Chapter Seven

April was Kayode’s favourite month of the year. It was like December, but saner. While the last month of the year always came with the promise of profit which was fifty percent of his annual income, to be exact, it also brought chaos. There was hardly a day in December that he wasn’t catering an event, including Christmas Day. While people celebrated with family and friends, Kayode was usually in the kitchen, sweating over steaming pots.

But April? April gave him room to breathe. There were events, yes, but not as many. He could celebrate Easter properly, attend church, go for an outing or two, and still have time to rest. This April, however, was different. No events. No church. No Easter celebrations. Just silence. The world had come to a standstill, so had his heart.

He spent the entire month brooding and bored.

For the first two weeks, he ignored everyone, using the government’s self-quarantine directive as the perfect excuse. He slept. Woke up. Read novels. Ate cereal. Watched films. Then slept again. The only calls he answered were those of his high-net-worth clients, and even then, he turned down every order. He just couldn’t step into the kitchen. Not after Funmi.

The last meal he had made was the Amala and Gbegiri meant for her on the day she left. She hadn’t touched it. He had ended up eating the cold food later—not because he had the appetite, but because throwing food away felt like a betrayal. Food was his first love. Too sacred to waste.

That was the last proper meal he had… until Soji showed up.

His brother had given him the space he asked for. But the moment the two-week self-imposed exile ended, Soji and his fiancée paid him a surprise visit and were completely unprepared for what they saw.

They had knocked for almost two hours before Kayode finally opened the door. His usually pristine living room was a mess. Cereal boxes. Empty water bottles. Books scattered across the floor. The duvet half-draped on the couch, half on the floor.

“What is going on here?” Soji asked, nose wrinkling.

Kayode didn’t answer. He looked like someone who hadn’t seen a shower in two weeks. His hair was uncombed, and he was wearing the same clothes Soji had seen him in the previous month.

Soji’s fiancée, Doyin, began re-arranging the space, while Soji simply shook his head in disbelief.

“Please,” he said quietly, “just go and take a shower.”

Kayode didn’t argue. He just turned and walked away.

Twenty minutes later, he returned, looking less like a ghost. The living room smelt like toast and freshly brewed coffee. Soji and Doyin had found their way into the kitchen and were clearly making themselves comfortable.

“I see you have settled in,” Kayode said dryly.

“We figured since our host isn’t feeding us, we might as well sort ourselves,” Soji replied, motioning for him to sit.

“You really shouldn’t have come,” Kayode mumbled, but he sat.

“So what’s going on? What are you brooding over?”

Kayode picked up the remote and turned on the television. “It doesn’t matter.”

Soji narrowed his eyes. “I hope this has nothing to do with Funmi, and how she mysteriously recovered while under your care?”

Kayode arched an eyebrow. “What if it does?”

Soji stared at him like he had lost his mind. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Kayode shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Since when did this madness begin?”

“Why does it have to be madness?” Kayode replied calmly, tired of being spoken to like a child. “You don’t understand what it felt like. I’ve liked Funmi since the first day I saw her. The few days I spent caring for her… it was the most purposeful I’ve felt in years.”

Soji sighed. “Okay. Let’s say I get it. What happened? Did she turn you down?”

Kayode relaxed on the couch. “No. I haven’t asked her anything yet.”

“Then I think you should ask her,” Doyin said, walking in with two plates.

Soji turned to her, stunned. “Ah ah! Doyin, what are you saying?”

She sat beside Kayode, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She looked up at Soji, “Why are you so against this?” 

“She’s my friend!”

“So? Have you ever dated?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s just… awkward. We were in school together. She’s at least one year older than him.”

Doyin rolled her eyes. “Soji, please. It’s the twenty-first century. As long as it’s mutual and God is involved, who cares? Love is all that matters.”

For the first time in a long time, Kayode felt truly seen. He hugged Doyin. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Soji wasn’t convinced. “But the feeling is obviously not mutual. Why am I the only one seeing this? The girl literally ran off as soon as she was confirmed negative.”

“We don’t know that yet,” Doyin replied. “Kayode still has to try.”

