No Rules(73)
“No, don’t.” She looked up, hopeful. “Can we walk? I want to take in the city. And can we stop and get something to eat? Real Egyptian food?”
He smiled. “Feeling adventurous?”
“A little. It feels like the pressure is off now, you know?”
He didn’t feel that way at all. In fact, the pressure was just starting to ramp up. But he got that her part in it was nearly over. “Time to see Luxor as a tourist?”
“Not exactly a tourist. I know we still have a job to do.”
We. He was happy she considered herself part of the team after starting out as an unwilling participant. Surprisingly, he also liked the feeling that they were partners.
She looked around in wonder, taking in the horse-drawn vegetable cart passing by, the young woman in tight Western blue jeans and a hijab, the canopy of laundry overhead. “I’m in Egypt, where I never imagined I’d be. I might as well get the full Egyptian experience, right? No more peanut butter and saltines.” She smiled self-consciously at the reference to the “chicken-out” breakfast she’d had this morning, then turned it into a mock-stern look. “I’m trusting you to help me steer clear of botulism.”
“Then we’ll avoid street vendors and find a nice restaurant. There are plenty of safe dishes you can try.”
She nodded, her face a picture of determination. “Bring it on.”
She looked like an athlete at the starting line, ready to tackle a difficult course. He might have laughed a couple days ago, but he realized now what a big step this was for her, and how insecure it must have made her to live with a mother who feared everything and encouraged her daughter to do the same. He wished Wally had known about that. He would have done something, and Jess’s life would have turned out differently.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to change things. Jess was still cautious, but open-minded about trying new foods—downright daring compared to her usual mind-set. She was thrilled with the abundance of fresh vegetables, and at the restaurant she took to kushari like a native, eating an extra-large portion of the mixture of rice, pasta, grilled veggies, and hot tomato sauce.
“Yummy,” she pronounced, cleaning her plate. “I’ll have to instruct the cook to make this when I get home.” At his questioning look, she gave a mischievous wink. “You know, at my home in Switzerland.”
“Ah, yes. You slipped into life with the ultrarich quite easily. It was so believable it was scary.”
“Was it?” she asked eagerly, then laughed. “It was. I was pretty damn good.”
He grinned. “You could have a career as a spy.”
“You think so?”
Her wide-eyed question looked so sincere he had to choke back sudden alarm. “No.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Close one. For a second there I was ready to throw over the Mossy Log Meadow for a life in espionage.”
“Lots of foreign travel involved, I hear. To countries crawling with germs.”
“Are you making fun of me, Donovan?”
“Never.”
“Because I just might surprise you.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he said, and she smiled with satisfaction, laughter dancing in her eyes. Damn, he wanted to lick her all over.
They each ordered different desserts and split them, sharing half. Jess rolled her eyes with pleasure at both his bassboosa, a semolina cake with almonds, and her ummali—nuts and raisins in warm custard, covered with pastry. The meal was a success, except for the tea, which she pronounced a total failure. “Too strong and too sweet. And I’m from the South where sweet tea is a religion,” she emphasized.
He’d had everything before, but it all became a new adventure with Jess, tasting, savoring, and passing judgment. The only thing she balked at trying was lamb. “It’s a baby sheep,” she said. “I don’t eat babies.”
“It’s delicious.”
“Baby killer.”
“Maybe you’ve written too many books about talking animals. This one couldn’t talk.”
“Sure it could; it spoke Sheep. Just because you can’t understand it, doesn’t mean you should eat it.”
“I saw you eat chicken.”
“Fully grown, not a baby chick.”
“Adults are fair game?”
She shrugged. “You have to draw the line somewhere. I draw it at eating babies.”
“Chicken murderer.”
“Baby killer. Baa-baa, help.” she bleated piteously.
He grabbed his neck with a strangled, “Squawk.”
She giggled and tossed a piece of bread at him. He picked it out of his tea, holding the soggy bit as she lifted an eyebrow playfully, daring him to throw it back.