Page 31

D espite their rapidly growing closeness, Alex had always maintained some deference to Timi's charge.

But the Alex standing before Timi now, spoke to him with the indisputable finality and steely authority of a superior to a heady subordinate.

Or more humiliating still, a fed-up mother to her recalcitrant child.

All because he'd instructed Sulieman to drive him to Lee-Gratias.

They were in an unfamiliar parking space.

The LM faced a sloping roof that had a lush garden beside it containing plastic chairs and rainbow parasols.

Suleiman and Dagger were long gone. Dagger had dropped off while he slept, and he'd nearly swallowed his tongue when Alex pointed Suleiman to the nearest bus stand and the middle-aged man guiltily bowed and scurried off, despite Timi's warnings to not move an inch.

“Come down,” Alex said again from where he stood by Timi' s door.

Timi folded his arms across his chest. “Since you've sent my staff home. Go take Sulei's place and drive me to Lee-Gratias.”

Alex stared at him for a moment, then reached for his waist.

Timi beat at the hands fumbling for his seatbelt. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“What does it look like?” Alex said, wriggling his hands from Timi's grip and searching for the belt hook.

“I'm not going to whatever this place is!” Jeez. He sounded like a three-year-old.

Alex straightened; seat belt unlocked. “You'll get down from this vehicle, Timi. Or I'll carry you off. Your choice.” Then, to buttress his point, he slipped his hands behind Timi's waist and underneath his thighs.

Timi pushed him off, alarmed. Alex didn't look like he jested.

What had happened to him on their journey here?

He couldn't even pull the employer-employee card.

They'd gone past that. He knew. Alex knew.

Everyone who had witnessed their interactions knew.

Little wonder his staff had obeyed him without questions.

He stared into the eyes blazing down at him and his tongue went dry. Alex would carry him irrespective of who witnessed it.

“Get out of my way, then,” he snapped.

Alex complied, and he jumped down. He meekly strutted in front until he got to the other side of the vehicle. Then, in a flash, darted for the driver's door. He only got to the handle, before the central lock system clicked. He slumped against the door; completely drained.

“I can't,” he whispered. “I can't look at anyone. I need to…forget.”

Alex exhaled. “You'll still meet what you're running from where you're going to. At least here, the few faces you see would be friendly.”

Timi kept his head low, shame crawling through him. Alex had heard, fought for him and dragged him out of that living room. “I can't look at…you.”

A heavy silence stretched, before Alex said softly. “You don't have to. I'll be too busy anyway.”

Timi raised his head. “Busy?”

Alex remained quiet .

“Don’t need anything from you. Especially not your pity.”

“You think that's what this is?” Alex burst out harshly. “You think I pity you?”

Alarmed, Timi met Alex's eyes. They blazed with anger and something deeper, unrestrained, pulling him in. The wildness in them taunting him. Alex wasn't hiding any longer. His eyes burned with a fire Timi had become too helpless to stop from consuming him.

“Alex…” His name fell as a warning.

Alex, who had taken a step forward, blinked and sighed. “You're safe here. Come.”

Here was Fash's café. A cute little building of bricks and wood and wallpapers perfectly complementing cream and brown tiled floors.

A visually detailed adventure with acrylic and metal chairs combined with tufted upholstered benches, decorative-dished lights and recessed lights within shelves setting them afire.

Few people occupied it, enjoying a variety of pastries, fresh coffee and the rich buttery voice of Lucky Dube alternating between octaves.

Timi stood at an enclave beside the backdoor they'd come in from, wrapped up in warm elegance, coffee and yeast, believing this was the heaven many dreamed of.

“Sit,” Alex pointed at some benches surrounding a table. “You'll be taken care of shortly.”

And before Timi could say anything, he was gone.

His care came in the form of an elderly woman with full grey hair, a black scarf wrapped around the base, wearing a red-coded dashiki, and a neck heaped with beads of varying sizes and colours.

On her ear and wrist though, were simple red glass beads.

She wasn't conventionally beautiful, but with her strong features and sharp intelligent eyes, men must have found her alluringly intimidating in her youth.

She dropped a tray in front of him, shaking her head and tutting. “Why are you deliberately blocking your energy pathway?”

He blinked at her. “Huh? ”

She began opening the food items. “Your energy pathway. You're taking on so many things you have no business taking. A foolish attempt, I tell you.”

Timi stared at the opened meal before him, lost for words. The bowl contained a yellow granular liquid, while the plate beside it had what looked like flat cheese bread.

