It’s Friday, which means another sneak peek into one of my books! I’m so excited to share the beginning of Ready or Not with you. The story takes you around the world – are you ready?
Check it out…
I was so lost.
My flight had landed in the middle of the desert, for starters. I was supposed to fly into Windhoek, the capitol city, but had been routed instead to a tiny little airstrip in Swakopmund, where I was told that I could catch a pond-jumper flight into the country’s interior.
But after that many hours in the air? I was having none of it and determined I could stop over for at least one night here before making the rest of the trip.
I called Sara as soon as I hit the ground, telling her my plans, getting the name of a hotel from her, then catching a cab to a car rental service in town.
“Are you sure we can’t just acquaint you with our friends early?” Sara asked, concerned. “The Bothas would be happy to come and get you, and –”
“Please, I look like something the cat vomited after those flights. I’d like to be a bit more presentable before meeting anyone. Especially since this pertains to business.”
Sara laughed. “More ministry than business, but by all means, don’t look like cat vomit. We’ll see you soon, then, okay?”
Now, though, I doubted that I’d ever see anyone ever again since I was so helplessly lost. Somehow stumbling into the center of town, I parked the rental car in an empty spot, checking my map against the window of the business in front of me. Namib Flights. Great. That wasn’t even on the stinkin’ map –
“Just great,” I muttered, pushing my sunglasses up and getting out of the car, making my way into the Namib Flights office to ask for directions.
As soon as I stepped in, the three men sitting there chatting over coffee stopped their conversations, turned their attention towards me, and stared.
Well, perhaps I didn’t look like cat vomit entirely.
I didn’t even bother with a smile. I simply pulled out my map and said, in a voice laced with irritation, “Can I get some help?”
The men looked at one another in surprise, as they exchanged words… that I completely couldn’t understand. Oh, great. Did anyone here even speak English?
“Sorry, guys,” I managed, frustrated. “I only speak English.”
“Shame, of course,” one of them said as he finally made his way over to me. The other two went back to drinking their coffee and talking, phrases from their conversation floating towards us and causing their friend no small amount of laughter as he took a long look at me and breathed out.
“I can help you,” he offered.
He was my height. Tall and big. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, and a crooked smile. Just exactly my type, actually, except this guy? Was kind of weird looking. Maybe not entirely unhandsome, per se, but quirky. And too sure of himself. Never an attractive quality on a man who’s just okay looking.
Says the woman who looks like cat vomit.
I looked at his name tag. Willem Kotze.
“Okay, William… Cot-zee. Thank you.”
He grimaced at this. “Ja, no problem.”
“How do I get to this hotel?” I held out the scrap of paper where I had written the name of Sara’s recommendation. “I’m so tired that I honestly don’t know which way is up.”
He looked at the address. “Oh, nice place,” he said with a smile. “And see? You’re only one street over.”
“One street? Which direction, though?”
“You need to go north, cross over Sam Nujoma –”
“Okay, that street isn’t even on my map,” I spat out irritably, pulling out my map.
“Is it?” he asked, looking with me.
“No, it most certainly is not.”
“Shame, man,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Is this a colonial era map? Everything’s in German.”
“I know, right?” I said. “Can you translate it for me?”
“I don’t know German,” he offered apologetically.
I looked at him accusingly. “Well, then, what were you all speaking behind my back earlier? ‘Oooh, baie mooi!’ and all.” He smiled that crooked smile at me. “Oh, yeah, I could hear you.”
“Well, that wasn’t me,” he said. “Although I thought it as well. And even though I don’t speak or really understand German, I know where your hotel is.“ He pointed out the front window. “You see this road?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“That’s Sam Nujoma. And back behind those lovely buildings we’re facing is a section of shops and restaurants, and a movie theater. And back behind that is the Lutheran church, and –”
“Okay,” I said, quite done with the lengthy explanation. Did this man have any idea how long I’d been on a series of airplanes all freakin’ day long? “I don’t need the town tour. Where is the hotel?”
He took a breath. “Yes. It is behind the Lutheran church.”
“Oh.” I smiled a curt smile at him. “Well, that seems easy enough.”
“Ja,” he nodded. “Are you walking or driving?”
“Driving.”
He looked at me for a second. “American, right?”
“Born and bred,” I said.
“Ja, well, we drive on the other side of the road, ne?”
I frowned at him. “I did manage to get here without killing myself. Obviously, I figured out that much on my own.”
He grinned at this. “Then, here are the roads to take,” he said, drifting his fingers over the map for me. “You’ll be there in less than two minutes.”
I breathed a sigh. “Well, hallelujah. This has been the longest trip of my life.”
“Is it, now?”
“Yes, it is, William. Yes, it is.” I folded up my map, as I stepped out the front door. “Thanks for your help!”
“Pleasure,” he said with a smile before I turned away from him.
I was late to church the next morning. The town was small enough but I got lost in my jetlagged haze. Again. By the time I finally arrived at the little seaside sanctuary where Sara had been a member back when she lived in Swakopmund, the service was already in full swing.
