Love In The Jungle (2 page)

“A
re you sure there’s going to be clean water
there?” I tried not to roll my eyes at my mom’s question. She sat across from
me at the massive table my parents had reserved for this very occasion, noting
that she was buttering her free bread a little too aggressively. “I mean, do
they even speak English?”

She posed the question with a disgusted look, her nose
wrinkling.

“Well, I think English is on the curriculum that I’m going
to cover,” I informed her, my hand wrapped around my wine glass tightly. “It’s
an English-based volunteer program, so I would assume they speak English at a
basic level.”

“I guess it’ll be charming, in a way,” she mused before
stuffing a chunk of buttered bread in her mouth. “Quaint, even.”

My dad rolled his eyes at her muffled words, and I tried my
best not to stab her with my fork. I couldn’t be too angry with her; she put
together this wonderful dinner (well…. she’d called and made reservations) for
me, my friends, and a few select members of the family. However, since she’d
heard about my volunteer trip abroad, she’d been poking holes in the whole
thing. Dad said it was because she was nervous, that she nagged when she was
worried about me, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

It was also incredibly degrading to be twenty-nine and still
nagged by your mother, but I guess that’s something that just won’t go away
with age.

“We’re both very proud of you, honey,” Dad told me, patting
my mom’s shoulder and smiling. “All I ask is that you stay safe and take lots
of pictures.”

“That’s the plan,” I chuckled, toasting them both with my
wine glass before drinking It. Mom had chosen one of my favorite restaurants in
town, and she booked a room that was sectioned off from the rest of the
establishment. It included a balcony area, usually inhabited by smokers, which
overlooked the gardens. Seeing as it was springtime, this would have been the
perfect setting for a romantic stroll.

As it stands, I’ve spent the night seated by my parents,
not even at the head of the table, and my friends were chugging back the
various bottles of wine my dad had ordered once we arrived. I could tell many
of them were trying to keep their drunken exploits to a minimum with my family
around, but the other end of the table was already getting noisy, a cousin of
mine leading the charge with a slurred toast to me.

“Hey, do you want to grab some fresh air?”

To my right sat the guy who’d known me since elementary
school. Mark had been a family friend for years, and even tonight, he knew how
to swoop in and save the day. I nodded quickly. We weren’t the only ones getting
up and away from the table; there were two couples chatting by the doors, wine
in hand. The idea of a cozy dinner morphed into some weird, drunken party
between two groups of people ….that never should have met.

Mark held the door to the balcony open for me, and I slipped
out into the cool night air. With arms wrapped around myself, I briefly
wondered if I should have brought my jacket. As thin as it was, it still would
have helped against the chilly breeze.

I smiled when he sidled up beside me, his hands in his
pockets. Most people grew out of their lanky phase, but Mark wasn’t one of
them. He’d retained his gangly limbs, his hands and feet that seemed to outgrow
the rest of his body, and the occasional bit of acne that myself and our other
friends always told him wasn’t as bad as he was making it.. Despite his
appearance, he wasn’t socially inept, and he never had been. Class clown would
have been his high school superlative if our graduating class had gotten our
acts together and actually did superlatives.

“So,” he mused, “six months abroad, huh?”

“I think it’ll be good for me,” I told him, nodding as I
shuffled closer. He was a good windbreaker. Down below, little lights hanging
on trees, intermingled with blossoms and budding leaves, lit the way for people
to wander the garden trail. “I’ve always been independent, but I also feel like
I’ve relied on my job to give me purpose, you know?”

“I guess.”

“It’ll be a great way to give back to the karma gods,
anyway,” I laughed with a slight roll of my eyes. I wrapped my arms around
myself, stuffing my chilled hands under my arms. “Apparently I’ve done
something to piss them off.”

“You know, I bet I could find you a job in a heartbeat,” he
insisted, brushing up against me as he spoke. I glanced up at him, then
shrugged.

“Maybe I don’t want a job right now.” I mean, obviously he
could find me a job: Mark worked at the employment office, and had done so
since he graduated college. “This is the adventure I want.”

A silence fell between us, and when it had dragged on longer
than I was comfortable with, I looked up at him again with a frown.

Just then, he kissed me. It lasted all of 2.5 seconds, and
ended with me stumbling away, a hand flying up to cover my mouth.

“Mark!”

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. Even in the starlight, I could
see the flaming blush on his cheeks. “I just thought…with you going away… You
ought to know how I feel about you.”

I cringed on the inside, my face melting into a neutral,
calm expression—the best I could muster given the circumstances. I’d known Mark
had a thing for me. He had a thing for me in high school that went away when he
dated the female class clown. He had a thing for me in college when my boobs
finally came in. And now apparently he had a thing for me ever since I gotten
fired, as if my sad life could somehow be fixed by his job hunting skills.

