She asked exactly two questions, both of them useful. When the system came back online and the lodge breathed to life again, Mandla looked at her with reluctant approval.
“See?” she said to me as we walked back toward the main buildings. “Progress.”
“You stood in a doorway.”
“I stood in a doorway supportively.”
“That’s not a recognized trade.”
“It should be. I’m excellent at it.”
By then, the afternoon had started to deepen. The heat had broken just enough for the wind to matter. Long shadowsstretched off the service vehicles. Somewhere near the guest suites an ibis screeched like a murder confession.
We reached the terrace steps.
Juliette stopped with one hand on the rail. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not treating me like an idiot after the elephant.”
Her face showed no sign she was joking.
“You didn’t behave like one,” I said.
Her mouth parted slightly, then closed again.
The pause held.
Something shifted in the air between us. Not softer. Tighter.
Voices drifted from inside the dining room. Glassware. A burst of laughter from one of the other retreat guests.
Juliette’s hand remained on the rail. Mine was braced against the post beside it. Too close now to ignore the heat coming off her skin. Closer than I should have allowed. Close enough to see the faint gold flecks in her eyes, the ones the sun usually washed out. The wind carried the scent of her—something crisp, like spice, that had no business being in a place this dusty.
Her gaze paused on my mouth.
Then came back up.
My hand closed hard on the railing.
I stepped back first. It was a tactical retreat—the kind you make when you realize you’ve been standing on a landmine for three minutes and the pressure plate just clicked.
Standing there another second would have been a mistake.
Juliette looked at my mouth again.
This time she knew I’d noticed.
She didn’t say a word, but the knowing curve of her mouth was a direct hit.
She turned and walked toward the terrace, leaving nothing behind but the scent of spice lingering in the dry, dead-still air. I watched her go, gripping the railing until the wood bit into mypalm. I’d spent all morning warning her about the dangers of the bush, only to realize I was the one who'd been compromised.
She’d found the weak point in the perimeter after all.
Chapter 6
Mindfulness Is Not Working
