Chapter Eleven
1693 Words
On Purpose
Amara woke up smiling.
She realized this before she had even opened her eyes properly, which was irritating.
There was no reason to smile at seven in the morning.
Especially not because of a man who had nearly kissed her in his car and then looked personally offended when her mother called.
Her phone lay on the bedside table.
She ignored it.
For almost thirty seconds.
Then reached for it.
One message.
Tobe.
Good morning.
Amara stared at the screen.
That was all.
Two words.
Very Tobe.
She typed:
Is this a social good morning or an advisory programme good morning?
His reply came almost immediately.
Do you interrogate everyone before breakfast?
Only suspicious people.
A pause.
Then:
Social.
Her smile returned.
Good morning, Tobe.
She put the phone down before she could embarrass herself further.
It buzzed again.
And your mother owes me an apology.
Amara burst out laughing.
Absolutely not.
She interrupted an important conversation.
You survived.
Barely.
A few seconds later, another message appeared.
Dinner tonight?
Amara looked at the screen.
Is that an invitation or an instruction?
Invitation.
Then ask properly.
There was a pause.
Amara, would you have dinner with me tonight?
Much better.
Are you free?
After six.
I'll pick you up from the studio at six-fifteen.
She smiled.
Okay.
Then, because she refused to let him have the last word:
And don't be early.
No promises.
She was still smiling when she walked into the studio forty minutes later.
Chisom noticed immediately.
Of course she did.
“You look happy.”
“I usually look happy.”
“No. You usually look busy. Sometimes expensive. Occasionally dangerous. This is different.”
Amara dropped her bag on the desk.
“Good morning, Chisom.”
“That bad?”
“There is nothing to discuss.”
“Wonderful. I love discussions about nothing.”
Amara pointed towards the production floor.
“Go.”
Chisom went.
She was getting better at obeying.
Not much better.
At eleven, a delivery arrived.
Not fabric.
Not buttons.
Flowers.
The arrangement was elegant rather than enormous—white roses, soft greenery and a few pale pink blooms tucked between them.
The entire studio became suspiciously quiet.
Amara stood beside the cutting table.
“Why has everyone stopped working?”
Nobody answered.
Chisom appeared holding the card.
Her smile was unbearable.
“Apparently, productivity is waiting for you to open this.”
Amara took the card.
There were only four words.
No agenda. Just flowers.
She read it twice.
Then once more because apparently dignity had left the building.
Chisom leaned closer.
“Who sent them?”
Amara folded the card.
“A friend.”
“Does the friend have an irritating personality and too many white shirts?”
“Chisom.”
“I’m going.”
This time she actually did.
Amara carried the flowers into her office and placed them beside the window.
Then she took a photograph.
She considered sending only Thank you.
Too dry.
They’re beautiful sounded too soft.
She typed:
This is dangerously close to being charming.
Tobe replied:
Close?
Don’t push it.
I’ll take what I can get.
Amara looked at the flowers again.
Then typed:
Thank you. I really like them.
The response took longer this time.
Good.
One word.
A full speech.
She smiled.
A little after six, Amara closed her laptop and stepped through the discreet door inside her office that led to her private resting room.
She had added the small suite when the studio began demanding late nights: a comfortable bed, a compact wardrobe and an ensuite where she could shower, change and sleep when going home made no sense.
She freshened up, loosened her hair and changed out of her work clothes into a simple rust-coloured dress that skimmed her body without trying too hard.
At six-fifteen exactly, Tobe’s car stopped outside the studio.
Amara locked her office and stepped out before Chisom could find another reason to become involved in her private life.
Tobe was leaning against the car.
He straightened when he saw her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Tobe’s gaze travelled over her slowly.
She noticed.
Again.
“You’re staring.”
“I know.”
“You’re becoming very comfortable admitting that.”
“I’m trying honesty.”
“How is it going?”
His eyes returned to hers.
“Better than expected.”
Her heartbeat shifted.
Tobe opened the passenger door.
Amara paused.
“Where are we going?”
“Dinner.”
“That is an improvement. Last time you said coffee and drove me to the edge of Lagos.”
“It was not the edge of Lagos.”
“It had water.”
“Lagos has water.”
“That is not a defense.”
He waited until she got in, then closed the door.
The restaurant was small, quiet and warm, tucked away from the louder parts of Victoria Island.