His attraction was sometimes insulting, actually. He usually
wanted me when I was down on my luck, and try as I might, I could never find
him attractive. I’d seen him in braces, and there was no going back from that.

“Mark,” I started, taking a little sigh as I tried to choose
my words carefully. “Thank you, but—”

“But you’re not attracted to me like that,” he finished, and
I glared when he rolled his eyes. “It’s the same old story, Clara, and I’m sick
of it.”

So much for choosing words carefully. “Excuse me?”

“You flirt with me all the time,” he started, ticking off
each thing on his finger. “Your parents sat us next to each other, and by the
way, your mom loves me. You call me crying when you’re drunk—”

“Once! That happened
once
!” I snapped, mortified that
he remembered—and even more horrified that I’d done it in the first place. Mark
reached out to touch me, and I stiffened when he stroked my arm.

“I just think we’ve been dancing around this thing for a
long time.” I knew he was trying to be a mixture of things with that smile:
comforting, seductive, cool. It was a weird combination and a total turn-off. I
pulled my arm away and took a step back as he said, “You don’t have to go away
for six months to find yourself… We can do that together.”

“
We
finding myself defeats the whole purpose,” I
hissed. I then turned on my heel and stalked back into the restaurant, wanting
nothing more than to curl up in a ball under the table as my parents shooed
everyone away.

But seeing as I was a grown-up, I sat back down in my seat,
filled my wine glass to a socially unacceptable level, and played pretend nice
with Mark and everyone else for the rest of the night.

In two days I’d be leaving for the trip of a lifetime, and I
was pretty sure the simple act of packing my suitcase would help me forget
about the downward spiral this night had taken.

“D
amn it.”

I let out a long sigh and closed my eyes tightly as someone
bumped into my shoulder, though I heard no “excuse me”, “sorry”, or “pardon” as
whoever did the damage walked away. I shouldn’t have been surprised; airports
weren’t known for their pleasantness. In fact, every single airport employee
I’d dealt with today had been stone-faced and distant, as if returning my smile
might set off a national security threat.

Then there were my fellow travelers, carrying too many bags
and screaming kids to baggage checkin and through the security gates. I’d
waited in too many long lines already since arriving a whopping five hours
before my flight—and now I’d learned that my plane was delayed.

Pressing my lips together, I waited for the updates board
detailing all the incoming flight details to change again, and sure enough, my
flight to Accra, Ghana expected delays by about an hour. Again, I probably
shouldn’t have been surprised. There were intensive spring showers acting as a
blockade around the airport, and they’d been hammering the city for the last
few days. Most flights were delayed.

Drumming my fingers on my boarding pass, a fat rectangular
piece of paper that I clutched to my chest, I glanced at the clock on the black
board. According to one of the info signs, my gate was only a ten minute walk
from the airport’s food court and lounge area. There was no need to rush; my
economy class seat at the very back of the plane—right next to the washrooms,
if I’m not mistaken—wasn’t exactly going anywhere.

My backpack, filled with the essentials on the off-chance
that my suitcase went missing, seemed heavier now as I slung it over my
shoulders, adjusting the straps for comfort. I had a whole slew of brochures
and print-offs about Togo to read—even if I’d read them a few times over
already, they were probably worth another quick skimming. Although I was flying
to Ghana first, my volunteering assignment was placed in a fairly rural setting
in Togo (Togo is right beside Ghana and fairly close to Nigeria). I’d take a
small connecting aircraft from the Kotoka International Airport in Accra
shortly after my arrival, and from there a volunteer was supposed to take me to
my outpost.

All in all, it was going to be a long, tiring trip,
regardless of how excited I was to get started, an hour’s delay only added to
the length of my travels. I threw my shoulders back and braved the crowds,
making a beeline for the least busiest café . I ordered a coffee and a pastry,
knowing we’d be fed at least two meals on the plane. With my order in hand, I
found a vacant table near a window overlooking the runway, and that was where I
decided to spend most of my hour’s delay.

The volume of the café’s patrons swelled and weakened with
the departures of planes, and after scanning my brochures, I pulled out my phone
and started playing some games to pass the time. I had actual books to read for
the flight, but I didn’t want to waste them at the airport.

“Do you mind if I take this chair?”

I almost jumped out of my seat as a lone, deep, masculine
voice cut through my thoughts, interrupting my debates about where to move a
certain piece of fruit in my game. There were lots of voices around me, but
none of them were close.

