by Jillian Dodd
“Your mom sounds amazing. But I guess my parents are sort of that way, too. They never complained when I was up in my room putting together outfits or doing a makeup tutorial because they could see I loved it.”
“It’s good to follow your passion,” he says in such a way that it makes me wonder if we’re still talking about our work.
“Speaking of your mom,” I say, trying not to act awkward. “She sounds like such an interesting woman. A professor, a traveler. She has a husband, a son, an awesome career. Kind of a badass.”
“She is pretty amazing. She’s always been a great mum. It was hard for me when I was younger, though, traveling with my parents. I never fully understood why we couldn’t stay in one place, or at least stay with the people that I got to know when we were away. But as I got older, I understood more, and the cool thing is that we did end up going back to many of the same places that we had already been to, so I was able to reconnect with childhood friends.”
“I can’t imagine growing up like that. My childhood was all in the city. I would go shopping with my mom, to museums, and over the summer we would stay with my aunt in the country, and by country, I mean the Hamptons. But for me, that was the outdoors. Nothing like what you have experienced. Although, I did have a summer romance there when I was ten.”
“First kiss?” he asks, staring at my lips.
I nod. “And my first heartbreak. He ditched me a few days later for a girl who had a kite.”
Adam laughs at me. “You’re cute. And there’s nothing wrong with growing up in the city, or in the country, or like I did part of the time, in a lean-to in South America. I just think it’s important for people to broaden their horizons whenever they can, whether it’s through traveling or reading a book. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the little bubble that we call society. It’s a balancing act, though. I think things need to always be questioned, like why we do what we do, but at the same time we have to live our lives.”
“Wow, you must always have a lot going on up in that head of yours.” I smile at him.
“You have no idea,” he says lightheartedly. “And all this talk of home makes me want to talk to my parents. I think I’ll call them before dinner.”
I suck in my breath. “Wait. You have a phone?”
“Yeah? Why?”
“That’s so not fair! I wasn’t allowed to bring one. Janet made this big deal about me being away from social media and fully delving into the wild, or something crazy.”
“That’s understandable. Social media is a big part of your life. She wanted you focused and journaling about everything you’re experiencing and feeling. No distractions.”
“So . . . can I maybe use your phone for a little? You know, just check in on how things are going?” I ask cautiously as he takes the precious thing out of his backpack.
“Sorry, can’t break Janet’s rules.” He smiles mockingly at me.
“Oh, come on! Janet doesn’t have to know. I’ll only be on it for a few minutes. Please? I’ll just check my Instagram, oh, and maybe my Snapchat,” I say, reaching for his hands.
He stands on the bed, holding the phone up in the air. “You’re not going to get it,” he taunts, with a grin on his face.
“I’m having withdrawals!” I get up on the bed and jump up, reaching for his phone.
Only, I’m too short, so I do the next best thing—tickle under his arms.
“Ahh!” he giggles. He’s so ticklish. I love it. Especially when he reacts by dropping his arms down low enough for me to yank the phone out of his hand. I leap off the bed and make a run for the bathroom, but I don’t get very far before he grabs me around the waist and pulls me back on the bed with him. In a few seconds, he has me flipped over on my back and is sitting on top of me, holding me down.
“Give it back,” he warns in his most stern voice, but his eyes are bright, and he’s still laughing.
“I don’t have it,” I lie, slipping it under my back and holding up my hands innocently. He grabs my hands and pins them above my head.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he says, leaning down close to me. Heat rushes through my body and my breath catches, but I can’t let him think he’s won. I struggle a bit, trying to get loose. But he’s stronger than he looks. He manages to hold me down even while he slides one hand under my back, grazing exposed flesh where my shirt has ridden up. His eyes lock on mine, and his breathing speeds up. I raise my chin slightly, a subtle move letting him know that it would be okay if he kissed me.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he jumps off the bed.
I sit up quickly.
“What?” I say, confused by both his expression and reaction. Based on the way he looked at me, I was sure he wanted to kiss me, but yet, he didn’t. In fact he acted like I had suddenly caught on fire and burned him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move so fast. He probably hates me.
“You’re a liar,” he says, holding up his cellphone in front of my face.
“Oh my gosh, you found it. Where could it have been?” I tease.
“You knew exactly where it was,” he says with a grin, his eyes twinkling.
Okay, so maybe he doesn’t hate me.
DAY SIX
Camille
I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Last night after dinner I showered and went to bed with my hair wet, which was a horrible idea. I look like a poodle with a bad perm. I’m going to need at least an extra twenty minutes to fix this mess. Normally, if I air dry my hair, it tumbles over my shoulder in thick curls and with a little smoothing balm looks pretty, but not today. The curls are kinked and messy on one side and flat on the other.
I’m going to have to straighten it, which is not an easy task. I quickly rinse off my face and start brushing my teeth. With my toothbrush in my mouth, I walk over to my suitcase, yank out my straightener, plug it into the wall, set it down on the nightstand, and turn it on.
