Chapter 10
This. Just this.
Justin bringing her food. Sitting beside her. Giving her the space to breathe without asking for anything in return.
It was nice.
Nice? Come on, Suze. It was everything.
She’d forgotten what it felt like to be cared for. Not managed, not pitied, not needed — just quietly seen. Seen in a way that soothed something in her she hadn’t even realized was starved.
And then he’d shared pieces of his life he didn’t owe her. Pieces that weren’t polished or pretty. It moved her, slipping straight past her defenses, making him … relatable. Human. More than a handsome face with a captivating smile and hypnotic voice.
But it also tugged loose memories of the things she carried … the things that weighed her down.
Her marriage to Braam had been about his needs.
The constant appointments, the strict diets, the nights she lay awake listening to the sound of his pain.
Living with someone whose body betrayed him day after day had taken its toll.
And when cancer finally claimed what Crohn’s had already weakened beyond repair, she’d been too numb to grieve properly.
The months after had been worse. Chaos layered on top of grief. Bills mounting. Insurance delays. That bastard who had stolen what was left because she had been weak, too caught up in her feelings.
And that one terrible week when the cupboards were empty and she had done what was needed to put food on the table.
Then Miem had found them.
Stubborn, practical Miem with her endless capacity to fix broken things. She’d hauled them here and given her a job, a place to live.
Suzette had rebuilt her life, one day at a time.
It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t grand. But it was hers.
And now here was Justin sitting beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world, sharing his heart. His grief.
Making her long for things that were out of reach.
She turned her face toward him, sunlight glancing off his hair, catching the strands of grey woven into the brown. “I like you, Justin. Really like you.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, waiting. “I hear a but…”
She exhaled, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh.
“This.” She gestured loosely — to the ocean stretching beyond the dunes, and to the graceful sprawl of the hotel behind them “This is my life. And I love it. It’s …
easy. There are chaotic times, like today, but still.
I’ve lived here for two decades. It’s home.
I can’t imagine being anywhere else. I don’t want to be anywhere else. ”
She paused, fingers tightening around her mug, fixing her eyes on the liquid so she wouldn’t look at him and set aside her resolve. “So whatever you think is between us, whatever you’d like to happen between us … it’s not going further than this.”
The words hung between them, carried off by the wind and the distant crash of waves. And even as she said them, she wasn’t sure if she meant them. Or if she was just reminding herself of all the reasons she should.
Silence stretched between them.
One beat. Then two, three.
She risked a glance.
His eyes were squarely on her.
Heat rose up her neck as she squirmed under that steady, unflinching gaze.
“Maybe this,” he said quietly. “Maybe this is exactly what I want. Maybe this is what I’ve been looking for all my life.”
She gave a short, scoffing laugh. “Seriously?”
“Mies Suzette, jammer,” a voice said from a few meters away.
Grateful to escape Justin’s hypnotizing gaze — the man almost had her believing in fairytales — she turned to the approaching man.
It was Moses, her maintenance man, his gaze moving apologetically between the two of them.
“Ons het jou nodig.” He jerked his head to the side. “In die boma.”
She was needed in the boma where tonight’s wedding was to be held.
Back to reality.
She stood, looking down at Justin. “Thank you for sharing my break. But duty calls.”
He rose slightly and clasped her wrist, stopping her from walking away. “Don’t discard what I’ve said, Suzette. Every word is straight from my heart.”
Gracious, he was good. So smooth. So persuasive.
She tugged her hand free. “Bye, Justin,” she whispered, turning away before she gave in to the ridiculous urge to fling herself into his arms like some lovesick heroine and let him carry her off into the sunset.
She took a breath — one steady, measured breath — then continued after Moses across the patio, her wrist still tingling where his hand had been.
*
That evening, restless, and with the puzzle doing nothing to settle him, Justin finally gave up and headed for the hotel. He had no real plan — just an ache for her company.
Laughter rose from the boma as he walked past, fairy lights flickering through the milkwood trees.
Smoke from the central fire curled into the warm air, carrying with it the beat of hand drums and low, pulsing rhythms that suited the solstice night.
He’d seen the bride and groom exchange vows earlier, framed by a sun setting over the ocean.
And imagined it was him and Suzette.
It was exactly the kind of wedding that suited her — warm, simple, intimate, threaded with joy.
On the dining veranda, two couples lounged back in their chairs, wineglasses catching the candlelight. He was grateful for the semi-darkness; he’d walked out without a single thought of a disguise. Not even his security team knew he’d slipped away, a lapse he corrected by sending off a quick text.
Waitstaff lingered nearby, attentive and unhurried. When he stopped to ask after Suzette, they told him at once — apparently helping in the kitchen that morning earned a man certain privileges.
“Boardroom, sir,” one said, pointing toward the lobby. “Mies Suzette never stops.”
The towering Christmas tree in the center of the lobby glowed with flickering white and blue lights, echoing the beach-themed decorations scattered throughout the hotel.
Justin paused, letting the warmth of the sight settle in him, and felt the familiar tug of missing the holidays with his family — one of only a handful he’d ever skipped.
He made a quiet mental note to call his mother later and catch her before she retired for the night.
As he continued through the lobby, he passed the gift kiosk and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth.
It had taken some finessing, but with the help of a lovely lady named Alma, he’d managed to procure the blue-stone necklace.
Raw aquamarine, she’d told him, the metalwork an intricate blend of black and bronze metals and crafted by a local artist.
He added the matching drop earrings, and in the process learned something important: aquamarine was Suzette’s birthstone.
The conversation had drifted from gemstones to birthdays, and before he knew it, Alma was enthusiastically explaining the cosmic compatibility of Pisces–Scorpio matches.
He didn’t give a damn about star signs, but he’d take the compatibility tidbit and tuck it away.
