Chapter Ten
1590 Words
No Agenda
Tobe read Amara's message again the next morning.
That's why I told you.
Still unnecessarily satisfying.
Still none of his business.
He placed his phone face down and returned to the meeting in front of him.
By the time it ended, he had almost succeeded in forgetting about the message.
Almost.
His phone buzzed.
Amara.
The supplier accepted the staggered volume.
A second message followed.
Including delivery.
Tobe smiled before he could stop himself.
Good.
Three dots appeared.
That's all?
What were you expecting?
Confetti. Champagne. Perhaps a national holiday.
For negotiating a delivery clause?
It was a very good delivery clause.
He leaned back.
Congratulations, Amara.
Her reply came seconds later.
See? Growth.
Then:
You owe me coffee.
For what?
Professional excellence.
Yours or mine?
Wow.
I'm taking back every nice thing I've ever thought about you.
There were nice things?
No response.
Then, two minutes later:
Maybe.
Tobe read it twice.
At the studio, Amara immediately regretted sending it.
Maybe?
What kind of answer was maybe?
She put the phone aside.
Picked it up again.
Still nothing.
Excellent.
She could return to being a serious businesswoman.
“Why are you staring at your phone?”
Amara nearly dropped it.
Chisom stood in the doorway.
“Do you knock?”
“I knocked emotionally.”
“That isn't a thing.”
“It should be.”
Amara pointed towards the door.
“Work.”
Chisom left laughing.
Amara flipped the phone over.
It buzzed.
Tobe.
Coffee. Tomorrow.
Her heart reacted as though the message contained considerably more than two words.
Is that an invitation or an instruction?
Invitation.
You should practise making those sound like invitations.
Are you free?
After six.
I'll pick you up.
She stared at the screen.
No advisory meeting.
No supplier.
No accidental restaurant encounter.
Just Tobe asking to see her.
Okay.
The following evening, Tobe arrived at the studio without a file.
Amara noticed immediately.
He wore dark trousers and a crisp white shirt, no jacket, no tie—and, most importantly, empty hands.
“Where's your folder?”
“I seem to have survived without it.”
“Are you feeling well?”
“Mostly.”
She smiled.
“I've never seen you come here without paperwork.”
“This isn't work.”
The words quieted something inside her.
“Right.”
“Ready?”
“Give me two minutes.”
“I'll give you one.”
“There he is.”
When Amara returned with her bag, Chisom was standing beside him.
“Why are you talking to her?” Amara asked.
“He greeted me,” Chisom said innocently.
“You're never just greeting.”
Tobe glanced between them. “I've noticed.”
“Goodnight, Chisom.”
“Enjoy your coffee.”
Amara stopped.
“How do you know we're getting coffee?”
Chisom smiled. “Goodnight.”
Outside, Tobe opened the car door for her.
Twenty minutes later, Amara realised they had passed several perfectly good cafés.
“Where are we going?”
“To get coffee.”
“We've passed coffee.”
“That's a dramatic interpretation of geography.”
“Tobe.”
“You'll survive.”
A few minutes later, the city softened around them—less traffic, more trees—and Tobe turned into a small waterfront café tucked behind a garden.
Warm lights threaded through the trees. Beyond the terrace, the water caught the last colours of evening.
Amara looked at him.
“This is coffee?”
“They serve it.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“I know.”
For once, she had no comeback.
They sat outside.
“This doesn't seem like somewhere you would choose,” Amara said.
“What kind of place would I choose?”
“Glass walls. Grey furniture. A menu that calls ordinary water ‘artisanal hydration.’”
Tobe stared at her.
“That was very specific.”
“I've studied your type.”
“My type?”
“Men who own too many white shirts.”
He looked down at himself. “You have a problem with white?”
“No. I'm wondering whether you buy them individually or by corporate subscription.”
Tobe laughed.
An actual laugh.
Amara went quiet.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring.”
“I am.”
His eyebrows lifted.
The words echoed the restaurant.
This time, Amara didn't look away.
“You should laugh more.”