The church was hopping. Quite literally. People were crowded into the small space and were moving along to the music enthusiastically and energetically as I tried to find an empty seat. I spotted Ana Marie immediately, recognizing her instantly from Sara’s pictures as she turned to the child next to her and offered up a clear view of her profile. Sitting a row or two behind her, I took some deep breaths and tried to get my mind in the right place for worship…
… which was hard to do, thanks to the very loud noise of the congregational singing, which was unpleasantly punctuated by the caterwauling coming from the gentleman sitting next to Ana Marie. I’m all for freedom during worship, but this guy? Had his hands thrown in the air and was singing so exuberantly, so energetically, and so completely off-key that I had a hard time not all out staring at his back as he continued making a complete fool of himself in front of all the church and… well, God, frankly.
Granted, it was a nice enough back. Trendy jeans, a tight grey T-shirt, and flip flops – not all that different from what I had seen every other guy in town, walking along the beach, wearing. I hadn’t expected suits and ties, but the casual way he was dressed in churchand the relaxed way he was singing his lungs out was a bit of a shock.
Some things were proper. And some were just not. And this? Wasn’t a bit proper.
It didn’t seem to bother Ana Marie, who sang as well, one arm around a cute little boy and the other holding an infant. As the baby became fussy, the loud gentleman leaned over to her and took the little one in his own arms, quieting its sweet cries instantly.
Riaan, then, obviously. I could remember their names so easily, but… there had been another, hadn’t there? The one leading the church in the refugee camp?
I thought about this as I watched the Botha family. They made such a pretty picture – father, mother, and children – here in church together. I kept stealing glances at them as the pastor stood to give the sermon, as the benediction was given, and as the church began to finally clear out, with people discussing lunch plans and giving hugs of farewell.
After shaking several hands and getting some kisses from older gentlemen speaking a language I certainly didn’t understand, I was face to face with Ana Marie, who looked me over kindly and still didn’t seem to have any idea who I was.
“Welcome to Swakopmund Church,” she said in the bubbly voice I recognized from our conversations. “I’m Ana Marie. Are you new to town?”
“Ana Marie,” I said, taking her hand, unable to hide my smile as I finally made this introduction. “I’m Sophia Thibideaux.”
She gasped out loud, then hugged me with a laugh. “Sophie! Oh, my! You’re even more beautiful than Sara said you were!”
“It’s so good to finally meet you,” I said, knowing instantly that we’d be great friends. I mean, clearly. The jewelry she was wearing was nothing short of eclectic, trendy, and totally fabulous. How could we not be great friends?
“Why are you in Swakop?” she asked, casting a glance at my own jewelry. See? Great minds think alike and all. “Sara said you’d go to Windhoek first!”
“Change in plans with flights,” I said. “Congratulations on the baby, by the way. Sara told me your good news, and now, I’ve seen him for myself.”
“Oh, thank you,” she smiled. “Pieter still isn’t sleeping through the night, but he’ll get there. I hope,” she said, waveringly as she gave me an exhausted look. “It took Hennie,” she murmured, indicating the boy who looked up at me shyly, “half the time. But Piet is… ne, man. It’s been rough.”
“I can’t even imagine,” I laughed. “But it looks like Riaan is giving you plenty of help.”
“He is,” she said. “Though not much these last few nights as he’s taking a group through the north right now.”
“But,” I said, “I just saw him in the service.” I looked around for the man who had been sitting next to her.
“Oh, shame, man,” she smiled. “That’s my brother. He just took Piet for a nappy change. Excuse me, diaper change.” She smiled at me. “I know your American words for these things.”
“Eish, Ana Marie,” a voice from behind us bellowed. “Piet es –”
And the loud man from worship stopped in his tracks when he saw me, even as he still held onto his sister’s tiny baby.
“Hello,” he managed, a crooked smile coming to his face a belated moment later. A smile that I recognized. It was the guy from Namib Flights.
“William,” I said, coolly. Because the cool, reserved, sultry Sophie just came out without prompting in the presence of any and all men, even quirky looking ones holding babies.
“William?” Ana Marie asked, confused, even as Willem’s eyes rounded at the delivery of his name.
“Ja,” he said, raising his eyebrows. Then, almost apologetically to me, “Miss, it’s actually Vill-haam.”
“Vill-haam?”
“Well, that’s closer than William,” he said, as Ana Marie grimaced, much like Willem had the day before.
“Viiiiiilllll-haaaaaam,” I tried again.
“Oh, ja,” Ana Marie said. “That’s much better, huh, Willem?”
“My name has never sounded sweeter,” he said with a smile.
“I probably got your last name wrong, too, huh?” I said, trying to remember what it even was.
“Ja, you did,” he affirmed. “But we will not worry about that today.” He looked from me to Ana Marie. “Do you two know each other?”
“Shame, man!” Ana Marie giggled. “This is Sophie!”
Willem’s face lightened considerably, a brilliant smile taking the place of his hesitation. “Daniel and Sara’s friend?”
