by Jenn Faulk
~David~
Best. Trip. Ever.
He was certain that he would never go anywhere ever again without Camille Evans.
All that he’d doubted before about what she could possibly feel seemed to vanish moment by moment as they crossed the globe, as she pulled herself closer to him, as she reached for his hand, and as she looked up at him with wonder.
She’d been looking at him like that for a long while, but he’d never let himself think it could mean anything. Not really.
Not until that flight, of course. And all that she’d said and clearly meant, as evidenced by the way she’d sat with him and held him close, as if she had no intention of ever going anywhere without him ever again.
Bolstered by her proximity and all the clear signals she’d been giving on the long flight, he finally went with it and took the lead.
Pulling her under his arm through passport control, whispering down into her ear when he needed to ask her which bag was hers at the luggage carousel, holding her hand as they waited for the convention people out by the curb, and touching her bare shoulder just a little longer than necessary as she’d scooted next to him on the crowded seat in the van.
She’d responded to every move he made with encouraging eyes, full of hope and affection, as she looked up at him.
Seriously. Best. Trip. Ever.
They’d regretfully been forced to part ways once they got to the huge convention center. She’d looked back and given him a sad wave as a woman took her off for hair and makeup and to change, as a man did the same for him. He’d spent every minute of that time rushing himself and rushing those around him, until they led him to a makeshift green room set up right behind the ballroom where the Texas convention would be eating in another thirty minutes.
Every minute without her was a strange new kind of torture now that he knew she felt something, too. He paced and kept looking towards the door, which mercifully and finally opened.
And there she was. In a Herero dress. Complete with the giant hat and everything.
“I look ridiculous,” she said very simply, a murderous glare in her eyes that was likely meant especially for Kait.
“You look beautiful,” he said diplomatically, having learned more than a few things living with nothing but sisters.
That, and he really meant it. Even in the outrageous getup, she was beautiful.
She frowned at this. “She let you wear something normal,” she groaned.
“Well, it’s a linen tunic,” he said, looking down at the bold prints. “Not really even Namibian, I don’t think. But it matches your dress, which is totally Namibian. For the past two hundred years. And for only a small subset of the population.”
“Our students don’t dress like this,” she said, a little whine in her voice. “I’ve got a corset on under this. Victorian era, David. Why do the Herero women put up with this?”
He was trying to keep from imagining this when she pointed at his pants.
“Cargo pants,” she said. “And flip flops. Why, Kait, why?”
“I know,” he said. “I look good. Except I don’t get a fancy hat like you.”
“I don’t think white girls are supposed to wear these,” she said, looking at her hair critically in the mirror set up for them. “I mean, I don’t have enough hair to support this. My neck is hurting already. Is there some way to adjust this so I don’t fall over halfway through the presentation?”
“Here,” he offered, stepping up behind her, “let me help.”
“Because you know so much about women’s hair,” she muttered.
“Two sisters,” he reminded her. “I actually know what a bobby pin is.”
“Good,” she said, “then just take them out altogether. I’ll leave the hat behind. I’m sorry, Kait, but I can’t do it.”
He smiled at this, removing it carefully, then gently loosening more and more of her hair as he took out one pin after another.
Lock after lock tumbled down, one curl after another, David’s fingers pulling them loose with tenderness and careful attention, even as he thought of every youth trip they’d ever taken, where he would lean forward to the seat where she was sitting with his sisters, where she’d turn to face him, where her hair would brush against his hand. He thought of every camping trip in Namibia, where he’d put the truck into four wheel drive, lean his arm over the seat and look backwards, his hand always brushing against her hair from where she sat, hiding her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to witness them backing off into a giant hole or something equally catastrophic.
So many amazing memories. All in this woman, right here. All with them together.
“Hey,” she said, bringing his attention back to her eyes even as he worked on smoothing out her hair and she looked at the two of them in the mirror. “David?”
“Yeah?” he asked softly, just as he finished pulling down the last curl.
“I think Kait was right,” she breathed. “About the outfits, at least. Look at us. We look good together.”
And he stopped what he was doing and watched their reflection. With complete confidence, finally, he slipped his arms around her, leaning his chin on her shoulder, just as she pulled his arms around her, leaning her head against his.
And there was wonderful freedom in this, in finally just letting it happen. She relaxed in his arms, and he pulled her closer.
“This okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” she breathed. “I remember what you said on the plane, David.”
He watched her cautiously, thinking of all that he’d said, feeling like he could be more to her than who he was. “I meant it.”
She sighed, glancing up at him nervously, even as she pulled his arms tighter around her. “I don’t normally let myself get involved with anyone,” she said.
“Never the right guy,” he murmured.
“No. Never,” she said softly. “And if I let myself… if we… well, this will be serious, David.”
“It already is, Cammie,” he whispered, continuing to hold her.