All in all, a very successful shopping experience.
He pushed open the boardroom door, and there she was, seated at the long oak table, surrounded by stacks of colorful wrapping paper, unruly curls of ribbon, scattered gift tags, and a small mountain of presents.
For a moment he simply watched her — hair slipping from its clip, back curved over the table, her hands moving deftly as she worked with steady focus.
She didn’t notice him until she reached for another ribbon. “Justin!”
He smiled. “The staff gave you up. I believe you’ve been hiding in here for a while.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “Not enough hours in the day.”
He didn’t like the tired edge to it. Or the hint of sadness when her smile fell away. And the half-eaten sandwich beside her looked as though it had been abandoned hours ago.
Stepping closer, his gaze took in the organized chaos. “Who are all the gifts for?” he asked.
“Staff. Our annual party is tomorrow afternoon.” She gestured at the growing pile of wrapped boxes. “Sunday before Christmas. It’s tradition. The team stops work around noon, and they get to be guests for once.”
She went on, almost absently as she tied a bow. “Kids and spouses come. We do beach games, lamb on the spit, corn on the cob, watermelon. We even have a Father Christmas.” A faint smile curved her lips. “Miem’s Piet, this year.”
He looked over the gifts, noticing the variety — no duplicates at all. He picked up an oblong wooden box and lifted the lid. Inside were three small tubs. He read the labels aloud: “Smoky steak rub. Spicy peri-peri mix. Herb lamb seasoning. Who’s this for?”
“Moses — the one who called me today. He’s so proud of the new braai he built.”
Suzette reached for a stack of envelopes, flipping through them until she found the right one. He caught the name before she taped it to the just wrapped gift.
“What did you get Virginia?” he asked.
“A foot pamper set. Poor woman is on her feet all day, here in housekeeping, then going home to take care of two little ones.” She set the gift aside and picked up the next one: a colorful cotton drawstring bag.
“This is Thandi’s, the chef’s daughter. She’s fifteen and training to be a lifeguard.
Sarong, water bottle, and lip balm, mister Nosy Parker. ”
“Do you personally choose every gift?”
“Of course.”
And paid for them, too, if he had to guess. The party might be a hotel tradition, but this … this was personal. Pure Suzette.
“And you write each one a note?” he asked, nodding at the envelopes that were clearly more than a name tag.
“For the staff, yes.” She smiled faintly. “I like them to know they matter. They work hard all year. Guests can be … demanding. Some are downright dreadful.”
Her voice softened when she talked about her team, and something in him tightened in response. They weren’t just people working for her; they were her family. Her found family.
He thought about her childhood in the children’s home — no parents, no familiar arms to run to, no Christmas mornings with gifts waiting under a tree.
He hadn’t lived that kind of loneliness.
He’d grown up with two parents, noisy holidays, and the comfort of knowing he belonged somewhere. She’d had none of that.
Yet here she was, pouring out Christmas cheer like she had an abundance to spare. She gave so much, freely, willingly, with no fanfare.
This woman. She didn’t even realize the ways she got to him. The more he listened, the deeper he fell.
“And what happens to the guests tomorrow afternoon?” he asked, mostly to keep himself from blurting something ridiculous, like offering to take care of her for the rest of her life.
“They get a choice — a picnic basket for the pool deck or their private verandas, or a voucher for a meal at a local wine farm.”
Suzette listed the options like she’d thought of every last detail for everyone but herself. No wonder she hadn’t eaten. Someone had to look after her. “I can’t wrap a gift to save a life, but I can scrounge up a meal and a bottle of wine and keep you company.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she whispered.
They talked long into the night, slowly demolishing the charcuterie board he’d ordered from the kitchen and draining the bottle of wine between them. The wedding had wound down, the drums and guitar replaced by the hush of waves and the thrum of night insects.
The staff called their goodbyes from the foyer — forbidden from entering the boardroom — before heading out to the hotel transport which would safely take them home.
He helped her tuck the wrapped gifts around the Christmas tree, then waited while she checked in with her night manager. When she finally turned back to him, tired but warm-eyed, he walked her to her flat.
“Thank you for keeping me company,” she murmured. “You made a … lonely evening enjoyable.”
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing lightly over the soft curve of her cheek, lingering a moment on the faint shadow of exhaustion beneath her eye. “No thanks needed, sweet Suze. You saved me from straining my eyes trying to make sense of a puzzle.”
And the truth settled in him with surprising ease: the more time he spent with her, the sharper the picture of his future became — one Suzette Bosch puzzle piece at a time.
She stood in her open doorway, worrying her lower lip, a small frown creasing her brow. “I’d invite you to the party tomorrow, but I can’t guarantee your anonymity. My team knows to be discreet, but there’ll be plenty of people with cameras and phones … and social media posting.”
He swallowed his regret. “I understand.” All too well.
His fame was a red flag. And she had no desire to be pulled into its fallout.
But her next words gave him hope.
“If you want … Monday is my day off. And I’ll be taking a kayak out at sunrise.”
He didn’t have to think. “I’d like that. Very much.”
“Better bring your A-game, mister movie star. I’m an ace on the water.”
He grinned. “Challenge accepted.”
Justin flicked his eyes above her head, his grin softening into a smile. He bent and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.
“Justin …” she protested, breath catching.
“It’s tradition,” he murmured.
“Tradition?”
“The mistletoe.”
“What?” She frowned, glanced up. And blinked. “Oh. Where did that come from?”
Her confusion was downright adorable. And he absolutely owed the server he’d bribed to hang the mistletoe a second tip. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, brushing a quick kiss to her forehead before stepping back. “It got me a kiss.”
He headed down the deserted beach with a spring in his step and a quiet, impossible hope warming his chest.