Heat beneath the surface
667 Words
Harare Community Health Gala, Saturday Evening
The air buzzed with the scent of grilled meat, Afrojazz guitar riffs, and expensive perfume. The open-air garden of the Rainbow Towers had been transformed for the annual Harare Community Health Gala— all white linens, soft lights, and traditional fabrics in bold color bursts.
Tinashe adjusted the neckline of her royal blue dress — a flowy ankara-print creation that hugged her curves in the right places — and touched her locs, which were swept up in a messy-but-intentional bun. Her silver nose ring caught the light. The glitter on her eyelids was subtle but effective.
She didn’t want to impress anyone.
That was what she told herself.
She was here for the clinic’s fundraiser, to network, show face, and maybe outbid her competitors on the refurbished dental chair in the silent auction.
And yet… her heart thudded every time her eyes scanned the room — waiting for him.
---
Ken walked in like the gala was for him.
And it might as well have been.
A deep navy agbada, embroidered in gold thread, made him look both royal and dangerous. He was talking to the Minister of Health, but his eyes found Tinashe immediately.
Their gazes collided across the crowd.
For a split second, everything slowed.
Then—
Musa slid in beside Tinashe, breaking the moment.
“You clean up well, Doc.”
She smiled. “So do you.”
He leaned close. “Don’t let Lagos boy over there steal all your attention. You and I still have a photo shoot to finish.”
“Behave, Musa.”
“Can’t promise that.”
---
Ken’s jaw ticked.
He had just walked into the gala, prepared to approach her with that same blend of charisma and slow-burning desire that had worked for him everywhere from Lagos to Milan — and now he was watching Camera Boy whisper into her ear like he belonged there.
Ken grabbed a flute of champagne off a tray and took a long, unnecessary sip.
“Someone bothering you?” asked Thandi, his Zimbabwean associate, who caught his death-glare.
“I don’t get bothered,” Ken said smoothly.
She arched a brow. “You look like you want to throw that champagne.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
---
Later, as the speeches ended and the dancing began, **Ken caught Tinashe alone near the fountain**. The music was low. The fairy lights overhead cast her in gold.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said, stepping close.
“No. I’m pacing myself.”
“For what?”
“For not losing my mind around you.”
That threw him.
He stepped closer. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not feeling this.”
Tinashe exhaled. “I’m not pretending. I’m fighting it.”
“Why?”
“Because everything about you is dangerous.”
He smirked. “And yet, here we are.”
The tension thickened between them.
She looked up. “Why are you so bothered by Musa?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“He wants you.”
“And you don’t?”
Ken’s eyes darkened.
“I want you, Tinashe,” he said, low and rough. “I want you more than I should.”
Silence.
Then a soft laugh slipped from her lips. “You’re very bad for my peace.”
He stepped in until their bodies nearly touched.
“I’d be even worse for your self-control.”
She tilted her head up, lips parted.
He dipped low, just enough for their mouths to hover.
One more breath and he’d be kissing her.
Then—
Someone stumbled into the fountain behind them with a loud splash.
They both jumped back, startled.
Ken groaned.
Tinashe laughed — a full, belly-deep laugh that made him fall harder.
“We need to stop almost kissing in public places,” she said.
“Next time, we don’t stop.”
She bit her lip, eyes flashing. “We’ll see.”
- Writer
