Chapter 17 Moyo
Moyo
I DIDN’T EXPECT NIYI’S FIRST QUESTION TO BE “WHAT DO you like to do for fun?”
Without thinking, I answer, “Movies, trying out new restaurants, hanging with my girls, and I guess, dancing but that is primarily when I’m with friends.”
Niyi listens intently, his eyes not leaving mine as he scribbles down my response.
“What kind of movies?”
“Horror, mainly.”
His writing stops. “Really?”
The miniscule indent in his brows makes me smirk. People are usually thrown off by my blood-and-gore fascination because of my job with kids.
“Shocked?” I ask.
“Honestly, a little. But it makes sense. After all, you are a doctor. Any favorite subgenres?”
“Slashers have my heart.”
“Would be a shame if they did that literally,” Niyi says. He puts the pen down.
“Is that so?”
“And lose an amazing doctor who cares about her clients and doing pro bono work? Absolutely.”
It’s been weeks since our meeting at Cupid’s Bow HQ. “You remember that?”
“That and everything else you’ve said to me.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. He’s my dating coach. Of course, he has to remember things I’ve said in order to help me find my soulmate. I shouldn’t project fantasies onto someone showing a modicum of attention. That’s how unsavory situationships and one-sided attractions form.
“Um, yeah…uh…what about you? Your hobbies outside work?” I change the subject.
“Haven’t gotten into much since I moved here, almost…two years ago now. I’ve been too preoccupied with work, but I enjoy pottery and collecting wine.”
I’m a connoisseur of delicious food, so an equally exquisite drink is never far away.
“What’s your favorite wine?” I ask.
Niyi answers almost instantly, “I love a Cabernet. You?”
“I have a Tignanello at home I’ve been saving. Should’ve guessed you were a fellow red wine fan, seeing as I knew you were a man of taste.”
“That obvious?”
“Unfortunately, so.”
“What gave it away?” Niyi asks.
“You—” I’m about to mention his open-buttoned, buttery shirt from the dance.
From what I felt as our chests pressed together, I know it’s an expensive, well-made shirt.
But mentioning that would be delving too deep into flirtation.
The beautiful art pieces that night return to mind, helping me pivot.
“You helped with the party pieces, right?”
“Indeed. My friend, Aaron, owns an amazing art studio. He was contracted to create some sculptures for the event. He asked me to create some clay vases and whatnot.”
“What else do you make?” Fascination gives life to my words.
“We should really get back to you. There are a lot of questions,” he says softly, his shoulders tensing.
“C’mon, humor me. Remember we’re having a conversation. I want to get to know you too,” I remind him.
“Mugs, bowls, plates, the cross between a bowl and a plate—”
“The perfect eating vessel,” I interject.
“Exactly,” Niyi snickers, and it feels like a mini reward. “And honestly, anything else. I’ve been at it for a while, so experimentation is a big part of the process.”
“Must be nice to make things with your hands.”
“It is. As I’m sure it’s nice to help people.”
“Indeed. Have you ever thought about selling some of your artwork?” I ask.
He brushes this aside. “I’m not a real artist, so no, never.”
“According to who?”
“I already have a job,” Niyi replies. “Don’t have time to make a career out of a hobby. Now, can we go back to you, so I can do my current job?”
“Fine…what’s next in your master list of personal questions?” I ask.
The air around us lightens as the conversation flows.
We end up talking about everything but Cupid’s Bow-related topics.
Niyi isn’t a horror fan, but he’s really into crime dramas.
Where my favorite Nigerian food is rice and ayamase, he is obsessed with asaro—something I don’t eat because of texture.
We talk, laugh, rinse and repeat until a server tells us closing time is near. The sun’s soft orange glow filters in, alerting us to how late it is.
“Don’t forget to drop any cups and plates on your way out,” the brunette says. She smiles, but the unspoken message is clear. We’re the last two customers in the cafe. When did everyone clear out?
“Of course. We’ll be right out,” Niyi says. We toss our empty cups in the trash as we leave.
“Have a great night,” I say to the staff as I slip on my coat.
Niyi walks ahead of me and opens the door.
“You know you don’t have to do that?” I say as we wander around the block. No destination in mind, only the desire to continue our conversation.
“I know. I do it ’cause I want to. Does it make you uncomfortable?”
The question gives me pause. The simple answer is no. Why would it be a problem? It’s the quintessential romantic thing.
“I’m just not used to it.”
“Previous partners haven’t done that?”
Considering my only recent partner has been Cole, it doesn’t take me long to think. “No. Wasn’t a thing.”
“And you were okay with that?”
My brows scrunch. “I never thought about it. I’m used to being the helper, so it wasn’t amiss that I was playing that role in my relationship.”
“So…what do you want in a partner now? More of the same?”
“I…I still need to think. All I know is I don’t want anyone like my previous matches.”
“That’s a good place to start. Tell me what you didn’t like about them?”
I launch into the story of the date with Julian, which I’ve dubbed The Trainwreck.
When I’m done, my irritation is once again palpable, a marked difference between the calm I’ve experienced over the past hour and a half with Niyi.