“Yes,” I managed, holding my hand out to him. “Sophia Thibideaux.”
“Eish, well that’s a last name I will not be able to say anytime soon,” he laughed, holding my hand in his.
I smiled at this. “Then, I suppose we’re even.”
“Ja, Sophie,” he smiled back. “I think we are.”
As it turned out, my flight to Windhoek, thanks to the change in plans the day before, had been transferred from the small airline company that would fly me in a charter flight with ten other passengers… to an even smaller private charter flight with just a pilot.
And that pilot? Just happened to be Willem Kotze.
“Shame, man, isn’t that lucky?” he said with a wide grin when I told him my plans. “We should go out to the airstrip together. But first, I must go and pack for a few days. Will you come with?”
“With who?”
“With me, Miss Thi… hmm.” He looked at me. “I cannot remember the name now.”
“Just Sophie,” I said. “And… I guess I can come with you. I have some work to do while you pack anyway.”
I very nearly forgot what exactly it was I had to do when I finally found myself at the lovely little beachside cottage. The house itself was quaint and beautiful… but outside was a mess. The hammock between two palm trees was a nice touch, but the surfboards thrown haphazardly along the ground, along with a crumpled up wetsuit and three flip flops, none of which matched, tended to disrupt the tranquil atmosphere such a location would suggest.
Inside, it was even worse.
I’m fairly certain I gasped out loud when my eyes swept over the mess. Dirty dishes and laundry were strewn everywhere, along with books, shoes, and yet another surfboard, thrown against the middle of the kitchen floor.
Bachelor. Pad. In the worst way possible.
Willem noticed my horror. “Shame, I know,” he said apologetically. “Cleaned up a little before church but would have done better had I known I would have company.”
“This is after you cleaned up?”
“Ja,” he grinned. “Like to be comfortable in my own space.”
I thought back to my immaculate home in New Orleans, where nothing was ever out of place. Maybe it wasn’t as “comfortable” as this, but my risk of vermin and pests was significantly lower than his.
Willem didn’t seem at all bothered by my scrutiny as he picked up a backpack from behind the couch and began picking up shirts off the floor… and sniffing them. Once they passed whatever standards he kept, they went right into the bag. He paused on a pair of jeans, looked at them oddly, then tossed them to me. I caught them, just as he asked, “Do those smell okay?”
“Excuse me?” I sputtered. “You want me to smell your jeans?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said.
“I do mind, actually,” I tossed them back.
“Shame,” he murmured, then sniffed them himself. “Oh, these are fine.” Into the bag they went.
I pulled out my phone and began reading through my emails, sending replies when needed and trying to ignore the mess around me. I needed to call Jeff with some last minute instructions, and as I watched Willem flit around his house, whistling as he went and sniffing even more clothes (ugh), I waited for him to pick up his end of the line, never even considering the hour in the US.
“Hello?” Jeff answered a moment later, sounding sleepy.
“Jeff, it’s Sophie,” I said. “I’ve woken you up, haven’t I?”
“Um, yeah,” he said. “But that’s okay. How’s Africa?”
I watched as Willem picked up a pair of socks, sniffed them, and visibly gagged.
“Not so glamorous actually,” I managed. “Look, I’m calling because the projection estimates were emailed to me, and I need to make sure Janet has the details covered with you on what changes I’m going to email over.”
“Okay,” he said, and I could hear him typing even as he said it. “Though Janet handed over some of the responsibility for that to Lisette Primrose, I believe.”
Was that wise? Lisette was so young, with no experience. I had told her that she would act as my liaison in some situations, but this felt like too much, too soon.
“Sophie?” Jeff prompted. “Was that okay? About Lisette?”
“Yeah,” I said, brushing away my concerns. “But, Jeff, I need you to keep an eye on what’s going on. Help her out… walk with her through it, okay? She’s great, but she’s very new to it all.” Then, in a sexy murmur, “And I know you can get the job done, Jeff. You’ve always left me satisfied.”
This made Willem’s head shoot up and turn my direction. I turned away from him.
“Sure, Sophie,” Jeff practically whispered. “Anything you want.”
“Great,” I said. “I’ll email the changes over to you, okay? Bye.”
I hung up without waiting for a response.
“Was that your boyfriend, Sophie?” Willem asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
“No, I have no boyfriend,” I said primly, my pretty smile in place. “It was my accountant.”
“Huh,” Willem said, looking at me oddly. “Perhaps I did not understand your English properly when you told him he left you satisfied, then.”
“Satisfied with his accounting skills,” I said. “No, you understood perfectly.”
He laughed out loud, shaking his head. “Perhaps it means something else in my very, very bad mind, then. Shame, Sophie. You must forgive me.” He looked around at the mess left, hefting his backpack onto his back. “Looks better, ne?”
“Not so much,” I said, looking back at him.
“Well, it can wait,” he shrugged. “Are you ready to go?”
Want to read more? Get your copy of Ready or Not here!
Jenn Faulk 