Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Liddy stretched outside of the car, looking at the throng of people walking through the street nearby. They'd arrived in Tibás just before eleven and, failing to find a place to park near the church, they'd driven a few streets over and parked near the soccer stadium for Costa Rica's Saprissa team.

There seemed to be some sort of festival, and Liddy nodded toward the vendors lined up on either side of the street. "What's going on there?"

"Farmers' market—called ‘la feria.' I used to go to one like this with my mum when she had a house in Heredia. They do it every Saturday. Most locals will get their produce because it's the freshest and cheapest, but you can also get fish and meat and some dairy products."

"Do we have time to go look?" Liddy asked, peering at some of the local stands. "That sounds fascinating."

Callum checked his watch. "Sure. Considering we're here extra early, thanks to Logan, we have loads of time to spare."

She laughed and slung her backpack over her shoulder. "I like how you use both American and British slang. Makes you sound as mixed up as I feel, having picked up some British phrases."

"Except in this case, I learned English from an Englishman and spent part of my childhood there. Then grew up mostly in Connecticut. But yeah, it was confusing to kids I went to school with. I just sort of picked the words I liked best and used them."

"Where do you consider yourself to be from?" Liddy asked, looking at him curiously. He'd moved to London. Did that mean he liked England the best?

"Nowhere." He shrugged. "Home is a concept for people who have roots. The places I lived were always changing."

That's incredibly sad.

"Ready?" Callum locked the car, slipped the key into his pocket, and then they started toward the farmers' market.

A sweet smell hung in the air, something that Liddy couldn't identify, and she watched the locals with fascination. In some ways, she and Callum blended in with their dark hair, but she was also quickly learning that the locals weren't anything she'd consider stereotypical . . . anything. Except maybe friendly. The locals wore smiles as a feature as she passed them, making eye contact with her in a way she wasn't used to.

The stalls were a mixture of tables and stacked colorful crates with tarps and other awning materials to protect the vendors from the sun. Onions, garlic, and bananas hung from the tops of stalls, produce carefully placed in wooden boxes. Some vendors called out in Spanish.

A vendor walking around with a bag of green coconuts made his way down between the stalls, and Liddy saw him stop, then take a machete out. "Oh, what's that?" Liddy asked Callum.

"It's a pipa—a green coconut. They slice off the top, then you can stick a straw in it and drink the coconut water."

"Can I get one?"

Callum tilted his head toward her, surprise written in his handsome features. His eyes were unreadable, but he gave a slight nod, then went over to the vendor. He returned with a pipa in each hand. "One for me, one for you."

She sipped at hers and made a face. "I thought it would be sweeter."

"Don't like it?" he asked with a laugh.

"It's . . . just coconut water."

"Yeah, I mean, kids like them. I used to beg my mum for them. But they're not spectacular or anything. You want the insider's guide to amazing fruit in Costa Rica?"

That sounds amazing.

He winked. "Come on." He guided her through the crowd, and she scooted closer to him, her hand brushing his ever so slightly. The sensation made goose bumps rise on her skin, her breath catching.

No, no, no . . . I do not want to be sexually attracted to my boss. It would complicate everything.

Yet she didn't move her hand. The featherlight touch was enough for her to want to reach out and intertwine their fingers.

But that would be crazy.

The crowd thinned again, and Callum moved farther away.

She let out a slow, shaky breath. Stop being ridiculous, Liddy.

"Okay, these. One of my favorites." Callum stopped at a stall and picked up what appeared to be a spiky, hairy ball, no bigger than the size of a small plum. They were a mix of colors—red, yellow, orange.

"What are they?" She wrinkled her nose at them suspiciously as he held one out.

"They call them mamónes chinos here, but I've seen Asian food markets that carry them and call them rambutan. I don't know if there's an English translation other than that." Callum filled a small plastic bag, then paid for them. "Try one."

Liddy frowned. "Just . . . eat it? Hair and all?"

He grinned. "No, that's not edible. You peel it." He peeled the spiky red portion off, revealing a grape-like white fruit on the inside. "It's got a big seed on the inside, but the surrounding fruit is really sweet." He popped the whole thing in his mouth.

She took another from the bag, then followed his instructions. As the sweet fruit hit her taste buds, she gave him a surprised look. It was good. Not too intense, just mild and pleasant. And aptly, sort of like a peeled grape. "Okay, I approve."

"See? I won't lead you astray." He wandered toward another stall. "Now these are not sweet, but they're possibly my favorite thing in all of Costa Rica. They're called pejibayes —the peach palm fruit. Ticos eat them with mayonnaise frequently."

They continued a tour of Callum's favorite foods, grabbing guavas, jocotes, cas, granadillas, cut sugar cane, soursoup—known as guanabana—enormous papayas, and mangoes that dripped with juice when she bit into them. As the bags of fruit they'd bought weighed down Liddy's backpack, she felt a strange sort of happiness in her.

"Did you know that wandering around and doing stuff like this is my favorite way to get to know a new country? When I moved to England, I bought this guidebook—" She stopped short.

Yeah, he knows about the guidebook. He was there when I got it.

That seemed like a different Callum.

