Chapter Twelve
‘So, how’s Turbo?’ Dexter asks as he comes in, forty-five minutes later.
‘Doing well, I think. He did wake up, and I did give him water through the syringe. He took it, so that’s a positive.’
‘Definitely. Well done. He didn’t maul you?’
I can tell he’s teasing. ‘I changed out of my ripped-to-shreds clothes earlier. These ones happen to be my spares.’
‘But seriously, Kat, give yourself a pat on the back. These are wild animals, and this is a whole new environment to you.’
‘Thanks. It felt kinda nice giving him something to drink. I was still hyperaware of those claws, though.’
Dexter laughs. ‘Quite right. You don’t want to be caught unawares.’ He eyes me carefully. ‘For the record, I think you’ve made the right decision. You’re fitting right in here.’
‘You think so?’ My heart rate spikes as I wonder if he means more than just as part of the team.
His top lip quirks upwards. ‘Oh, I know so!’
Is it hot in here?
‘Right, so… what do you want me to do now?’ Did that sound suggestive? I know what I’d like to do now, but it’s probably not something best done in public and it involves very few or no clothes. Oh my God, I’ve got it bad. Is this what happens when you’re in a controlling relationship and you escape it? You then want to jump the first good-looking and nice guy you meet?
‘Well, I thought perhaps we could feed the pups in the nursery. Luciana has to take one of her kids to the dentist, so I said she could leave early.’
Together. Us. Me and Dexter. Sitting side by side feeding baby sloths. That is my idea of heaven.
‘That sounds good,’ I manage, without fawning over him. Did I imagine the moment at the fireflies the other night, or when we were dancing? It didn’t feel like it, but I’ve been so busy since moving here and learning the ropes, that I’ve not had time to analyse it. Maybe that’s no bad thing.
We exit the animal hospital and head into the nursery, where Luciana smiles before standing and handing me a baby sloth.
‘Which one is this?’ I ask her.
‘This is Bullet. All you need to remember is the baskets with the pink and blue matching blankets. Plus, Bullet is a three-fingered sloth and Rocket a two-fingered.’
I remember now. And the fact Bullet is greyer with the stereotypical happy face and Rocket is more beige.
‘What kind of milk is this?’ I ask as she hands me the pipette so I can take over.
‘Goats’.’
I don’t like to say that I meant full fat or semi-skimmed. Well, not really, but it didn’t occur to me it was goats’ milk. And here was me thinking I was up on my sloth facts. Clearly not. I’d best get stuck into my books again. In fact, I need Ella. I’ll pick her brains later. Right now, I’m rather looking forward to, if a little nervous about, my baby sloth time, with Dexter.
I sit down and continue to feed Bullet, who sucks away happily.
Luciana tells us she’ll see us tomorrow and closes the door. Then we’re alone. Forced proximity, isn’t that what they call it? Wonder how I’ll cope. Parts of me awaken that should most definitely be asleep, particularly when I’m in the not-exactly-sexy confines of a sloth hangout. Words I never thought I’d ever utter, even if only in my head.
Dexter flops down on the sofa beside me, cradling another baby sloth in his arms, although it’s not Rocket as the pink blanket is still in place and she’s still fast asleep. I’m guessing baby sloths do sleep more than adult sloths.
As Dexter adjusts his position, trying to feed the sloth whilst wriggling around to move the cushion into place behind him, I hold out a hand and do it for him.
‘That better?’
‘Much,’ he says. ‘I should have thought to do that before I picked Zoom up.’
Ah, so it’s Zoom he’s holding. I smile. ‘So, how am I doing so far?’ God, did that sound needy, or flirtatious? I was aiming for funny, but not sure I carried it off.
‘Well, you’ve risen to every challenge we’ve set you so far, and some we haven’t– like the mucking out of cages.’ He grins, and a tiny dimple forms on the left side of his mouth. How come I haven’t noticed that before? I’ve known him for nearly a week, and it’s quite clear that, against my better intentions, I’m into him.
‘I suppose. And everyone’s been really friendly.’ Everyone except Roisin, who has barely exchanged two words with me. Maybe a perpetual scowl is her de facto expression.
