This is my favorite part of every morning — my first sip of coffee. My eyes close, and I let the caffeine breathe new life into me. I relish the warming kiss of the morning sun’s rays, the brisk ocean breeze that carries with it the notes of gull calls and crashing waves.

Ghana is so different from what I expected. It’s a bona fide slice of paradise. I let the feeling of contentment settle. Just as I raise my cup to take another sip, there's a disruption in the air and my sense of tranquility disappears. I look around the room, see the source of the disturbance and groan.

It's her. The beautiful shrew who has been plaguing my sleep. She's standing in the wide doorway that leads to the outdoor restaurant. The morning sun is bright, and with darkness of the hallway behind her, she's cast into shadows that make her look like some sort of goddess as she walks into the restaurant.

The impossibly thick mass of dark hair had been pinned straight and shimmering the night I’d first seen her. This morning, it spills into the same spiraling curls that nestle onto her shoulder blades. Her gait is relaxed and unhurried. Her light blue caftan, the color of a spring sky, surrenders to the breeze. It hugs her small, high breasts, wraps her slim torso in a loose embrace, and clings to her long, shapely thighs. The sun creates streaks of gold and copper in her hair that I hadn’t noticed in the artificial light of the restaurant where we’d bumped into each other. She has a small beauty mark under her left eye, a dot the size of a pinhead that stands out because the face it sits on is completely unblemished. She’s a vision.

She glides in the direction of the huge buffet, the sway of her hips the only indication that her feet are touching the ground. The buffet’s location gives me an unfettered view of her profile, and I watch as she starts piling the plate she picked up.

Her nose crinkles with distaste when she opens one of the huge silver service dishes and closes it without taking anything in it. Her lips quirk with pleasure as she grabs the serving spoon and dishes a generous scoop of whatever it is that’s tempted her.

She’s smiling when she turns around — not a big smile - but it's the first time I’ve seen one on her, and her face is transformed by it. I would have called her beautiful before, but there’s an allure that’s more than skin deep. It’s captivating.

When I’d seen her at the bar last night, I’d been shocked. What were the odds that we’d end up at the same hotel a week later? My first impulse had been to avoid her. What happened on the plane was embarrassing. I’d been so turned on and hard up that I’d almost let a drunk woman jerk me off.

She acted like it was no big deal, and I’d believed her. But watching her last night, I hadn’t been so sure. She’d been staring in the mirror and her eyes looked unbearably sad.

I'm not particularly fond of sadness or fear, but I'm hugely attracted to the truth. Last night, there had been an honesty in her expression that was like a siren’s song. It propelled me out of my seat and had me walking toward her in single-minded determination.

Whatever I'd seen was gone by the timeI tripped and fell into her away from her. When I left her at the bar, I was sure that it had been a figment of my beer-soaked, fatigued imagination.

Until now. That pull, the one that had me throwing caution into the wind last night, is revived. I swear under my breath and look away. But only for a second because, as much as I want to, I can't seem to keep my eyes off her.

She's walking back to her table, and that look is back. Wide open, unfettered expression, honest. I want to know what put that sadness there. I want to tell her the source of my own pain.

As if she can hear my thoughts and sense my eyes on her she stops walking and her head swings in my direction. Her eyes widen with surprise when they land on me, but the surprise isn't because she didn’t know I’d be here. She must know I’m staying here.

She looks at me, and our eyes lock. A current pass between us. It’s loud, hot and takes me completely by surprise.

I start to stand, and her eyes widen almost imperceptibly before she shutters her expression. The current is severed, abruptly and painfully.

Her disdain manifests in the curl of her lip and the roll of her eyes. She turns her head and continues walking to her table.

It's as cold a dismissal as I can ever remember receiving, and it pisses me off. But I know it's a lie. The slight flare of her nostrils, the way her throat worked when she saw me. Even after she'd recovered from her surprise, I saw the way her plate wobbled slightly in her grasp, telling me what I needed to know. She's not unaffected by me. And it's not only anger that she feels.

I dig back into my breakfast with gusto. While I devour my perfectly poached egg and butter drenched brioche, I plan. I was an asshole last night. I was annoyed and disappointed. And she was fucking rude. It doesn't matter, though, because after what I've just seen in her eyes and that energy that crackled between us, I know I made a mistake walking away from her.

When I'm done, I'm going to walk over to her table, apologize properly, introduce myself and we can hit the reset button. I glance at my watch. Kojo is meeting me in about thirty minutes to take me to one of the farms I'm here to visit. I don't have much time.

When I look back up, my toast turns to dust in my mouth.

She's smiling again. This time, it’s a blinding smile that shows a row of gorgeous, straight white teeth and lights up her entire face. At another man. He's leaning over like he has the right to be that close to her, whispering in her ear.

Jealousy grips my entire body. I have an urge to walk over there and ask her what the fuck she thinks she’s doing smiling at him like that.

I restrain myself. It's a completely irrational impulse. Insane, really, that the thought even occurs to me. Maybe she and that guy hooked up before I saw her. Maybe they’re a couple and on vacation here.

But I know that can’t be true. If he’d already met her, there is no way she would have been at the bar alone last night. She wouldn't have walked in here alone this morning. If she had a man, he'd be by her side constantly, making sure that everyone knew it.