I hear a loud pop and see the outlet spark. I scramble to yank the cord out of the wall as I cry out, “No! I need this thing! Please, don’t let me have killed my straightener!”
Maybe it’s just a faulty outlet.
I run back into the bathroom, putting my toothbrush down and rinsing my mouth, then search my room for another outlet. When I can’t find one, I decide to try the one in Adam’s room. I check the time. It’s 7:45, so I have a little over an hour before we are going to head out for the day. I grab my straightener and go tap on his door. When I don’t get a response, I knock a little harder.
“Adam, are you up?” When he doesn’t respond to further knocking, I turn the knob and peek my head inside. “Hello? Anyone in here?”
Again, no response, so I walk into his room, straightener in hand, and look around the walls for an outlet. If I’m quick, he might not even know I was in here. I find an outlet, get my straightener plugged in, and make a wish as I press the on button.
But it doesn’t light up.
“Crap!” I let out a little screech and stomp my feet on the floor. “This can’t be happening to me.”
I hear a noise behind me and jump into the air, scared. I turn to find Adam standing in the doorway with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “What are you doing in here? You scared me.”
“Excuse me? This is my room. What are you doing in here? Looking for another shirt to steal?” He moves across the room, sets his camera on the bed and then stands directly in front of me, so close that our chests almost touch.
I hold my sad, dead straightener up in the little space between us. “I was trying to get my straightener to work. I thought maybe it was just my outlet, but apparently not, because it won’t turn on. I guess I fried it, which is pretty upsetting because this is a really good one, and I bought it thinking it was an investment piece,” I say somberly.
“An investment piece? What are you talking about?”
“The straightener.” I roll my eyes at him. Sometimes I don’t understand how guys can be so oblivious. “It was very expensive
, and now it’s ruined. But maybe when we’re out today I can pick up a new one?”
Adam shakes his head at me. “You are something else, you know that?”
“Oh, whatever,” I say, plopping down on his bed dramatically. “Where have you been? Did you already have breakfast? We don’t have to leave until nine, right?”
“I wanted to get some photos of the sunrise. This area is beautiful, so I’ve been out exploring. And to answer your other question, I have not yet had breakfast. Would you like to join me?”
“I have to finish getting ready first, which I guess is going to take less time now. I went to bed with my hair wet, and now it’s a freaking mess, and I can’t straighten it so I’ll look horrible today. But I can be ready in like twenty if you want to walk down there together.”
He sits down on the bed next to me and pushes a curl back off of my face. “I like when your hair is a curly mess. It’s kind of cute.” He gazes into my eyes, causing my stomach to flip. “It’s beautiful. I mean, you’re beau—” He suddenly stops talking and gets up off the bed. “Anyways, yeah. Why don’t you get ready and then we can head down for breakfast. Sound good?”
“Uh, sure,” I say, getting off his bed and walking out the door.
He was going to tell me that I am beautiful, but he stopped himself.
And I don’t know why.
I huff to my room, wondering why I even care. It’s Adam, after all. He is a self-righteous know-it-all and can be a little butt sometimes.
I also know I’m just telling myself that because I’ve come to really like him. I enjoy his company. I think he’s interesting. We have fun together. And he’s pretty darn cute.
Okay, Camille, it’s time to focus on what you know. Lexi would tell me to dress in something sexy so he couldn’t resist me.
But I can’t do that. We’re going to an organic farm and then zip-lining. I had an outfit planned, but I ignore it, instead choosing a pair of high-waisted, red jean shorts and an off-the-shoulder white tee with red pom-pom trim. Since we’ll be walking, I have to wear my white Keds, but I layer bracelets on my wrists and get out my most glamorous designer sunglasses.
I put on a little foundation, a thick coat of mascara, and some red lip gloss.
Now, what to do with this hair? I have two options—a braid or embracing the curls. I decide to go with the curls, after all, he almost told me I am beautiful with this craziness. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get it all brushed out then add some smoothing balm to calm it. When I’m done, I’m very pleased with how I look.
I grab my backpack and head out the door to find Adam waiting on me. He gives me a once over that is so blatant I nearly blush.
“You ready for breakfast?”
I give him a shrug, like I am ambivalent to his charm, and follow him to the dining hall. I spot Diego immediately, sitting in the far corner with a coffee in hand.
“Morning,” he greets, bringing a smile to my face.
“Good morning. I’m so excited for today. It sounds like we’re going to have such a fun time touring the farm.”
“It should be fun. They have a breakfast buffet set up, so go ahead and help yourself.” He motions toward a long table lined with food.
“Wow, it smells amazing,” I say, setting my backpack down in the chair opposite Diego and then heading over to the food. I don’t even bother waiting for Adam.
I decide on banana pancakes and a coffee and take it back to my seat. A few minutes later, Adam sits next to me.
“Have you been to this farm before, Diego?” I ask.
“Yes, I have. Family run for three generations. The last generation switched their farming processes and made it fully organic.”
“That’s great. Hopefully more farms in the area will follow suit,” Adam says then takes a drink of juice to wash down the massive bite of burrito he just took.
