I yawn involuntarily.
“Am I boring you?” Will whispers.
“I’m riveted. Promise.”
“True or not, you look like you can hardly keep your eyes open.”
I rest my head against the seat back, mirroring Will’s position. We watch each other through half-closed lids, my chin tilted up, his tilted down.
He says quietly, “Why don’t you sleep?”
I do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I make it to Arequipa in a dream state. Because even though I technicallywake upwhen our plane touches down in Lima, I’m so groggy Will has to all but carry me (and my backpack) through the terminal and onto our third and final flight. I feel like a doted-upon child. I promptly fall asleep again and remain that way until we land.
Consciousness finds me as gentle fingers tap the bones of my hand. My head must have been lying on his shoulder. I tilt it up, catch Will looking down at me with the barest of smiles on his face. Probably amused at some dried drool on my chin or something.
It’s eight thirty in the morning. We’re in the same time zone as Austin, but my body feels jet-lagged. Thankfully, we don’t meet with any suppliers until tomorrow.
As soon as we retrieve our luggage from baggage claim and step into the aridity of the Peruvian terrain, I take deep breaths, sucking the warmth onto my tongue, down into my lungs. It’s July, and itfeelslike it even though we’re in the Southern Hemisphere.
Eugenia and Will coordinated a private ride for us from the airport into the city, where our hotel is located. I follow him toward a rideshare corner of the arrivals deck.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Disoriented. Did you sleep on the plane?”
“Uh.” Will squints, putting a hand over his eyes to look for the makeshift sign with our names in the swarm of waiting drivers. “A bit.”
“Why does that feel like ano?”
“There’s our guy.” Will grabs both his suitcase and mine by the handles and starts wheeling them toward a small man in khakis. I greet him in Spanish while he and Will load our luggage into the SUV.
“You speak Spanish?” Will asks me.
“Sort of. I get by. Camila,” I add by way of explanation.
He almost-smiles at me, turning for the car.
“I didn’t wake up to your infamous snoring,” I say once I’m strapped in and Will is beside me in the backseat. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”
He slants a look at me. “I once got scolded by a flight attendant who was passing along the complaint from another passenger,” he grumbles.
“Oh my God. When I finally hear this snore, I’m expecting to be traumatized.”
“Whenandwhydo you think you’ll hear it?” Will arches an eyebrow in my direction.
“We’ve got adjoining rooms, don’t we? With a thin door?”
“Twodoors, actually.”
“Is that soundproof enough?”
“Depends on the sound, I suppose.” He glances out the window in the other direction.
I’m riffling through a selection of nonsexual verbal returns when my eyes catch on something beyond his window.
