Page 27 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

Chapter Twelve

Robyn

Robyn drove to Kwesi’s home, in Accra’s Cantonments, where the chicest high-rises could be found, housing many of the diplomats and especially the jetsetters who crisscrossed the globe servicing their successful businesses.

Kwesi was one of the latter, who as a real-estate developer actually had a hand in building his ritzy Diamond In City complex.

He was often in London, but also other parts of the world.

This time, he’d just returned from Madagascar.

Robyn pulled her small and dusty SUV into the valet circle, making her suddenly a bit self-conscious of the differential in his standard of living versus her own.

It wasn’t like she was looking for a repeat of old patterns.

In a tote bag she carried the palm wine broth, velvet tamarind dipping sauce, and cocoa butter risotto, all made by her hands.

She knew the melding of flavors was just right, even better than before.

And with this, she was assuredly carrying her own treasure.

As Robyn entered the spacious lobby, the uniformed attendant at the desk looked up at her right away. “Mr. Emmanuel is expecting you Ms. Stewart. The elevator is straight ahead to your right—penthouse.”

Robyn took in the impressive surroundings as she crossed the veined marble floor.

The entire lobby was sparkling, immaculate, and modern, with the sound of cascading water echoing throughout from a nearby fountain.

And despite all the grandeur, there was still a distinct grounded-ness to the entrance, with its foliage and greenery, moss and a certain aliveness that brought an earthy feel to the place.

Yes…this is very Kwesi, Robyn thought. He was at once elegant and yet understated.

She approached the elevator and pushed the illuminated PH circle as she was instructed.

Robyn left the elevator and Kwesi’s doors opened into a greeting of sound—trumpets and alto saxophones in the melodic combination that she instantly recognized as Hugh Masekela’s classic “Grazing in the Grass.” She walked slowly as the room and its décor revealed itself to her with exposed concrete and dark wooden shelves filled with rows and rows of vinyl album covers.

Hmm… Fela Kuti, Aretha Franklin, Angelique Kidjo, Miriam Makeba, Robyn read, as she walked past the record collection and toward the running faucet sound in the kitchen.

“Kwesi?” Robyn called out ahead of her and heard the running water abruptly stop.

“Hello, Robyn! One second, I’m coming!” And sooner than she expected, Kwesi’s frame entered her view.

He wore a form-fitting dark eggplant button-down shirt, with short sleeves exposing his sinewy arms and well-toned biceps.

At the neck, a triangle of his chest showcased a modest silver necklace lying flat against his oiled mahogany skin.

His matching tailored slacks draped his footballer physique, maintained in part by the pickup games of soccer he still played recreationally.

His broad shoulders moved as if in rhythm to the music as he quickly crossed the distance between them, wiping his hands against his thighs.

A smile illuminated his face and made Robyn’s breath catch in her throat. He was gorgeous, as usual.

Stop looking at his lips, Robyn repeated to herself.

But as he hugged her, and while still holding a tote bag of her carefully curated culinary experience, all she could think of was kissing him, and what she anticipated for the night they would hopefully share.

He seemed preoccupied also…with her. He stepped back to take herin.

“You look incredible,” he marveled. “Are you getting more beautiful?” He spoke straight to her, looked her in the eyes. Robyn could not hold his gaze as she smiled.

“Thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”

“I think Accra agrees with you. Very much.” He quickly maneuvered to relieve her of the tote and take her shoulder bag as well, directing them into the kitchen, while the sounds of Hugh Masekela continued to follow them into the room.

“Did you get the mussels?” Robyn asked.

Kwesi flexed his bicep with the tote in hand. “Yeah, I hit the gym this morning,” he teased. “Can’t you tell?”

Robyn gave a smirk that did little to hide her thoughts. Boy, do not play with me. Dinner might get skipped if you keep that up. “I guess I walked into that one. But I can tell.”

“Yes, they were delivered fresh less than twenty minutes before you walked in the door.” Kwesi laughed and gestured to the mollusks in a colander in the kitchen sink. Robyn began heading toward them.

“That’s a really impressive collection of vinyl you have,” she said. “It’s not common to see…or hear.”

Kwesi smiled even bigger, setting Robyn’s tote on the counter.

