“Oh, wow, that seems fast.”

He glanced down at his books. “It will be two semesters early. I’ve taken classes every summer.”

A small grin formed on my lips when he said “semestahs” and “summah.” His accent was beautiful, with similar sounds to Jamaican English and the Queen’s English, but something all its own. I watched him with avid curiosity before he caught my eye and looked down at his light-brownish-pink palms.

“And what are you studying?” I asked, bending one leg up in the seat and positioning myself to face him.

He kept his eyes on his clasped fingers, nodding his head as he answered. “The spread of disease among populations. Primarily HIV and AIDS.”

Anytime I could get Kope to open up felt like a small success.

“Do you miss Malawi?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“What’s it like there?”

He paused and tilted his head, face serious. “Everyone lives in huts with no electricity.”

“Oh,” I said, frowning. A dimpled grin spread across his smooth face and I gasped. “You’re messing with me!”

I was so delighted by his teasing that I reached out and gave his upper arm a little smack, before remembering myself. I wrapped my arms around my leg and held tight. Kopano gave a small laugh, finally meeting my eyes.

“That is what everyone thinks about Africa,” he said. “And it is like that in some parts, but we also have large cities, same as America.” While he was talking, his hand reached up and touched the spot on his arm where I’d hit him.

“What do you miss most about it?” I asked.

He leaned in against the armrest and his demeanor took on a dreamy reverence.

“The waters of Lake Malawi are like crystal.” The name of his country sounded magical on his lips. “Wild animals and birds everywhere. I miss the nights with no artificial light to dim the stars. But mostly I miss the sense of community among the people. There is much that can be improved among the leadership, but the people are kind. They respect the land and one another.”

I watched as he reined in his passion. We’d both leaned in, trying to keep our conversation hushed.

There’d always been something commanding about Kopano’s presence. Seeing him worked up showed a man willing to battle injustices firsthand. He could go head-to-head with the men who’d been led to their downfalls by his own father. My admiration deepened. I glanced at his book about diseases.

“Is AIDS really bad there?” I probably sounded ignorant, but he didn’t seem to mind.

He rubbed a hand across his brow, which now bore a deep crease. “One in fourteen people. Orphanages are overrun. It’s not acceptable.”

One in fourteen people. That would be one or two people in each of my classes at school. No wonder the subject made him so distraught. Seeing his love and concern, I reached my hand out and took his. He shifted in his seat and his back straightened. I waited while he yielded to the feel of my touch and seemed to relax. I wanted to be a friend to him—to be able to comfort him. I hoped he could accept it for what it was.

He turned our wrists so that my hand was on top and he could look at it. My skin was pale against his. With his other hand he ran a finger over the small rifts and valleys of my knuckles, looking at my skin as if it held some universal truth. As he lavished attention on my fingers, the gesture of friendship I’d offered somehow morphed. He raised his hazel eyes to mine. Differing feelings flashed through me. Not wanting to send mixed signals, I gave him a smile and slipped my hand from his. I gripped the armrest, still feeling his pleasant touch on my skin.