I looked up, surprised, and tried not to drop my jaw at the
tall drink of water leaning on the chair across the table. Dressed well in a
pressed pair of black trousers, he had a laptop bag slung over his shoulder,
the strap sitting comfortably across a broad chest and a white button-up. A
jacket hung over his arm, and for a moment, I guess I was impressed. I then
remembered that most guys in the corporate world wore a uniform like this, and
I probably shouldn’t gaze at him…. I’d seen enough of his type before.

But I just couldn’t help myself. He watched me with a
curious expression, waiting for my response. His shaggy brown hair seemed
slicked back and off his face—a feat accomplished without looking greasy. A
smattering of freckles crested his nose, and his blue eyes were an immediate
contrast to my brown. In fact, he was almost my opposite, in a way. My
dirty-blonde hair was thin compared to his brunet waves, and even though my
skin was darker, I wasn’t graced with sun-kissed freckles.

Nor did I look like a movie star when I smiled.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said as the silence
dragged on. “There’s nowhere else to sit.”

I didn’t need to glance around the café to know that it had
filled up, but I did so anyway, as if contesting his claim.

“Sure,” I replied, waving toward the chair. “Take it.”

Much to my surprise, the man set his jacket on the back of
the chair and took a seat. I couldn’t help but watch him, my eyes glued to the
way his hands handled his laptop case. His fingers were so…elegant. Was that
the right word? He moved each item with such care, and only paused when he must
have realized I was watching.

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind me sitting,” he offered, “but
all the other tables are full.”

“It’s fine,” I managed to get out, my cheeks tickling as a
blush started to creep forward. “Really, no problem.”

I assumed that would be the end of our conversation once he
got up to plug his cord into an outlet on the nearby wall. He then set up his
laptop and started clacking away, much to my disappointment. Well, at least I
had something nice to look at while I waited for my flight. Grabbing a piece of
pastry, I stuffed the sweet bread in my mouth and returned to my phone game,
not caring if it drained my battery. I had all my numbers and contacts written
down in four different places: I wasn’t going to need my phone in Togo, and I
definitely wasn’t paying any long distance charges to use it.

“So where are you headed?” The handsome stranger posed the
question just as I successfully conquered a level that had been giving my
trouble for the last ten minutes. I smiled victoriously as I looked up, my mind
still in the game.

“What?” A blush crept across my cheeks in full force this
time, embarrassed to realize that I’d been so wrapped up in a game on my phone
that I hadn’t heard him.

Well, I had. It was one of those moments where there’s a
delay in your brain as someone talks to you. I’d heard what he said, but
apparently my first response was, “What?” So elegant, Clara, very refined and
genteel. Glad all those years of working in the corporate world had done
wonders for my manners. Luckily, he seemed not to mind. In fact, he seemed
slightly amused by my conversational blunder, his lips faintly upturned and the
skin around his eyes crinkled. Like he was trying not to smile at me, maybe to
spare my feelings.

Great. Sympathy from a stranger who was probably some famous
model/actor that I wasn’t aware of.

“Where are you traveling?” he asked again. I noticed his
laptop had been pushed to the side, opening the space between us for
conversation. My mom had gone on a huge rant about not giving travel details to
random people while I was away, but this guy looked harmless…among many other
things. Besides, he was obviously a traveler too; I could see his boarding pass
poking out of the top of what looked like a leather-bound address book.

“Ghana,” I told him. He held my gaze for a second, looked
down to pull his boarding pass out.

“As in the 4 o’clock Ghana flight?”

My eyes narrowed a little as I read the bolded text on the
paper, I nodded. “Now the 5 o’clock Ghana flight?

Apparently we were travel buddies now, waiting for the same
flight.

“Delays,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. He then tucked the
ticket away and grinned. “Could be worse, I suppose… I anticipated a delay of
at least an hour given the weather.”

“Yeah.” Okay, we were
not
going to talk about the
weather. After quickly shutting down the game of my phone, which was making
cutesy little noises to entice me back to play, I extended my hand across the
small table. “I’m Clara.”

His hand was soft and warm as it enveloped mine, his long
fingers making mine look like stubby midget digits. “Grant.”

We both squeezed, neither of us pressing too hard, and my
stomach did a fluttery somersault. He might have looked like a corporate guy,
but I’d never seen one
this
good looking around the office before.

“So what brings you to Ghana?” Grant inquired as we pulled
apart, my skin tingling. I brought my hand beneath the table to rest on my lap,
pressing my thumb into my palm hard to detract from the sensation.

“Vacation,” I remarked, quickly deciding that he didn’t need
to know the whole truth about my travels. He nodded, and I added, “It’s my
first time there.”