The woman straightened, folding her arms across her bosoms. “This should clear the pathways. Oya start eating.”

He made no move to pick up the metal spoon. No visible onions, but he would rather eat what he knew. “This is…”

The woman tutted again. “You're truly so picky. Well, the soup, I learnt on one of my travels to India. Sweet corn, chicken strips, some veggies and exotic spices. There's pepper too. Plenty of it.”

He raised his gaze from the bowl. “How did you—”

She rolled her eyes. “Since a certain someone started working for almighty Richard Young Money, we haven't slept with two eyes closed. He called me on your way here with specific instructions. Eat, eat. I left my customers to prepare this.”

Richard Young Money. The name every African grandma knew him as, thanks to Africa Magic showing The American Prince again and again.

He obediently picked up the spoon, trying so hard not to dwell on her words. Oh, Alex. What would he do with him?

His eyes widened when the hot blend of sweet, chewy and spicy hit his tongue.

The lady cackled from where she sat opposite him. “I don't think I'll ever get used to the look on people's faces when they try my chakra soup for the first time. You feel better, ehn? Oya scoop more, scoop more. Eat it with the cheese bread. It will fill you very well. You're too thin.”

It was clearly untrue, as he’d built more muscle mass from the intense training just concluded, but he would be the last person to tell a Nigerian mother that.

The whole situation should be bizarre. He, gulping down an unfamiliar soup, a stranger sitting opposite him staring at him with blatant interest, and Alex's strange disappearance.

But he was the calmest since they'd stepped foot into that godawful bungalow .

At his last scoop, she beamed. “T'was good, ehn?”

He wiped his lips with a napkin on the tray, almost himself once again. “The little guys in here would stage a protest if I use any word besides perfect,” he said, rubbing his stomach.

The woman's eyes twinkled. “Oh, okay now I see it. You charmer.”

Timi smiled, liking her already. “Can my housekeeper have your recipe, Mrs…?”

“Fash. But my Fash, not my husband's.” At his confused blink, she laughed. “I think I only married my husband because we shared surnames. Saved me the stress of ignoring people who would have thought maintaining my surname after marriage was witchcraft.”

“Imagine the trauma,” he commiserated.

“Oh, yoooou! Why should your cook have my recipe though, when your Alex already does?”

Timi couldn't come up with a reply.

She leaned forward. “No fear, I taught your Alex well. Now, to you, Richard Young—”

“You know the name's Timi, right?”

She eyed him. “As I was saying, Richard, tell me how you did it.”

His brow furrowed. “Did what?”

She relaxed into her seat, fingers tapping the table separating them. “So, ehn, every morning, for the past nine years, I've woken up wondering.”

“About?”

“Let me land, boy. Wondering about some certain condiments. If ever I would get to know them before I die. Then, I get a phone call. Mrs. Fash, could you freeze some unsalted butter, sun-dry some salt, get some star anise and organic flour if you don’t have?

I couldn’t move. Is this it? Is this the day I stop wondering?

” She hit the table, causing Timi to jump.

“Of course, it had to be. He's been throwing signs all over the place.”

Timi tried to follow the story, never more confused in his life as he was right now.

“This Friday is truly good. I mean, who just wakes up and starts doing things they couldn’t do for— ”

“I knew I'll find you here,” a voice boomed from the arch leading into their enclave. Timi snapped his head up, to find an elderly man frowning at Mrs. Fash in disapproval. “The boy asked you to serve our guest, not scare him away with your dramatics.”

Mrs. Fash eyed him. “I can't even tell if you're being dense on purpose. Why do you think he brought him here?”

“To eat, woman. Isn't that the purpose of this place?”

Mrs. Fash shooed him off. “Go, go away.”

The man stepped further into the room and held out a wrinkled hand to Timi. “Mr. Fashola, and please disregard whatever my wife has been telling you.”

Timi stood, gripping the hand in a firm handshake. “Timi Lawson. Nice to meet you, sir. Mrs. Fash has been a great company.”

Mr. Fash scoffed as he dragged a chair close. He settled into it, and Timi sat back down. “Three makes greater company,” he grunted.

“Three's a crowd,” Mrs. Fash countered.

“Go help the boy out then. While we discuss things, man to man.”

Timi's eyes darted between the two. “Help out with what? Where's Alex?”

Mrs. Fash's eyes flashed with barely concealed excitement. “Probably doing what we thought he would never do.”

Timi's intrigue reached near desperation. “What's he doing?”