“I can’t wait to see it, but I’m not so sure about the zip-lining this afternoon,” I admit.
“Zip-lining will be so much fun,” Adam says, more excitedly than I’d expected.
“Have you ever been?” I ask them both.
“Yeah, I’ve been once,” Adam answers first. “I really enjoyed it. I’ll get some cool photos of you flying across the treetops.”
Diego is nodding along with Adam, like he agrees that it’s fun, but he studies my face and says, “I’ve been multiple times. It’s a great experience, but when I took my wife, she didn’t love it. Swears she will never go again.”
“I’m right there with her. I don’t do great with heights, so we will have to see how it goes.” I blow on my coffee then take a sip. “Will we ever get to meet Mariam?”
“I hope so,” he says with a huge grin. “It’s a long drive for her, but I think she’s going to join us at the hot springs tomorrow, before we head back out to the East coast. We could use a night alone.”
“Well, I can’t wait to meet her,” I say excitedly.
Adam
Camille sort of ignored me at breakfast, and I probably deserve it. I don’t know why I stopped saying she was beautiful.
Actually, I do. I knew if I said it, I would kiss her. And I can’t kiss her. If I kiss her, I’ll want more.
And I know more isn’t feasible.
After we all eat breakfast, Camille and me along with the Johnson family load up into the bus for the forty-minute drive to the farm.
I’m surprised when Camille turns around in her seat to face me. “Can I see the photos you took yesterday?”
“Sure,” I say a little too quickly, just thankful she’s speaking to me. “I got some great photos from the lookout and some cool ones in the rain. Hang on one second, and I’ll show you.” I get out my camera, turning it on and pressing the button to show my stored photos, then I switch seats so I can sit next to her. “This one is from when we were walking back down from the volcano, while it was still raining,” I say, watching closely to gauge her reaction. In this photo, she was walking further ahead of me. The end result made her look tiny, the vibrant forest almost engulfing her.
“It’s breathtaking. I didn’t even know you took this,” she says, her eyes meeting mine.
“That’s kind of the point,” I say back with a smile. “And this one, here, was from the lookout. I loved how green everything was below us in contrast to the black rocks we were on.” I watch as she examines the photo then scrolls through a few more. It’s always a strange feeling having other people see your work. Sometimes I think they won’t understand what I was trying to say with a particular image, or they will think it’s just a photo, nothing special.
But not Camille.
“Adam, these photos are amazing. You’re really talented and have a very unique style. I like how you focus in on contrasting elements, but somehow find a way to combine them wonderfully.”
“Thank you,” I say, a little embarrassed. “Obviously, those are all still raw and need to go through the editing process, but it’s really fun to see their potential.”
We’re pulled out of our conversation when Diego announces that we’ve arrived.
I can’t believe it’s been nearly an hour already. I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun. I look out the window and see that the bus is surrounded on both sides by tropical palms and shrubs. The tiny road leading up to the farm feels almost suffocating, and if you didn’t know where you were going you would probably have missed the little sign that read Florencia Farm. As we pull up to the farm, everyone is buzzing with excitement and is quick to get out of the bus.
A stout older man wearing a white polo and jeans comes out of a building to greet us, and he’s followed by a younger version of himself.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Ignacio,” the younger man greets. “And this is my father, Carlos. We are the owners of Florencia Farm.”
We greet them, shaking hands like we’re all old friends. Then Ignacio speaks again.
“I will give you a little history about the place and then we will take
a tour. After that, you will get to enjoy a delicious lunch we have prepared for you.” Ignacio has a great smile that radiates friendliness and warmth. “This farm has been in my family for seventy-five years, and it started out under the ownership of my grandfather, then my father, and now me. We switched to organic farming after my father became ill from the pesticides. He is doing well now, thankfully, and we are extremely happy to have become more in tune with this amazing natural environment.” He opens his arms out wide, indicating the farm surrounding us. “We are first, and foremost, known for our coffee, so let me give you a little background about it. Costa Rica is known for its high quality coffee, and the mountains and highlands provide the ideal growing conditions. This includes a dry and wet season, stable temperatures, and rich soil. We are the only farm in Florencia selling organic coffee, and we stay focused on the ideas of permaculture. The main idea being to work with nature, not against it. We use fruit-bearing trees to provide shade and protection for the coffee and a wide range of plants to help prevent monoculture, which is the cultivation of a single crop. Besides coffee, we have cacao trees, sugar cane, pineapples, and numerous other fruits and vegetables. Not only do we process coffee here, but we process cacao on site, as well. If you’ll follow me, we can take a walk through our garden before getting out to see the trees.”
We follow him around the back of a barn where there is a large vine-covered arch leading to a fenced garden filled with rows of vegetables. The soil is dark and rich, and leafy greens dot the ground.
“Look at all this,” Camille says to me, her head swiveling from one vegetable to another. “Can you believe they grow all this? I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“I’m sure it looks daunting, but if you start slowly and are patient, you learn what each plant requires, and you learn to look out for signs that it’s thriving or suffering,” I say as I kneel down to get a better angle on a beautiful tomato vine.