Zane asked me on a Monday.
Not dramatically — he never did anything dramatically, which I was starting to think was either a personality trait or a deliberate strategy to keep me from having enough warning to say no.
We were packing up after the library session when he said, very casually, very Zane: "Come home with me this weekend."
I looked up slowly. "Sorry?"
"My dad has someone he wants me to meet." He zipped his bag. "A business associate. He's been setting it up for weeks and I only found out yesterday which is — typical." A pause. "I don't want to go alone."
"You have Kofi."
"I don't want to go with Kofi." He looked at me steadily. "I want to go with you."
I held his gaze for a moment.
The rational part of my brain started its usual inventory — weekend away, his family home,