‘Yeah, they’re a good bunch. It’s just like one big happy family here.’
I nod, thinking again of Roisin, but then of how welcoming everyone else has been, particularly Mariangeles and Federica, who have me howling with laughter all the time.
Zoom wriggles in Dexter’s arms.
‘Hey, little guy, where do you think you’re going?’ Dexter says as he readjusts the sloth so he doesn’t slip from his grasp. Zoom is so cute. His fur is cream whereas the majority of the other baby sloths are brown. I wonder if this is a genetic thing or if it’s age-related. Perhaps they grow darker as they age. Certainly few of them seem to have the typical facial markings which make them look friendly and permanently happy.
Dexter’s such a natural with the animals. You can tell he’s been doing this a while. Makes me think he’d be good with babies, too. Hello? What the heck was that? Did I just imagine Dexter as the future father of my children? Stop right there, please, brain. I know we almost had a moment, or perhaps a missed opportunity the other night, but that’s all it was. It would become incredibly complicated to get involved with my boss in the first week and be so far from home if it all went, to coin a rather inelegant phrase, tits up.
His smile disarms me. Nobody’s teeth should be allowed to sparkle like that. And my stomach shouldn’t drop like that at the sight of those lips. I feel like I’ve come down the steep incline of a rollercoaster. My throat’s suddenly dry and I resist the urge to lick my lips in case he thinks I want to eat him for dinner.
We sit for a few minutes in companionable silence, with only the noise of our breathing and that of the sloths for company, the air thick with expectation, then Dexter asks me what I’d like to do in my first few months in Costa Rica. My cheeks heat. I can’t tell him that .
‘I’d really just like to explore. There are so many national parks with such varied wildlife in them, I don’t know where to start.’
Dexter cradles the sleeping Zoom in the crook of his arm. ‘I was overwhelmed when I first came here, felt humbled somehow when faced with the half a million different types of animals there are here.’
I can relate to that. Already what I’ve seen makes me feel like that sometimes, and I’ve barely scraped the surface.
‘A few months ago, I went back to the Osa Peninsula, to Corcovado National Park. We should go there one day, too. It’s incredible. I even saw a tapir.’
I try to suppress the sudden intake of breath I take as my brain homes in on his use of ‘we’. Only afterwards do I register that he saw one of the few endangered Baird’s tapir, and realise how magical that must have been for him.
‘I had a friend over from Ireland. They were staying in an eco-lodge there, so I spent a week in the area.’ He sighs, as if lost in his memories. ‘I still felt like I didn’t have enough time. The wildlife, the beaches, the waterfalls. I could go on.’
Please do. I could listen to him all day. It’s oddly soporific as well as a huge turn-on for me listening to a man enthuse over the beauty of nature and animal life, when I’m so used to Aidan, who only wanted to talk about politics, current affairs and the economy. The phrase ‘dull as dishwater’ springs to mind. So apt. A far cry from the man sitting beside me. I tamp down the query over who the visiting friend from Ireland was. Male? Female? Girlfriend? A week’s a long time to spend in a lodge with a platonic friend surely.
‘You’re making me really want to go now.’
He smiles, a lazy smile. It’s so incredibly sexy and is making my insides churn like they’re on a washing machine cycle.
‘That’s kind of the idea.’
I chuckle then startle when Bullet moves. I’d almost forgotten he was there as I listened to Dexter.
‘Someone might be ready to graduate to a leaf,’ says Dexter, inclining his head towards Bullet.
I hadn’t realised they could eat leaves quite this young. Bullet only looks a few weeks old.
Dexter stands and heads over to a cupboard where he pulls out a small bag full of leaves.
‘We replenish the bag each day. They prefer the freshest green leaves from the ends of branches, but obviously, these guys–’ he gestures towards Zoom and Bullet ‘–are too little to go foraging by themselves right now.’ He takes out a small leaf and hands it to me.
