Page 70 of The Secret
Saturday, April 2, 2022
When I arrive at the airport in Cape Town, my nerves are electric eels twisting through my body.Four days.Brian and James offered to babysit my project in Kiwanja while I came here for four days. I could hardly sit still on the flight. Am I destined to always be experiencing a nervous breakdown on a plane?
Turns out, there wasn’t a next time Dan could come and see me. With all the strikes, commercial flights into our part of the DRC from South Africa have been few and far between. I’m on the first plane out for three weeks. I’m worried I might not be able to get back, but Brian was having none of it, said he’d arrange some help if needed. He told me he was secretly hoping I’d be stuck in South Africa with Dan, and I punched him in the arm.
As soon as I’m through passport control, I scan the crowd and, when I spot Dan’s tousled hair, my heart leaps as my throat tightens. The simple joy of seeing him across a teeming space and knowing it’shim. My eyes scratch and pinch as his gaze tracks over the hordes of passengers and he suddenly stops on me, his face breaking into an irrepressible grin. As he fights his way toward me, I register that he’s shaved and wearing a suit, and I press my hand to my chest. He’s so gorgeous, why aren’t all the women here falling at his feet? Tears start leaking out the corners of my eyes, and he frowns, but, as if answering the call of mine, his eyes redden and by the time he gets to me, they’re damp. He pulls me close, kissing my head.
“What’s up, Liss?” he mumbles.
“You look so good in a suit, and you’ve shaved,” I say nonsensically.
He leans back to look at me, and I shake my head, pressing my face into the fresh white cotton of his shirt.
“I didn’t know what had happened to you,” I garble into his chest. “I dreamed of this.”
He squeezes me tighter.
“I feel like I’m dreaming now.”
He shudders. “Liss.My God. I should have reached out to you sooner. I’ve been going over and over this.” His breath gusts over my neck.
“You did the right thing, Dan. I understand.” I hiccup. “I keep wishing that I’d looked harder, that I hadn’t stopped the private investigator I hired.”
“I still can’t believe you hired one at all.” He lets out a long sigh, and when I look up at him his gaze is far away, as if fixed on something over my head. “When my father was shot, there was a lot of panic in the government about who might be next.” Then he sighs and peers down at me. “Come on. We are not starting these four days with a conversation like this. I want to talk about it, but not now.” He gives me a squeeze. “I’m so pleased to see you—I feel like it’s been weeks.”
I laugh at this. “It has been weeks.”
“Oh yeah,” he says, grinning.
Tentatively, he puts his hands on either side of my face.
“Can I kiss you?”
I smile at him. “You’re asking?”
He closes his eyes, licks his lips. “Ever since I saw you in Kiwanja, I’ve been thinking about it.” His eyes pop open. “I swore to myself I’d kiss you at the airport.” He smirks.
“Be my guest,” I say, licking my lips as his eyes drop down toward my mouth.
His head comes down, and his touch is tentative, soft, a sharing of breath. His lips press into mine unmoving. I remember his heat over me, his mouth wide and desperate, the demand of it, and without warning pain yawns like a hole in my chest as the memories flood in. The laughter, the incredible sex. Then his lips brush against mine, slow and gentle. I push my tongue forward and touch the tip to his lips and he opens his mouth, hesitant. It’s like no kiss he’s ever given me: apologetic, unsure. I run my tongue along his top lip and our tongues tangle, his hands tightening on either side of my face. Then he pulls back, resting his forehead against mine, eyes closed. I kiss him again, and his lips curl up.
“That was good,” he says.
“That was amazing,” I say, and he opens his eyes, blinking as he lifts his hand and rubs a warm thumb across my cheek. He drops his hand to wind his fingers through mine. It’s unreal.
“You alright with that?” He gestures at my backpack, and I nod.
“How long is the journey?” I ask as we head over the patterned marble to the nearest exit.
He makes a face. “Around five hours, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve never seen you suited and booted.” I track down at his body. “I like it.”
He holds his hand out to his side, laughing. “Well, don’t get too used to it—it’s not a look I wear on the farm at all.”
“How did your meetings go?”
He walks over to a beaten-up old Land Rover, and I smile as I take in the state of it.
