Chapter 22 #2
Helen picked up a piece of fabric and began to drape it around Kenya’s waist. The textile had significant weight to it.
A coral fabric with raised floral patterns embroidered in a matching-colored thread.
Another spool of coral-colored Swiss lace leaned against the wall.
Despite the heft of the fabric, Kenya’s shoulders straightened.
The door chimed, and Favour announced, “I am here-o!” The two women began to talk rapidly. After their enthusiastic and jumbled greeting, Favour clapped her hands together and stepped onto the platform.
Kenya braced herself as the two women armed with measuring tape and pins circled her like lionesses to prey. Hopefully she would survive this mostly intact.
“YEAH, WHO IS IT?” Solomon pushed the headphone speaker off his right ear, positive now that he had heard a knock.
He had probably missed several raps at his door as they blended in with the beats coming from his headphones.
He glanced back at the TV screen. Probably time to take a break.
But no one ever stopped by unannounced. Thankfully, not even his siblings or parents.
Maybe it was someone who had the wrong address.
Instacart and DoorDash delivery drivers were always getting apartment numbers mixed up at this place.
“Hey, Solomon?”
The voice behind the door was too familiar to be a fast-food drop-off. “Kenya?”
Her grin flashed as he opened the door wide, surprised to see her there. She was no delivery woman, but she did have two paper bags from his favorite Mediterranean food joint in her arms. She slipped under his arm and through the open doorway.
“I thought you were studying.”
He turned to see what caught her attention. His paused video game lit up the darkened living room.
“I am.” Or was. “How did you get to my door? Who buzzed you in?”
Instead of answering, she stepped in farther, moving through his foyer until she stood right in front of the television screen.
He shook his head, amazed at how she successfully pressed herself into whatever room she decided to enter.
She must have set her smile on some unsuspecting neighbor who gladly let her in, if only to bask in the glow of her presence. Oh, he had it bad.
“Welcome to my home.” His sarcasm was lost on her.
He closed the door, thankful that he had somehow become a meticulous cleaner in the last couple years.
He was still slightly in shock that Kenya Stewart stood in his living room.
He stuffed a hand into his sweatpants pocket and waved his other toward his island counter. “This is my kitchen.”
Kenya didn’t respond. Instead she set the food bags on his mango-wood coffee table and settled into the seat he’d just occupied.
“So this is what studying for your test looks like?” Her eyes drifted over his sparse living space as he flicked on the lights. “Cozy.”
He smirked, grabbing the takeout bags to set them on the island. His stomach immediately responded to the smell of . . . hmm, chicken shawarma?
It was a good distraction, too, since his couch did in fact look extra cozy with someone making herself quite comfortable on it.
“Dinner for two?” He looked at her in question, but she didn’t even glance toward him.
“Why not? I brought it for study fuel, but since it looks like procrastination has taken over—ah!” She lifted his headset and wiggled his controller above her head. “I might as well join in.”
“Wait, wait, wait a minute.” He rounded the island but not in time to keep her from settling his headset on her head and unpausing the game. “But how?”
How indeed did this denim jumpsuit–wearing wonder come to inhabit his sofa and know exactly how to unlock the level he was on in a matter of seconds? Her dangling earrings slapped her cheeks as she started to sway with the moves, the many bangles on her wrist clacking against each other.
She leaned forward, tongue stuck out to the side in concentration, maybe forgetting that her burgundy lipstick was there. Or, more astonishing, she knew and didn’t care.
She was mesmerizing. More tantalizing in that moment than the fumes of well-seasoned lamb rising from the unfurled bag on his counter.
Kenya jumped and turned to him. “Did you drop something?”
He blinked and wiped the stupid grin from his face. He stooped down to pick up the forks that he had indeed dropped. Some skilled hands he had if he could unlock someone’s muscular trigger point but couldn’t grasp any form of reality when she walked into the room.
But she was in his room! Playing his procrastination video game like she’d done this all her life. And maybe she had. What a web of mischief and mystery this woman was.
When he straightened with the silverware, Kenya tossed a look over her shoulder, her fingers never leaving the controls. “Chop, chop, Doctor. Don’t let the food grow as cold as this level I just iced.”
His laugh rang out, louder than he could help. Her eyes shot up in surprise, then her laughter tinkled out too. Her delight over his amusement pulled at his heart.
She slid the headset off. “Okay, okay, sit down, Solomon. I got this.”
Each time she called him by his first name felt like a gift.
He pondered that realization as she swept through his kitchen like she’d been there before, eyes scanning every cabinet for what she needed.
Her movements were swift and rhythmic, a chord plucked and vibrating with energy, an inner pulse of hers setting her hands into motion.
She didn’t seem hindered at all by the limp from her recovering ankle.
What should have been a straightforward spread of chicken, lamb, pita, and rice took on the form of something much more elevated and creative.
With a flourish, she set the last adornment of a lemon-peel curl on the food, having somehow figured out how to use the garnish tool he’d never been able to.
“And there we are. Your dinner.” She grinned.
And there she was, so adorable in his kitchen, so dangerous to their plan to pretend.
He moved toward her, and she extended a plate out to him. And thank God for that. Enough room to back up and cool down.
After they finished eating, they returned to the couch. Picked up the game where they’d left off. Took turns with the controller so they could help each other move forward. Comfortable yet weighty silence between them.
He bumped her shoulder. “By the way, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
It was hard to keep the smirk from his face. “For you having to go get measured with my mom today, without me.”
Yes, he did have to study and spent some hours this afternoon doing so.
But it was hard to admit, even to himself, that maybe he hadn’t been brave enough to go with her.
She met his mom at the neutral location, but he’d still been hesitant to go.
Afraid that his mother would see them for what they really were.
Afraid to be called out as insincere, or worse, for being in love.
“Meh.” Kenya’s shoulders lifted a centimeter, her focus on the screen.
“It’s always been on my bucket list to be a pincushion.
” She shimmied a little, catching his attention.
Her eyes danced, onyx orbs catching all the light in the room, keeping his eyes glued to her face.
“Extra points to do so in the presence of your feisty mom.”