“You stole my name.”
I’ve been through immigration in over a dozen countries, but it’s the first time someone’s said something like that to me. Then I take in the nametag on his shirt. CROSS.
Oh. “So you’re Mr. Cross too?”
“I could be your Mr. Cross,” he says, his eyebrows lifting suggestively.
“I’m pretty sure this one still wants me.” I force a laugh to cover the uncertainty of my statement.
When Dane doesn’t comment or even throw an arm around me, the tiny shreds of hope I’m holding on to fade away.
The immigration officer grabs his stamp and brings it down hard on my passport like a judge with a gavel.
The verdict? Ten days isn’t enough time to fix this.
“You can always stay in Belize with me if he changes his mind.” He winks, and Dane still says nothing.
The fact that I’m fighting tears in the immigration line is ridiculous, but that doesn’t make it not true.
The officer swipes and stamps Dane’s passport, but doesn’t give them back. Instead, he glances down at our arrival documents.
“Where are you going?”
I can’t answer the question because I have no clue. I should have read the paper before stuffing it in my passport.
“Sweet Water Caye,” Dane replies for us both.
The immigration officer’s eyebrows go up. “That’s a small place. Not too busy right now with low season. Pretty, though. Isolated.”
“That’s exactly what we need.” Dane finally wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me against his side. “No distractions.”
I want to cheer at the gesture of possession and believe he means that he wants me all to himself, but I’m afraid it’s a jab at my constantly working.
The officer nods. “I can see the appeal. Enjoy Belize.”
He slides our passports through the opening in the glass, and Dane drops his arm to retrieve them just as quickly.
It’s like he can barely stand to touch me.
Following behind him, I walk past the crowd gathering at the baggage claim toward the NOTHING TO DECLARE customs sign. Dane’s broad shoulders are stiff, and not due to his excellent military posture.
The customs officer barely glances at our papers before waving us on.
“We’ve got fifteen minutes before our next flight,” he says.
“Next flight?”
“Didn’t read the itinerary?”
More guilt twines its way into the knots in my belly. “Not in detail.” It’s a lie. I didn’t even realize he sent one because I was trying to wrap up so many loose ends before I stepped away for ten days.
Dane finally shoots me a frustrated look. “Probably because I didn’t send one. I knew you wouldn’t bother to open it if I did.”
Crap. If that was a test, I failed.
His strides lengthen and I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering if there’s any point in continuing forward.
A woman bumps into me as I come to an abrupt halt. “Oh, so sorry.”
I turn to look at her. She’s young, tanned, and smiling with blindingly white teeth. I don’t even need to see the T-shirt proclaiming her status as yet another bride. Apparently Belize is a popular honeymoon destination this time of year.
“You okay, baby? You need me to take your bag?” a man asks from behind her. His black tank top predictably reads Groom.
“No, babe. I’m good. Love you.” She leans forward to kiss him on the cheek, leaving a bright red lip print behind.
I want to tell them to hold on to what they’re feeling right at this moment for as long as they can and never let it burn out, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. I’d sound like the bitter wife who knows her marriage is on the rocks.
Since we eloped on that beach in Costa Rica and spent a week more in bed than out, we haven’t taken another tropical vacation, mostly because I’ve been too busy trying to make my mark in the world of business consulting.
In my crusade to conquer everything life has to offer, have I misjudged completely?
After gathering myself for a moment, I continue toward the counter where Dane is waiting for me. His fingertips beat an impatient rhythm on the maroon laminate, and I smile at the woman assisting him.
“Sorry. Lots of excited brides and grooms here today.”
Her lips part into a friendly smile. “Ah, yes. Belize is a perfect destination for lovers. So much opportunity for romance. Could I see your passport, please?”
Part of me wants to ask what about miracles? But I hold it back in favor of handing my passport over. She flips it open before handing it to Dane, along with two brightly colored pieces of paper.
“Here are your boarding passes. You’re in Terminal 1. The flight won’t leave without you. I hope you have a wonderful trip.”
A uniformed man taps me on the shoulder as I turn to walk away. “I’ll take your carry-on, ma’am.”
When I glance at Dane, I notice he’s no longer carrying his duffel. I release my hold on the roll-aboard. “Thank you.”
“Safe flight.”
After we clear security, Dane heads for the gate. Within a few minutes, a woman in a purple dress and a neon-yellow safety vest leads us out onto the tarmac, past the large jet we just deplaned from toward a puddle jumper.
No way. I spend more hours on flights than I want to count, but this is totally different.
Dane knows I’m terrified of these tiny planes, and I’m shocked he’d even book one. But maybe we’ve gotten to the point where he doesn’t care about those kinds of details any more.
While I stand on the cracked concrete, fear knotting my stomach into a ball, Dane reaches for my hand.
“We didn’t have much of a choice, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He squeezes it hard and I squeeze back, desperate for the contact and connection.
“Do you still trust me, Kat?”
I hate that he even has to ask. “Always.”
“Then come on. Pretty soon we’ll be in paradise.”