Bullet instantly perks up, interest clear in his actions. I waft the leaf near his mouth and his little claw comes up to grab it before he holds it towards his mouth, smacking his lips together. It’s fascinating to watch. Again, I think who needs nightlife when you have all this at your fingertips? Becca flits into my mind and I smile. This wouldn’t be her idea of a good night in. She’d be looking for the pubs and clubs. She’d happily come on holiday somewhere like this, doing the beaches, the zip wire at the cloud forest and the national parks, but she wouldn’t actually want to touch the animals. The thought would terrify her.
Dexter smiles. ‘He likes it.’
He does? He doesn’t seem to have eaten much, if any, of it. ‘How can you tell?’
‘See how he’s smacking his lips together? That’s how a sloth trims down the leaf. And they don’t eat very much per day. A baby sloth even less.’
The last part makes sense. I’m learning so much here. Dexter’s good at this stuff, and evidently passionate on the subject. Again my thoughts meander towards Dexter and me, and his being passionate in a different sense. For the love of… If I were the type of girl who endorsed casual sex, I’d tell myself to have sex with him to get him out of my system, but I’ve had three sexual partners and I’m now thirty. Each of them I’ve been with for three years of my life. Not exactly casual– and those timescales are pointedly similar.
Dexter puts Zoom back in his cot and checks on some of the other sloths, who’ve been remarkably, or perhaps not so remarkably, silent, and still, whilst we’ve been chatting.
He turns back to me and hesitates. What? He’s clearly on the verge of saying something. He runs a hand across his five-o’clock shadow, which I long to reach up and brush my fingers across. I almost have to sit on my hands to stop myself, but that’s out, as I’m still holding Bullet.
‘Kat, I was wondering if you fancied going for a walk later.’
In the swampy undergrowth around the sanctuary? Surely not.
I clear my throat. I would like to go for a walk, but I don’t trust myself to speak in case I come across as an overexcited puppy at the mere mention of the word ‘walk’.
Dexter rushes on, ‘We’d drive to the beginning of the walk. We wouldn’t start from here.’
My stress levels return to normal. The thought of sinking into the murky, swampy river water by mistake freaks me out.
I look out of the window. I couldn’t afford to come to Costa Rica in high season, so I’m here in July, during the official rainy season, although September and October are the wettest months. I’m glad it hasn’t rained too much since I’ve been here, and I’ve noticed it tends to rain more in the afternoon and early evening. Right now, it’s chucking it down.
Dexter jumps in. ‘It’ll stop raining before then. I’ve checked the forecast.’
Interesting. He’s organised and the walk was… premeditated. No, that makes it sound like he’s going to murder me. Prearranged.
‘Sure.’ I try to keep my tone casual. ‘Where did you have in mind?’
‘I was thinking we could go down to Manuel Antonio National Park.’
‘I’ll trust your judgement.’
Dexter grins. ‘You’re in good hands.’
A cough has us turning our heads towards the door. Roisin. It had to be Roisin. Did she hear our exchange? I don’t want everyone knowing Dexter and I are spending time alone. It’s private and no one else’s business.
‘Roisin?’ Dexter flushes. Perhaps he’s concerned she overheard too. Maybe it looked like the boss was making a play for a member of staff.
‘Carlos asked me to come and relieve you,’ she says in clipped tones, but somehow she still manages to imbue the words with a suggestive undercurrent. ‘He needs to speak to you in his office.’
‘Oh, right. Sure.’ Dexter turns, a myriad of emotions crossing his face as he turns back to me. Uncertainty. Regret. Excitement. ‘Kat, we’ll pick this up again later.’
I know exactly what he’s referring to, but does Roisin? I nod to him and as the door closes behind him, the scowl on her face leaves me in no doubt that she did. The atmosphere in the room has become almost unbearable in the space of only a few seconds. She really doesn’t like me, and have I finally touched on why? The look of loathing she gave me when she turned back after Dexter left proves one thing: she likes Dexter. Well, tough, if he likes her, he can do something about it. And if he likes me, ditto.
I don’t want any trouble, but I’m not going to roll over and let some self-absorbed little upstart rain on my parade. I’m going for a walk with Dexter later, and I’m hopeful we can pick up where we left off at Nicolás’.