“I’m a music head. It’s a collection that needs a lot of care and space, and the sound quality is unmatched.

The tone can really expand to what it was intended to be.

The only way to experience the greats. Is there something you’d like to hear? ”

Robyn shook her head no. The harmonic choruses of highlife rhythms, the horns, the sound of the bass guitar keeping the drive of the music, were enough. She was happy with this groove. “This is perfect, Kwesi. I wouldn’t change anything about it.”

“I’m glad.” Kwesi smiled, slow and sexy. “Shall we unpack this?” He gestured for Robyn to take the lead in arranging her items along the generous counter space. “I’m working on some fresh bread for us. But I have to say I’m a bit intimidated to be sharing a kitchen with you.”

Robyn grabbed an awaiting apron, grazing him with her arm.

“I hope you brought your A game,” she teased. Kwesi was gleefully slack-jawed for a beat before launching a deep, boisterous, full-throated laugh. It made Robyn chuckle as she donned an apron.

Over the next hour the bottle of wine between them dwindled as they worked seamlessly with one another to prepare the meal they’d share.

Robyn was thankful to have the distraction of her own dishes to keep her from sneaking extended glances at Kwesi working that mound of rubbery dough on the flour-dusted counter next to her.

As his hands kneaded the dough, flattened and smoothed the surface, and rolled it into shape, she imagined his hands doing the same to her and her soft parts.

She envisioned her skin between his thumbs, encircled by his strong hands, and lost herself in the thought.

It did not take long to finish his flatbread, or bring her warm dishes to the table.

Robyn’s reward arrived in a glorious moment sitting across from Kwesi, at the table lit by candles, in his loft filled now with the Afrobeats jazz of Fela Kuti.

She watched with rapt attention as he dipped a square of spongy bread into the palm wine broth.

As the food met his mouth, Robyn held her breath.

First his eyes closed as his mouth wrapped around his fingers. Time slowed as she carefully observed his mouth move, chewing in lazy circles, as his head started to move back and forth.

“Mmmm…Robyn. This…is so, so good.” His eyes opened slowly just as Robyn let out an extended breath, only partially of relief.

The truth was she was turned on, right now.

The sounds of his enjoyment stimulated her.

She loved to see someone enjoy her food.

Especially someone she cared for, who happened to be as fine as Kwesi, who seemed to not only care for her but desire her as well.

“Try the mussels,” Robyn encouraged. Kwesi cut his sexy eyes at her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded dreamily before searching his bowl for the perfect morsel.

He easily found it with his spoon and used his fingers to gently pry the mussel open farther.

Then taking the shell to his lips, darted his tongue inside to snatch the succulent meat inside.

Robyn was mesmerized by his technique and couldn’t help imagining herself on the other end of his mouth.

He slurped the inside of the shell and chewed slowly with delight.

“Wow,” he said finally, in between bites.

“Robyn, that is delicious. It’s like, like a sea breeze captured to eat.

And that’s only the tip of the iceberg.”

Robyn smiled tacitly. Just the tip huh?

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t like it. I love it.” Kwesi dipped into his plate for more.

“Thank you.” Robyn took a flirtatious sip of the wine he’d poured her from the bottle of red blend they’d been sharing.

The taste of it was incredible, almost like jam.

The minerally finish made it seem exotic, like it had come from a paradise somewhere with rare soil, unlike anything she’d ever tasted in the States.

“And this wine, it’s delicious.” Kwesi’s smile in response made Robyn curious.

“Where’s it from? The taste is so…unique. ”

“This is a special wine. I brought it back just for tonight from my trip.”

“From Madagascar?”

“Yes, from my vineyard.”

For a moment, Robyn was at a loss. “You mean, you sell this? All around the world?”

Kwesi laughed. “No, not all around the world. The vineyard is very small, very select. It started as one person’s labor of love in their backyard.

Just one varietal, only the most delicious wine.

They did one thing well, and that was enough.

My partners and I, we decided not to change a good thing when we bought it.

We’ve kept it just the way it was at the beginning.

This is the first year that we’ve offered a blend, though. I’m glad you like it.”

Robyn took another sip. “That’s so nice to be able to focus only on one thing. To make it the best—”