“You give a lot of instructions for someone who complains about mine.”
“Mine improve lives.”
Their coffee arrived.
Amara took a sip and frowned.
“This is actually good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought you'd bring me somewhere with quarterly reports.”
“I considered it.”
She laughed.
And then, without either of them deciding to, they stopped talking about work.
Tobe told her about his first company and an office so small that two people couldn't move their chairs at the same time.
“You?” Amara stared at him. “In a tiny office?”
“I wasn't born in a boardroom.”
“I need photographic evidence.”
“You will never see it.”
“Then it didn't happen.”
He shook his head.
“What about you? Was fashion always the plan?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
“My mother says I started redesigning my clothes before I understood that clothes cost money.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“It was.”
Her smile softened.
“My family never needed me to build anything. They would have been happy if I'd joined one of the family businesses or chosen something less uncertain.”
“But you didn't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Amara looked towards the water.
“Because I wanted something that was mine.”
Tobe's gaze stayed on her.
“And now?”
“Now it is mine.”
The pride in her voice was quiet but unmistakable.
“Good,” he said.
She smiled.
“One word. Full speech.”
“I value efficiency.”
“What about you? Why did you build yours?”
For a moment, she expected one of his neat answers.
Instead, he looked towards the water.
“Because I didn't want anyone deciding what my life should look like. I wanted the freedom to make my own choices. Even bad ones.”
“Did you make bad ones?”
“Several.”
“I find that comforting.”
He looked at her.
“Sometimes you behave like you arrived on earth with a spreadsheet and excellent judgement.”
A laugh escaped him.
“There. Again.”
“You're obsessed with my laughter.”
“I wouldn't go that far.”
“You've mentioned it twice.”
“You count everything.”
“I pay attention.”
Their eyes met.
Again, that phrase.
But this time neither of them joked.
The space between them changed.
Tobe's gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then returned to her eyes.
Amara's heartbeat stumbled.
He leaned back first.
Barely.
By the time they left, night had settled over Lagos.
The drive back was quieter, but not uncomfortable.
Then Tobe asked, “Why did you tell me?”
She knew immediately.
“Kene?”
“Yes.”
Amara looked ahead.
“I suppose I didn't want you to misunderstand.”
“Why would it matter if I did?”
There it was.
The question beneath everything.
She turned to him.
“You tell me.”
For several seconds he said nothing.
Then, “I think we're both avoiding a conversation.”
“Are we?”
“Yes.”
“What conversation?”
He glanced at her.
“That one.”
Despite herself, she smiled.
“Very brave.”
“I didn't say I was ready to have it.”
“That makes two of us.”
Something about admitting it relaxed them both.
Nothing had been solved.
But neither was pretending anymore.
When they reached her house, Tobe parked outside.
Amara unfastened her seat belt but didn't open the door.
“Thank you.”
“For the coffee?”
“For not bringing a spreadsheet.”
“Low standards.”
She smiled and reached for the door.
“Amara.”
She turned.
Tobe was looking at her differently.
Quietly.
Seriously.
“I didn't bring you out tonight because of the advisory programme.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to see you.”
The words were simple.
That made them more dangerous.
Amara's heartbeat became painfully clear.
“I wanted to see you too.”
Neither moved.
Tobe's gaze dropped to her lips.
This time, he didn't look away.
He leaned slightly towards her.
Amara's breath caught.
Her phone rang.
Both of them froze.
It rang again.
Amara closed her eyes and looked at the screen.
Her mother.
A laugh escaped her.
“Of course.”
Tobe leaned back slowly.
“Answer it.”
“You sound offended by my mother.”
“I've never met your mother.”
“And yet she's already ruined your evening?”
His eyes returned to hers.
“Something like that.”
Amara smiled, opened the door and stepped out.
Then she bent towards the open window.
“And for the record?”
He waited.
“That was definitely not coffee.”
She walked towards the house before he could answer.
Tobe watched until she disappeared inside.
A smile slowly appeared.
For once, he didn't bother pretending it meant nothing.
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