Chapter 5 Naima
NAIMA
Iknelt by the raised bed in the garden, my hands buried in the cool earth as I pulled at the stubborn weeds threatening to overtake the rosemary.
There was something soothing about nurturing these plants—proof that with a little care, life could thrive even when the world felt uncertain.
Uncertain as the future of this retreat.
I glanced toward the main lodge, where Lennox spoke with a few guests that were interested in scheduling the first session he would be providing this week.
His presence at the retreat still felt new, like a note that changed the melody.
I hadn’t expected him to adapt so quickly, to move through this place as if he’d always been here.
There was a calmness about him, a natural ease that I recognized from years of guiding meditation classes.
But with Lennox, it didn’t feel rehearsed. It seemed to just be …him.
Over the past few days, we’d been growing more familiar with each other—each interaction increasing my awareness of him.
I kept telling myself that I was overthinking things.
That this man didn’t come all this was to toil in the garden of some woman in the Poconos.
But his smile, the one he gave me and not my girls, it was…
different. Softer. More of something that made me feel things I knew I shouldn’t.
I bit my lip, brushing dirt off my hands.
It wasn’t just his energy that drew me in.
There was a magnetism to him that made my skin buzz—a pull I couldn’t shake.
His deep golden brown skin, the way his locs framed his beautifully masculine face, the strength in his broad shoulders and capable hands—large hands that made me wonder about the rest of him.
Everything about him stirred something in me.
And his eyes. Those amber-brown eyes seemed to see straight through the walls I’d built.
I hated how easy it felt, how quickly I found myself drawn to him.
I was supposed to be stronger than that, more centered.
But it had been a long time since I’d let myself feel anything beyond the safety of my own space.
A long time since I’d been with a man. And no amount of sage, meditation, or crystals could quiet the thump in my pussy his presence induced. Let’s be real.
There was too much at stake to get lost in my own head. The retreat required me to focus. We were barely breaking even, and the fear of losing this place gnawed at me. It wasn’t just a business—it was home. A sanctuary where I could pour all the love and healing I had into something real.
Tasha’s words from earlier still echoed in my mind. “We need a plan in case Gold Ventures doesn’t follow through, Naima. You keep talking about faith and energy, but we need dollars and cents. What if this fitness idea doesn’t work out? What then?”
I wanted to defend Lennox’s role here, but I couldn’t. Not fully. She wasn’t wrong. We couldn’t afford any more risks—not if we wanted to keep the lights on.
A sound drew me back to the present. Lennox stood a few feet away. His hands were tucked into his pockets, a soft smile on his full lips.
“You always this deep in thought?” he asked.
“Only when there’s work to do.”
He nodded, his gaze sweeping over the garden, then back to me. “Mind if I help?”
I hesitated but nodded. “Sure. Gloves are in the shed.”
He moved past me, his body heat brushing against my skin.
I took a breath to center myself. I wasn’t some girl with a crush.
I was Naima—strong, focused, in control.
But when he came back, his sleeves rolled up, revealing sinewy forearms, his hands now clad in worn gardening gloves, I felt a shift in the air. Naima was hungry.
We worked side by side, the quiet rhythm of weeding and turning soil settling between us.
Occasionally, our hands would brush, and each time, a spark jolted through me.
He didn’t seem affected, his expression relaxed, but I caught the way his breathing deepened, the way he’d wet his lips when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“You know a lot about plants?” he asked, breaking the silence.
I nodded. “My mom taught me. She always said that every plant has a purpose. Some heal, some nourish, and some just bring beauty into the world.”
He paused, his eyes darkening with something more than curiosity. “Which one are you?”
My hands stilled in the dirt. His question hung between us, heavy and loaded. The way he looked at me, the way his voice dipped, it felt like he wasn’t just asking about plants. I swallowed, my pulse thrumming under his attention.
“I’m just me,” I said softly. “Sometimes a bit of it all.”
His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, and heat flared between my thighs. “It’s definitely all, from what I can see.”
My breath stuttered, my nipples tightening against the thin fabric of my top.
When his hand brushed mine, lingering a moment longer than necessary, I didn’t pull away, and neither did he.
The garden, the dirt, and the world around us faded, and all that was left was this slow, pulsing throb of want between us.
I tilted my head, letting my thick curls fall over my shoulder, exposing the line of my neck.
His gaze followed the movement, and I saw the way his jaw flexed, the way his fingers tightened around the handle of the spade.
I liked seeing him like this, barely holding on, his control fraying at the edges.
“Maybe you’ll find out,” I murmured, the words slipping free before I could catch them. But I didn’t want to. I wanted him to catch them, to hold them, to hold me.
His breath hitched, a soft, dangerous sound, and I felt it everywhere. “You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
The word hung between us, ripe and ready, a promise waiting to be plucked. And boy did I want to be plucked.