Actually, no , the man with her right now seemed like the Callum she'd met that day. Like he'd walked out of that bookshop and become someone else. And now he was back, smiling and laughing at her reactions to different foods, watching her with an unnerving fascination.

He held her gaze, then quirked a brow. "I can see you being the type of woman who likes to wander through the flower stalls on Columbia Road or the Borough."

"Guilty." She held her palms up and shrugged. "One time, right after I'd moved, I went to Paris by myself for the weekend and just spent hours by the Bouquinistes of Paris, then drank hot chocolate and ate pastries by the river, just reading. It was heaven."

"That sounds nice." He nodded toward a vendor who had hot peppers displayed. "But Costa Rica is more for the thrill seekers, you know. Or are you going to read a book while going on a canopy tour?"

"Is that supposed to be a dare?" She set her hands on her hips, arms akimbo.

"It's not a dare." He shook his head. "I'm just saying you might have come to the wrong country for midnight strolls with poetry and some hack playing La Vie en Rose on a poorly tuned violin."

"Hmm." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And you don't think I can hack it?"

"Can't? No. I've been around you long enough to be firmly convinced that you can do anything you choose to do. And the past twenty-four hours have only confirmed that fact. But won't is another matter."

Given she'd just spent the past forty minutes trying new foods, his words stung. For whatever reason, she wanted, maybe even needed, Callum to believe she was up to any challenge.

"Oh, you sad, sad, compensating man. We'll see which one of us can take the heat."

She didn't wait for his reaction as she marched up to the pepper vendor. "Qué es mucho spice?"

The vendor furrowed his brow at her. "?Qué?"

Callum strolled up behind her. "What are you doing?"

She turned and looked over her shoulder at him. "Ask him which one is the spiciest."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

"You know there's no need to go mad here, Winnick. I was just teas?—"

"Did you just call me crazy?" Her mouth opened with a laughing grin. "You jackass. Just ask the vendor for the spiciest pepper he has."

He gave her a distrustful look. "Am I going to find this chopped up in my drink later? Because Costa Ricans don't like spicy?—"

"Ask!"

Callum's lips twisted in a frown, and he turned and rattled something to the vendor in rapid Spanish.

The vendor's face lit up. With a smile, he reached toward a small section of his cart and pulled out a bag of red peppers, each of them no larger than a dime. "Esté."

"I want two."

"If you're intending for?—"

"Two, Callum." She turned toward the vendor and held out two fingers. "Dos."

The man smiled and put two of them in a small resealable bag for her. She paid, then wandered away from the cart with a smile.

Callum followed her. "And what, exactly, are you going to do with those?"

" We are going to eat them. You want spice. Fine. You'll get spice from me. But I'm not doing it alone."

"If I had a nickel for every time a woman said that to me . . ." Callum cleared his throat. "But seriously. Can I have some say in this? I meant something like . . . white-water rafting. Not eating the hottest pepper you can find at the farmers' market."

"Should we get something to drink first?" Lydia turned and scanned the market, looking for anyone selling refreshments.

"I do not agree to this plan."

Something about seeing him squirm egged her on, and she grinned mischievously. "I mean, if you think you can't handle my level of spice . . ."

His eyes locked with hers, and the amusement there told her he might even enjoy their banter. "I definitely can't handle your level of spice."

"That's too bad." She gave him a playful pout. "Because I like things spicy. I wouldn't want you to think I'm looking for anything else."

Oh my God, am I flirting with him?

She was definitely flirting with him.

But it was. . . fun.

Oh God, this needs to stop. What am I doing?

He closed his eyes, breaking eye contact, and his firm jaw clamped shut for a second. "All right, fine." He let out a slow breath and stepped away from her. "But I'm getting a beer first."

"You want to go do this in a bar?"

"Nah. It's Costa Rica. You can open carry here. We can grab some beers—if you want one—and then do your spice challenge outside."

Liddy couldn't help but feel a smidge of satisfaction. Finding a vendor selling craft beers didn't take long, and Callum purchased two.

They wandered back toward the car without a place to sit, then stopped on the sidewalk near it. Liddy sat beside him and fished out the peppers as Callum opened the beers. Nerves fluttered in her stomach.

Sure, this isn't exactly what Callum had in mind, but I can be adventurous and impulsive, too, right?

"Ready?" Liddy asked, holding the pepper in her hand.

"No."

She laughed. "Come on, you wuss."

Callum cut his eyes at her, then popped the pepper in his mouth. He chewed, then made a face of horror before spitting it out. "Holy fuck!" He coughed as if he was choking, then quickly guzzled some beer, his eyes wide. "You know what? Seriously, you don't have to do this."

She raised her chin. "If you can do it, I can do it." With a wink, she tossed the pepper into her mouth.

Heat seared across her tongue like fire a few seconds after the first bite.

Oh my God, what the hell?

As the full weight of the spice filled her, regret clawed up her chest. But she didn't want to be weak. Didn't want to prove she couldn't do it.

She swallowed instead, throat burning, and blinked.

What the hell was I thinking?

Then a wave of dizziness hit her.

She turned toward Callum, suddenly unsteady, her mouth and lips burning as though she'd sipped molten lava. "I don't . . . feel . . ."

Then the world spun around her, and she tumbled forward into Callum's arms.