No, I think bitterly. This joker is just trying his luck. And she's fucking smiling at him.

His hand brushes her shoulder, and her head turns slightly. It looks like she's playing coy, but from where I'm sitting I can see her eyes. And her smile doesn't reach them. In fact, from her nose up she looks like she's frowning — from the furrow of her brow to the flat expression in her eyes. And if that idiot talking to her was paying attention, he'd see it, too. I start to get up when her eyes slide to mine and she gives me a look that freezes me in place. Her eyes glitter with challenge, and even though she doesn't say a word, I hear the "don't you dare" she communicates before she looks back at her would be suitor.

Oh, but I do dare.

I signal to the waiter that I'm ready for my check. I stand up and pick up my phone, sunglasses and wait for him to come over.

A woman, a petite, beautiful woman who looks just like Nia Long, but with braids and darker skin I’d seen her with at the bar last night saunters up to the table and sits down. She says something to the man, she scowls at his response, and picks up her menu and covers her face with it. I laugh at her blunt dismissal, and I laugh even harder when he flushes bright red and hurries from the table.

As soon as I've signed my credit card receipt, I head toward their table. Her friend looks up as I approach, whispers to her and then they both watch me walk over. Her friend with a grin of abject delight on her face, the woman I spilled beer on looks like she's going to throw up.

"Good morning, ladies."

"Good morning, yourself," her friend returns, flirtatious and enthusiastic. She doesn’t say a word.

I look back at her friend and return the smile; it’s contagious and totally charming. "Not just yet. I wanted to come and apologize properly for last night."

I turn slightly so that I’m facing the woman who has yet to acknowledge my presence.

"I'm sorry about spilling my drink all over you. And I'm sorry I wasn't sufficiently apologetic."

"Okay. Thanks." Her surly response is delivered with a quick glance that says, “Go away.”

"Oh, that was you?” her companion says with a sly grin, her eyes light. “Oh, you’ll have to forgive my cousin's rudeness. She's just come from America, and she's tired. Long journey," her companion says. "I'm Bambi, she's Emma." She sticks her hands out for me to shake, and I do. Her grip is strong and a little too enthusiastic, but I like her already. "Do you want to join us?"

"Oh, I’d love to," I start. Emma’s eyes jump to mine, wide with undisguised alarm, and I want to laugh.

"But I've got a meeting.”

Her shoulders droop so suddenly with relief that it’s comical. I find myself wishing I didn’t have a meeting and that I could sit down and watch her squirm a little.

"Oh, that's a shame," Bambi says, dragging out the vowel in the last word to give it more weight. "Are you here on business?" She asks brightly, looking at me expectantly, as if my answer was very important.

"Yes, I am.” And can’t hide my surprise when she squeals to herself.

“Do you have a business partner traveling with you? You know maybe we could make it a foursome?” Bambi asks, her eyes and smile both wider now. I throw a startled glance at Emma and she’s watching Bambi in disbelief.

I turn back to Bambi, see that her smile has slipped and she’s still waiting expectantly for an answer.

Her smile falters a little when I say, “No, I’m not traveling with anyone.”

But then I add, “My local business advisor, Kojo lives here, he’s about my age. We could definitely make a foursome.”

"That would be lovely. We came for breakfast because the power at the house went out. But if you're inviting us to dinner, we'll be back."

That surprises me. "You live here? In Cape Coast?" I look back and forth at the both of them. Her cousin sounds British to me, and so even though she looks Ghanaian, I'd assumed they were visitors.

"He's not inviting us to dinner." Emma's voice is low and annoyed.

Bambi ignores her.

"No, I live in Accra. She lives in -- oof." Her words are cut off by a gasp of pain, that I’m guessing was caused by a pinch or a kick. She gives Emma a sharp, warning look. Emma just glares back. She rolls her eyes in return and looks back at me with her smile back in place.

"We're just in Cape Coast for the week. We're going to visit Elmina Castle today, but we're free after that. So we can be back for dinner. Bring your friend with you," she invites me cheerfully.

“Enjoy the castle, it’s one thing I really want to see before I leave,” I say, sincerely disappointed. It's one of the most well-known former slave castles in West Africa and apparently has been left completely untouched since it was closed.

“Come with us!” Bambi demands loudly. Emma glares at her, and if eyes could shoot daggers, Bambi would be full of them.

“I can’t. At least not today, but if you could wait until the weekend.”

“Oh, okay.” She claps enthusiastically, while Emma’s jaw drops.

“We’re not changing our plans,” Emma snaps, her voice the clearest it’s been since I got to the table.

“Of course we will. We can go to Kakum today,” Bambi says dismissively, not taking her eyes off me. “It’s a plan. So, dinner? Tonight?”

Emma groans and looks up at the sky as if asking the heavens for patience. I stifle my laugh.

"I'd love to take you to dinner, and I know Kojo will be glad to join us." I know once he gets a look at Bambi, he’ll be glad I talked him into it. She's a knock out.

“That’s perfect. We’ll be here around seven.” She smiles and winks subtly, ignoring Emma’s wide, alarmed eyes.

My phone buzzes with a new text, and I see Kojo’s name when I glance at it.

"Ladies, I’ve got to run. Have a great day. Hopefully, I'll see you later."

I chuckle when, as I turn to walk away, I hear Emma say, "Hopefully not."