“I’m so sorry,” Niyi apologizes.
“Thanks, but it’s not really your fault.
You just work there,” I say, and he looks even more apologetic.
I sometimes feel responsible for messes at the hospital, but I know better than to blame an employee.
“In fact, I was wondering how such a grade-A loser got into Cupid’s Bow. I was on the waitlist for months.”
Niyi chuckles slightly. “That’s a great question that, unfortunately, I don’t have the answer to. But it leads me to wonder…why Cupid’s Bow for you?”
I swallow. “Well, I knew I wanted to date again, and I did some research and your app was the best one. Great reviews, great numbers. All foolproof stats.”
“The app might have glowing reviews, but remember, dating is still all about people. And people can be different in person, regardless of their compatibility on paper,” Niyi says.
“I wanted to give myself the best chance, and it worked for a while.”
“Did it though?” he challenges me. “You mentioned being the constant helper. Doesn’t sound like fair emotional labor to me.”
He’s right.
With Cole, I was basically on autopilot.
Dating because I wanted to be in a relationship, and not because I cared about my partner.
I remember all our arguments. The common string was me wanting him to do more, plan more, be more, and sometimes he would.
Only for the cycle to repeat itself. But despite my discomfort, Cole was there, and that was somehow enough.
“So, again I ask, why Cupid’s Bow? Why did you come back?” Niyi asks in rapid succession.
This makes me snicker. “Believe it or not, it was my dad. He convinced me that it wasn’t too late for me to find someone.”
“Wise man. I’m taking it you’re close?”
“Extremely.” I beam. Some people find it weird, but my dad and I are genuine friends. “What about you and your parents?” I ask.
“Mom passed a while back—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, but it is what it is. And my dad and I don’t get along.”
I think about my relationship with my mom. It’s not bad, but once I became a teen, I gravitated towards my easygoing, personable dad, and moved farther away from my stricter mom.
“Was it always like that?” I ask cautiously, expecting him to push back. However, under the soft moonlight, Niyi’s shoulders relax and his voice becomes quiet.
He takes a deep breath. “Not always. We were close when I was younger. I wanted to be just like my dad. But after my mom died, things changed. He got colder, his expectations became more stringent, and I became my own person, much to his dismay.”
I’ve seen Niyi serious at work, flirtatious on the dance floor, but this is the first time I’ve seen him look…tired.
“Relationships with parents can be hard,” I say.
“But we gotta do it.” Niyi shrugs. I don’t know the specifics of the relationship with his dad, but it’s evident it bothers him.
“There’s always a different option,” I say.
“For others, definitely. For me, unfortunately not.”
Part of me wants to push, but I barely know him. It wouldn’t be right.
Instead, I relish in the silence. Even walking quietly with bated breaths in the cold, I’m having a better time than I did with Julian. A low bar, but still.
“Sorry for being a downer,” Niyi says after we’ve been walking in circles for a while.
“Heavy topics elicit heavy reactions. It’s okay, I understand.”
“This should be your time, and I took too much of it talking about myself.”
“Am I complaining?” I retort.
Niyi falters. “No…”
“Then we’re all good. Besides, this has given me time to think about what I want in a partner and why I’m dating.”
“Great!” Niyi perks up. “Ready to share?”
It’s my turn to hesitate. The thoughts are still forming. And there are other things I need to consider that I’d rather do alone.
As if reading my mind, Niyi says, “How about we call it a night? I can give you the questionnaire and you can let Merc know when you want another meeting to discuss.”
“How about I just email you when I’m done?”
“Are you changing our rules?” Niyi teases.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I playfully hit his well-defined bicep. The contact reminds me of my physical attraction to him. A fact I had shockingly forgotten about while we’d been talking.
“It’s more convenient cutting out the middleman,” I clarify, putting on an air of nonchalance.
“If you say so,” Niyi says, and then stretches out a palm. I look at it, confused. “Your phone, so I can put in my email.”
Oh, yeah.
He puts in his email and number, saving it under Niyi-Cupid’s Bow.
“If you wanted to give me your number, you could’ve just said so,” I tease.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he plays along. “But seriously, if you’d rather call to talk about your responses versus setting up a whole meeting, I’m down. I’d love to hear your responses before you have your second date. Wouldn’t want it to be like the first.”
The mention of the second date brings me back to reality. He is helping me with my love life. I can’t get that twisted, even if things feel natural.
“Goodnight, Moyo,” Niyi says, extending his hand for a professional goodbye.
“Night, Niyi,” I mirror his actions. When his hand meets mine, it fits like a glove. Our fingers glide against each other, my subtle callouses pairing well with his smoother skin. When we part, a jolt of electricity hits me. I jerk back, while Niyi stares at his palm.
As I walk to my T-stop, I can’t believe a simple conversation with someone contractually obligated to talk to me is making me feel this way.
Niyi’s only doing his job, and I need to get it together.
To remember the plan: Use Cupid’s Bow, get a perfect match, and fall in love in the most risk-averse manner.
I can’t find true love if I’m crushing on my off-limits coach.