could only nod as his musky masculine smell enveloped her and the warmth of his palms burned into her shoulders.
“I have to go. Now. Immediately,” she said anxiously.
“Really?” He felt he couldn’t let her leave.
“I don’t do this kind of thing. I’m not a groupie. So . . . Nice singing.”
Masedi pulled herself out of his arms and rushed towards the entrance blindly, feeling strangely bereft but determined not to look back. If she had, she would have noticed the troubadour staring after her, clearly intrigued.
Chapter 2
2
Pelo Sebata was dreaming of his dead parents. They were sitting under a huge morula tree outside his childhood home. His head was in his mother’s lap and she was laughing, saying how proud she was of him. His father kept telling him to stop crying, sit up and look.
He obeyed and saw a voluptuous figure dressed in a beaded skirt and bra, dancing the traditional dance as people he knew to be his relatives clapped for her. His father told him it was time to wake up and see the gift that was there for him. Then his parents got up, held hands and faded away.
As Pelo turned to look at the woman dancing, he couldn’t see her face, but then gradually their eyes met and he saw it was the beautiful woman from last night. Light flooded around her as she danced and danced, smiling at him.
Pelo’s eyes flew open to stare at the painting on the ceiling of his bedroom as the dream played in his mind. He wondered what it meant, if anything. Dreams were dreams, right?
Yes, that woman was beautiful, and yes, he’d had that strange reaction to her, as if his heart was expanding in his chest and a strange kind of joy was spreading through him.
That was probably the reason for his dream. Had to be.
He jumped up even though it was a Saturday and strolled into his en suite bathroom to take a long, hot shower.
* * *
Masedi strolled through the Gaetsho shopping complex, impressed and with plans already forming of relocating her little jewellery shop from Greenside to here, which to her felt like home with all the acacias, thorn bushes and other indigenous plants sprawled across the centre of the kraal-shaped complex. She had already seen a tiny little shop that would suit her and Delores perfectly.
Masedi was pleasantly surprised when she ran into a friendly acquaintance and client looking fabulous in a white linen princess-styled dress.
“Tshepo?!”
“Masedi, good to see you!” the woman responded as they embraced.
“What are you doing here?” Masedi asked.
“This is where my cooperative slash NGO Lorato-Khumo is located,” Tshepo answered.
“Wow. How come everyone knows about this place except me?”
“Maybe you’ve been hiding under a bush or something.”
“Or something,” Masedi answered sardonically.
“Come have coffee with me. Unless you’re in a hurry?” Tshepo invited.
“I’d love to.”
They walked into an African-styled shop with cowhide carpets and hangers filled with amazing designer clothes filling the racks, display cabinets with beaded jewellery and even a case with some of Masedi’s stuff. The back wall had an archway closed off with wooden beads.
“This is the shop I own with my brother. It’s your first time here, right?” Tshepo enquired.
“Yes . . . Isn’t it weird how all this time I’ve been selling you jewellery, but I’ve never been in your shop?”
“Strange but true,” Tshepo said, leading the way through the shop and the beaded archway into the back space. This was a workshop environment with different sections containing computers, an arts and crafts area and rounded tables off to the side.
They entered Tshepo’s office, which was a shock of colours and African prints with a sturdy leather-clad desk and plush office chairs.
“Whu! Mavis has been here already. That woman’s a godsend.” Tshepo picked up two mugs and poured coffee into them. “No milk, right? But plenty of sugar?”
“You have a good memory.”
They took a seat and Masedi looked out at the sliding doors that opened into a small back garden.
“This is an impressive operation,” she complimented Tshepo.
“Yes, fulfilling too,” Tshepo answered.
“I was actually thinking of moving my little shop here from Greenside. Found the most amazing little corner.”
“Over by the restaurant?” Tshepo asked, and Masedi nodded.
“But that means I won’t be able to stock any of your stuff,” Tshepo complained.
“Don’t worry about that,” Masedi comforted her. “I’m sure there’s a way we can fill the gap.”
“So how did you find this place?”
“I was here last night with some girlfriends. And I met this man who just . . . It was strange, I’ve never felt like that before.”
“Love has a way of doing that.”
“Love! Hell no . . . We just stumbled over our words, making no sense. It couldn’t possibly be love.”
Tshepo smiled and changed the subject. “So if your friends hadn’t dragged you here last night, you wouldn’t be thinking of moving your shop here and robbing me of your stock?”
“Right.”
Tshepo ruffled through her drawers, pulled out a business card and slid it across the table. “The centre’s manager is Moitiri Molefe. Tell him I sent you, and that he’s to give you a good deal.”
Masedi smiled. “It pays to have friends in high places.”
Tshepo smirked. “So other than partying up a storm, what else have you been up to?”
“Running the rat race, working for directors who don’t really care about their employees,” Masedi replied.
“That’s why my brother and I started Lorato-Khumo. As a legacy for our children. You know our parents passed away?”
“Yes, I remember you telling me about that.”
“Pelo was working as a quantity surveyor for a conglomerate, earning a lot of money and being the heart and face of that department. And I was a marketing exec on my way to the top at a parastatal transport company. But then all of a sudden our parents were killed in a terrible accident, and it all seemed so pointless. We realised that we had no desire to try and help others build their legacy
