My nails bit in to the black fabric.
He wasn’t leaving with my stuff.
“Is there a problem here?”
Grant’s presence should have made me relax, but for some
reason, I dug in more, as if I could handle this on my own.
“This bitch is trying to—”
“Hey,” Grant barked, immediately blocking the guy’s escape
route. He towered over the kid, those glorious shoulders completely
overshadowing him. I tried to hide my smirk. I’d never had someone intimidate
another person for me before. “Watch the language, pal.”
“This is my bag,” I got out, cutting the guy before he could
say anything else. “He’s trying to steal my bag.”
I grabbed the green tag with one hand and flipped it over.
Sure enough, my name was there in big, chunky letters, etched in permanent
marker by dear old dad the day of my flight. Grant’s eyes widened, and he
grabbed the guy by the front of his shirt. Now the security guards were
looking. I noticed a few heads turn over Grant’s shoulders.
“You have five seconds to drop her bag, or you’ll be walking
out of here with no bag and no front teeth,” he hissed, the threat plain
as day. The thief dropped the bag instantly, and Grant gave him a shove in the
opposite direction. I didn’t bother to watch him flee. Instead, I clutched my
cushy duffel bag to my chest, thankful I’d been around to catch the guy in the
act. Surviving six months with no comfort from home would have been rough.
“Thanks for that,” I offered, cradling my bag to me, my
cheeks flushed. “I didn’t really want to wrestle it out of his hands, but…”
“You look like you could use a little extra muscle.” Grant
watched the guy barrel through the last security check-point with a slight
clench in his jaw, and the butterflies started to do their dance again. Once he
was gone for good, Grant’s shoulders relaxed a little, and he shot me a small smile
before adding, “I didn’t mean to step on your toes.”
“You were a welcome addition to the duffel rescue effort,” I
assured him with a nod. Our eyes met for a few moments, holding one another’s
gaze, and I was the first to look away. Pretending to check over my bag for
further infarctions, I nodded again when he told me he spotted his bag. In his
absence, I let out a deep breath, one I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and
hoped that this would be the last of the surprises for the day.
Chapter Nine
I ’d placed a lot of expectations on this trip, but
I could have never anticipated the natural beauty of Togo.
“There are more marshes and lagoons the farther south you
go,” Henri, our French volunteer coordinator and driver, informed us as we
rumbled along a half paved road. Every so often, red dirt flew out from under
the tires, dusting the glass panes and obstructing my view. “The north is
mostly savanna. You can expect a little bit of rain in the next month, then it
will be a dry summer.”
“It’s amazing,” I observed, practically pressed against the
window to take in every inch of the landscape. Gentle rolling hills were
covered in a yellow-green long grass, and I’d already seen dozens of exotic
birds nesting in the roadside trees. Palms, coconut trees, and a number of
other foreign-sounding titles bounced around in my head as my eyes danced
across the greenery. I wanted to learn them all. By the time I left, I wanted
to be able to identify a tree or bush or flower just by looking at the leaves.
Strange. I’d never had an eye for botany before. Grant
already knew most of the plants, nodding along with Henri when he first began
describing the setting. Our driver was the volunteer coordinator for the
region, and after we’d loaded our things into his 70s-era white van, he told us
that he liked to meet volunteers at the airport and drive them to their
village—it was one of the highlights of his job.
I was grateful. Even if he was a Frenchman, Henri was a
lingering sense of familiarity for me. As eager as I was to see the
He wasn’t leaving with my stuff.
“Is there a problem here?”
Grant’s presence should have made me relax, but for some
reason, I dug in more, as if I could handle this on my own.
“This bitch is trying to—”
“Hey,” Grant barked, immediately blocking the guy’s escape
route. He towered over the kid, those glorious shoulders completely
overshadowing him. I tried to hide my smirk. I’d never had someone intimidate
another person for me before. “Watch the language, pal.”
“This is my bag,” I got out, cutting the guy before he could
say anything else. “He’s trying to steal my bag.”
I grabbed the green tag with one hand and flipped it over.
Sure enough, my name was there in big, chunky letters, etched in permanent
marker by dear old dad the day of my flight. Grant’s eyes widened, and he
grabbed the guy by the front of his shirt. Now the security guards were
looking. I noticed a few heads turn over Grant’s shoulders.
“You have five seconds to drop her bag, or you’ll be walking
out of here with no bag and no front teeth,” he hissed, the threat plain
as day. The thief dropped the bag instantly, and Grant gave him a shove in the
opposite direction. I didn’t bother to watch him flee. Instead, I clutched my
cushy duffel bag to my chest, thankful I’d been around to catch the guy in the
act. Surviving six months with no comfort from home would have been rough.
“Thanks for that,” I offered, cradling my bag to me, my
cheeks flushed. “I didn’t really want to wrestle it out of his hands, but…”
“You look like you could use a little extra muscle.” Grant
watched the guy barrel through the last security check-point with a slight
clench in his jaw, and the butterflies started to do their dance again. Once he
was gone for good, Grant’s shoulders relaxed a little, and he shot me a small smile
before adding, “I didn’t mean to step on your toes.”
“You were a welcome addition to the duffel rescue effort,” I
assured him with a nod. Our eyes met for a few moments, holding one another’s
gaze, and I was the first to look away. Pretending to check over my bag for
further infarctions, I nodded again when he told me he spotted his bag. In his
absence, I let out a deep breath, one I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and
hoped that this would be the last of the surprises for the day.
Chapter Nine
I ’d placed a lot of expectations on this trip, but
I could have never anticipated the natural beauty of Togo.
“There are more marshes and lagoons the farther south you
go,” Henri, our French volunteer coordinator and driver, informed us as we
rumbled along a half paved road. Every so often, red dirt flew out from under
the tires, dusting the glass panes and obstructing my view. “The north is
mostly savanna. You can expect a little bit of rain in the next month, then it
will be a dry summer.”
“It’s amazing,” I observed, practically pressed against the
window to take in every inch of the landscape. Gentle rolling hills were
covered in a yellow-green long grass, and I’d already seen dozens of exotic
birds nesting in the roadside trees. Palms, coconut trees, and a number of
other foreign-sounding titles bounced around in my head as my eyes danced
across the greenery. I wanted to learn them all. By the time I left, I wanted
to be able to identify a tree or bush or flower just by looking at the leaves.
Strange. I’d never had an eye for botany before. Grant
already knew most of the plants, nodding along with Henri when he first began
describing the setting. Our driver was the volunteer coordinator for the
region, and after we’d loaded our things into his 70s-era white van, he told us
that he liked to meet volunteers at the airport and drive them to their
village—it was one of the highlights of his job.
I was grateful. Even if he was a Frenchman, Henri was a
lingering sense of familiarity for me. As eager as I was to see the
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