No photographers.
No business associates.
No David.
No Zina.
Amara looked around as they were shown to their table.
“You planned this.”
“Yes.”
She sat.
“That sounded painful.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You voluntarily made a plan that wasn’t about work?”
Tobe looked at her.
“I make many plans that aren’t about work.”
“Name three.”
He picked up the menu.
“This dinner.”
“That is one.”
“Getting you home afterwards.”
“That is attached to the first.”
He lowered the menu.
“Keeping you long enough to make the drive worth it.”
Amara blinked.
Tobe calmly returned to the menu.
She stared at him.
“That was very smooth.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
His mouth curved.
Dinner was easy.
Dangerously easy.
They argued over starters, shared one anyway, and discovered they disagreed completely about whether pineapple belonged anywhere near grilled meat.
Amara told him about the first client who had ever paid her for a dress.
“She complained about the price for forty minutes,” she said.
“And still bought it?”
“Yes.”
“Then you priced it too low.”
Amara stared.
“That is your takeaway?”
“It’s the correct one.”
“She was my mother’s friend.”
“Then you definitely priced it too low.”
Amara laughed.
Tobe watched her for a second longer than necessary.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. You don’t get to use that word. Everyone around me has abused it.”
“I was thinking.”
“About?”
He hesitated.
Then chose honesty again.
“I like seeing you like this.”
Her smile softened.
“Like what?”
“Not proving anything.”
The words landed gently.
Amara looked down at her glass.
There were people who praised her work.
People who admired her clothes.
People who congratulated her for being determined.
Very few understood how exhausting determination could become when everyone expected it from you.
She looked back at him.
“I like seeing you like this too.”
“Eating?”
“Relaxed.”
“I am always relaxed.”
Amara laughed so suddenly the woman at the next table glanced over.
“Tobe.”
“What?”
“You once corrected a waiter’s calculation before he finished explaining the bill.”
“It was wrong.”
“You weren’t even paying.”
“It was still wrong.”
She shook her head.
He smiled.
Later, neither of them remembered who suggested dessert.
They shared it.
Again.
This time, Tobe asked before taking from her plate.
Amara considered that significant personal growth.
By the time they left, the night had cooled.
Tobe walked beside her towards the car.
Not ahead.
Not behind.
Beside.
Amara noticed small things now.
She suspected that was becoming a problem.
At her house, Tobe parked but did not immediately reach for the door controls.
Amara looked at him.
“So.”
“So.”
“This was an actual date.”
Tobe turned towards her.
“Yes.”
No evasion.
No joke.
Her pulse moved faster.
“And the flowers?”
“Also intentional.”
“You’re becoming reckless.”
“I’ve been told.”
She smiled.
Then the smile faded slightly as the quiet settled between them.
Tobe’s expression changed.
The same look from the night before.
Only this time there was no uncertainty about what it meant.
He reached across slowly and touched a loose strand of hair near her cheek.
His fingers barely brushed her skin.
Amara stopped breathing for a second.
“Tobe.”
“If you want me to stop, say it.”
She looked at him.
At the man who had spent weeks challenging her, irritating her, noticing everything she wanted people to notice and several things she wished he wouldn’t.
She did not want him to stop.
So she didn’t say it.
Tobe leaned closer.
This time, no phone rang.
His mouth touched hers softly.
Almost carefully.
The first kiss lasted only a few seconds.
Then he pulled back just enough to look at her.
Amara’s eyes opened.
“That was very controlled.”
For one second, he simply stared.
Then he laughed.
“Was that a complaint?”
“An observation.”
His hand moved gently to the back of her neck.
“Amara.”
“Yes?”
“Stop observing.”
Then he kissed her again.
This one was not careful.
It was warm and certain and long enough to make every clever reply disappear from her head.
When they finally separated
When they finally separated, Amara rested her forehead briefly against his.
Neither spoke.
For once, there was nothing to negotiate.
She eventually reached for the door.
“Goodnight, Tobe.”
His voice was quieter.
“Goodnight, Amara.”
She stepped out, then bent towards the open window.
He waited.
A smile tugged at her mouth.
“For the record?”
“Yes?”
“Definitely a date.”
She walked towards the house.
Behind her, Tobe laughed.
And Amara decided she could get used to being the reason.
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