“Accra’s beautiful,” he insisted. “I love spending a few
days there when I have the chance.”

“Do you go for work?” Intrigued, I leaned in to the
conversation, not caring how obvious I was being about the fact that I found
him interesting.

“Sometimes,” he answered. “Sometimes for fun, this trip is a
bit of both.”

“What exactly do you do?”

His smile turned to something a little more playful, teasing
even, and he raised an eyebrow at me. “When did this turn into an
interrogation?”

“Right about when you asked me where I was going,” I fired
back, ready to play. My eyes flicked to my phone’s screen, noting that I only
had fifteen minutes before I—we—needed to head to the gate. Grant could
definitely help pass the time.

“I’m just a curious soul,” he said, holding his hands up
innocently. The skin around his eyes crinkled when I laughed, his smile growing
into something more genuine now. “I like hearing people’s stories too.”

“And dancing around questions, it seems.”

He exhaled softly, looking rather attractive if not somewhat
flustered.

“I’m an engineer,” he said, and suddenly the fancy clothes
and pricey laptop and leather notebook made sense. “I travel a lot for work.”

“Bet that’s nice,” I chuckled. “I wish my work paid me to
fly to exotic places.”

Though I could never be an engineer. From my university
days, I remember their crazy workload and chaotic schedule. PR was hard work,
but it was nothing compared to the stress my few engineering friends endured.

“And what’s work for you?”

There was no way I was telling a successful engineer that
I’d been fired for not following instructions. “Public relations mostly.”

“Ah.” He seemed neither impressed or put out; instead he
started packing up his laptop. “I don’t think I could do PR work… People are so
frustrating.”

I let out a short laugh, thrilled with his reasoning. People
are
frustrating. “You can say that again.”

“I don’t want to be presumptuous,” he said as he started to
stand, still packing his things away, “but would you care to accompany me to
the gate? I think they’ll start boarding soon.”

“Why sir,” I chuckled, thrown by the formality of his
request. “I’d be delighted.”

I didn’t have much to put away, but I did chug the remainder
of my coffee and stuff the rest of the pastry in my mouth. After disposing of
the trash, I threw my backpack on and strolled beside him out of the café. I
felt small beside him, which was a rarity.

I had always been at that height where I wasn’t exactly
tall, but I still towered over all my friends who were of “average” height. I
hadn’t worn heels on a date in years, worried that I’d breach the six foot
marker even though I was still a few inches under. Grant was a head taller than
me, obviously in the six foot plus range, and now that we were next to each other,
I noted that he wasn’t huge—broad was a good word, I guess, but there was a
sleekness to him that I liked.

It must have been the fancy clothes. I had dressed for
comfort, and looked like a total slob next to him. I wore my old university
sweatpants and a plain crew-neck t-shirt. I had a sweater rolled up at the
bottom of my backpack, as planes tended to get cold, and I’d chosen an old pair
of sneakers to bring with me—no need for high-end shoes where I was headed.

We kept our conversation light as we strolled to the gate,
commenting on the airport’s shopping venues and the way people rushed to and
fro. Once we’d reached our destination, he pointed to the sign.

“Business class can board now, apparently,” he noted,
nodding a bit. “I hope you don’t mind if I…”

He trailed off and pointed a thumb toward the attendants
manning the entryway. Of course he was flying business class. Smiling, I shook
my head and tucked some hair behind my ear. “Not at all.”

“It’s nice to have met you…” He extended his hand to me again,
and he seemed to be struggling to recall my name. Just as I was about to help
him out, a sarcastic, snippy tone on the tip of my tongue, he said, very
softly, almost appreciatively, “Clara.”

I took a deep breath, willing away the color in my cheeks,
then grabbed his hand. “You too.”

We both held on a little longer than necessary—anyone
watching us could see it. I pulled back first, my palm tingling again, and
nodded to the gate. “Hope you enjoy your fancy meals and your cushy seats.”

“They’re not much cushier, I promise.” He almost seemed
embarrassed to admit it, which was kind of endearing. My eyebrows shot up, and
I let out a snort.

“Uh huh,” Like I’d ever believe a business class seat wasn’t
better than an economy class one. I mean, why would people pay thousands of
dollars more to sit in seats that weren’t any better?

We held one another’s gaze briefly as a woman’s voice called
for all business class passengers to check in. I nodded toward the gate once
more.

“See you on the other side, maybe,” I offered, giving him my
most genuine smile.

“Yeah.” He nodded, lingering still, until he seemed to work
up the resolve to pivot on his feet—which were wrapped in shiny, polished black
shoes—and make his way toward the counter. I waited, and then waved when he
turned back on the other side of the gate to smile at me.