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When we’re alone again, I take my glass and hold it up. She does the same and we tap them together. “Thanks for coming on a date with me,” I say.
“Thanks for asking,” she replies.
We both take a sip, staring at each other over the rims.
“Mmm,” she says with clear delight. “That’s delicious.”
“A little too sweet for me but I’m glad to have tried it.”
Setting our glasses back down, it’s me this time who takes her hand. I don’t lace our fingers but instead hold her with our palms pressed together. With my other arm on the table, I lean closer to her. “What do you think it means?”
We’re not talking about wine or dates. I’m asking her to help me understand and she knows it.
Danica leans in and I can see gold flecks in her brown eyes. “In your dreams… I think you’re relieved to be on that plane because you feel guilty that you weren’t.”
“Yeah.” She doesn’t tell me anything I didn’t suspect already. But somehow, hearing it from her and not from the inner recesses of my mind doesn’t make it seem so foolish.
“It wasn’t your time, Camden. Whether you believe in God, fate or none of those things… it simply wasn’t your time.”
My lips curve slightly. “That easy, huh?”
“For the longest time, I was in denial that Mitch died.” I jerk at the mention of my friend’s name. Her husband. I had forgotten for a bit that he would be in the room during this conversation. Danica grips my hand hard. “But eventually, the only way I could deal with the loss was to realize that it was beyond my control. That there was something bigger at play than I could comprehend. The only way I could accept it was to make myself understand that it was Mitch’s time. That might seem callous, but I had to find a way to reconcile the grief in my heart with the need for survival in my gut. So my mind reassured me that there was nothing I could have done to prevent it. It was just Mitch’s time.”
I cover our clutched hands with my other palm. “I’m sorry, Dani. I hate you went through it. More for Travis because I don’t know how a kid could make sense of it the way you did.”
She laughs, the sound husky with emotion and affection. “Kids are the most resilient creatures in the world. Many times Travis was my rock and he didn’t even know it.”
“Here you go.” The waiter’s voice breaks us apart. He’s carrying a plate in each hand and one balanced on his inner forearm. “The Doro Wot, a spicy chicken stew, and the Zilzil Tibs, which is braised beef.”
My senses are assaulted by the spices and Danica leans in to inhale.
“Mmm,” she hums low in her throat, and my eyes snap from the food to her. That sounded way too sexy. She grins. “Smells divine, doesn’t it?”
The waiter motions to the plate of what looks like porous, spongy crepes but slightly thicker. “The injera. Use this to pick up the food but if that gets too messy, no one will make fun of you for using forks.”
Danica is the first to reach for the bread, pulling off a piece about the size of her palm and using it to pinch into the beef. She lifts it to her mouth, sauce dripping, and our eyes lock as she sets it on her tongue. She chews slowly, savoring that first bite.
“Oh wow, that’s good. You’ve got to try that.”
She doesn’t give me the chance to follow suit, instead tearing another piece of bread and nabbing more beef with it. She holds it out to me, not to take it with my own hand but toward my mouth.
Without hesitation, I open it and let her place the morsel on my tongue.
It’s one of the most intimate gestures a woman has ever given me, and I have to admit I’m turned on.
I’m also strangely comforted by it.
I can’t even begin to figure out the blend of spices that hit my tongue, but the tender beef and the mild bread melt in my mouth. “Damn, that’s amazing.”
The waiter offers a slight bow. “Enjoy your meal.”
Danica and I dig in, both grabbing bread. “Are your brothers married? Do you have any nieces or nephews?” she asks.
For the next two hours, we eat spicy food and drink honey wine.
We talk about everything.
Except the crash.
