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‘Aw. Did you search for others in your travels?’

He releases a low chuckle. ‘Nah. I figured that one was more than enough for a lifetime.’

It’s a tilted comment. What he means is that he’s had his fill. I won’t rise to his bait. I glance at the inexplicable glass of whisky he has in his hand.Sopretentious, with his preference for ‘black coffee’ and ‘neat’ drinks. I know people think it’s a sign of dependability and confidence, but have we ever considered that the eschewing of flavour is a sign of very mild sociopathy? Maybe I should actually do a masters in psychology and make that my thesis question.

‘How did you bribe the bartender? We’re only serving wine here. You know, because of what happens when Auntie Wura gets a hold of brown liquor.’

‘Oh, I remember from Aminah’s sister’s wedding. She pinched my ass.’

‘You loved it.’ It slips out without permission, my words falling in step with an ancient rhythm, despite the storm brewing in my thorax.

Malakai nods, face straight. ‘I mean I really came here for her. She’s the one who got away.’

The second that follows is silent except for the screeching Unsaid, starved of attention. Malakai clears his throat, and scratches his nose, his gaze darting behind my head before meeting mine again. ‘I slipped to the bar downstairs. Asked for the second finest scotch in this place.’

A smile licks on the inside of my mouth. I keep it trapped. ‘You proud of that?’

‘Extremely. Brainstormed it on my way here.’

‘I hope you know that you’re a fool.’

‘I mean you haven’t been around to remind me. How was I supposed to remember?’

Malakai’s doing his patented charm evasion. Thankfully, I’ve built immunity. We’re not good. This is a pastiche of good. It’s inevitable that, even in the dark, even in the apocalypse, even with the sun vanished, our rhythm would feel its way back to each other. We are capable of falling into step without our arms brushing, without our hearts touching. It means nothing. This is just the way we’re wired. I pull back, just in case.

‘Why were you late?’

His eyes cloud briefly, but it quickly clears. ‘Flight delayed.’ He raises his glass to his lips, looking at something behind me as he asks, ‘Your man not here? Was looking forward to meeting him.’

Bullshit. He just wanted to state that he knows I have a man and he doesn’t give a fuck. Well, I don’t give a fuck that he doesn’t give a fuck.

‘Delayed.’ The lie slips out easily. The truth of my complicated relationship status is the last thing I want to discuss with my ex in front of whom I am determined to project a post-break-up self that is well adjusted and self-actualised. As far as he needs to know, I’m thriving. Can’t keep a baddie down, etc. Malakai’s eyes flash and run across my form, disorientating my heartbeat. Only a couple of seconds have passed, but it’s enough for heat to surge through me, for every hair on my body to stand to attention and my blood to rise like a high tide to his moon. How long does ovulation last again?

‘The guy who called me “Scotch”,’ I say, changing topic, ‘was actually thinking of the pepper.’

Kai’s eyes glimmer a little, the light restrained, but present. ‘Small but mighty. Adds flavour. Brings a grown man to his knees. Yeah, it makes sense.’ His eyes quickly flick across me like a match, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. ‘But the drink works too. Potent, can make a man feel dizzy, disorientated. Gives him a headache.’ His brow arches and I nod and release a caustic smile. We’re here already. Skipping right past civility. Cool.

I meet his gaze. ‘Can also make a man forget his own name.’

Malakai stills and something shutters over the intensity in his eyes. It occurs to me that Malakai and I haven’t been together, butuntogetherin five years. He left right after we broke up, and I realise that my body is recalibrating to the new energy between us, new tensions that jut against a comfort, fighting to be released. His gaze is a kaleidoscope of emotion, and nothing stays still long enough for me to identify it, but I can feel the heat, the pressure of whatever the feelings are, burning into me.

My lips twist. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘Too long.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ It’s razored, quick, and I pause, as I remember our surroundings, the audience of our friends, adding, ‘It’s good to see you.’

His smile is sharp enough to almost pull me out of myself. ‘Is it?’

‘I’m being polite.’

‘I prefer you rude.’

‘It’sgreatto see you.’

His lips allow for a gentle flick at the right corner, hooking into the left side of my chest. There’s a hole already there, a battle wound. His smile stretches, but it isn’t friendly. None of this is friendly. This is us fighting without fighting. We’re both angry, I know, but we’re letting our latent language do the work. We can do that– we’ve always been good at that. Our sentences will always curl around each other. That was always the easy part.

Nearby, our friends surreptitiously watch this duel, sipping their drinks, rapt by the reunion they thought they’d never see.