That possibility was what fuelled Kayode for the rest of April. He returned to his kitchen. He began taking orders again, and committed to a daily routine of prayer to know God’s heart concerning winning Funmi’s heart, and he felt peace.  Slowly, he rebuilt his rhythm, because if he was going to fight for Funmi, he had to do it from a place of strength.

He just hoped she missed him too.

She did.

The first week after leaving his place was easy. She called to thank him for his care. She took her medication. Ate well. Rested.

But then the silence began to feel too loud.

She found herself wishing he would call. When he didn’t, she began to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing—the kindness, the closeness, the way he had looked at her. Maybe it was all just part of being sick and vulnerable.

Why am I still thinking about this?

Today was her first day back at work since the lockdown, and she had no time for daydreams. Her company had just secured a contract from a foreign NGO to provide daily meals to ten vulnerable communities across Lagos. She was supposed to be preparing for a pitch meeting with three vendors.

But she was sitting at her desk, staring into space.

“I need to stop this nonsense,” she muttered and forced herself to look at the proposal in front of her.

It was May 8th. Exactly three weeks to her thirty-fifth birthday. If ever there was a time to stop chasing shadows, it was now.

She got up and headed for the conference room.

And then she saw him.

Kayode.

How had she not known he was one of the vendors pitching for the job? Because she hadn’t reviewed the names. Because she had spent the last week thinking about him.

The meeting went better than she expected. Kayode’s pitch was strong. His ideas were creative, practical, and filled with heart. So was another vendor, a woman they had worked with for years, but Kayode’s execution plan and delivery confidence were hard to beat. Even though his price was higher, he was worth it.

Funmi made a compromise: split the contract. Kayode would handle the larger share, almost 70%, while the other woman would take care of the rest.

She left the room, heart racing.

Seeing him again had stirred something. His hands, those same hands that changed her drip, cooked her meals, held her close, were now scribbling strategy notes on a whiteboard.

She returned to her office, unsure of what to do with herself. But for the first time in her career, she broke a seventeen-year-old tradition. She lingered.

Then she called her secretary to invite him over.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting across from her. She stared at him, unsure how to begin.

“I’m glad you considered us for the contract,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

“You deserve it,” she replied softly. Then added, “I also wanted to say thank you. Again. For everything you did.”

Kayode chuckled. “You are welcome.”

Funmi smiled faintly. She wanted to ask why he hadn’t called. But she didn’t want to sound like she was fishing for something.

“You didn’t call,” she said anyway. Then instantly regretted it.

He looked at her, his expression gentle. “You left without a word, Funmi. I figured you didn’t want me to.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I did,” she admitted. “I was hoping you would.”

He smiled then, the tension between them dissolving just enough for him to say, “You should have called.”

Funmi shrugged, trying to keep her face neutral.

Then Kayode tilted his head, his eyes drifting briefly to her mouth. “I like your lipstick.”

She blinked. “You shouldn’t be looking at my lips.”

“I’ve tried not to.”

A soft blush crept across her cheeks.

“No one says these things to me,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to respond.”

“You don’t have to respond. I just needed you to know.”

Then, slowly, he reached across the desk and held her hand.

“Am I coming on too strong?” he asked.

She didn’t pull away, but she also didn’t reply. She looked down at their hands.

“I don’t know,” she responded, and Kayode smiled. Then she continued, “You didn’t call me all through April, and suddenly you are holding my hands and commenting about my lipstick. What do you want, Kayode?”

Kayode finally released her hands. There was no turning back after this. He looked straight into her big brown eyes, and professed, “You left me very coldly. You made it clear you didn’t want me to pursue anything with you.”

Funmi stared at him, shocked at the boldness of his response. She rose from her desk and went to stand by the window. Kayode went to her, then held her hand again. Now that he had started telling her his mind, there was no stopping him. He needed to lay all his cards on the table before his newfound confidence flew out the window. He had not planned to do any of this today. In fact, he had not planned on speaking with her privately at all, but fate had thrown him a chance, and he was not going to mess with it.

“We’re not kids, Funmi,” he said quietly. “You must have known when you were at my house. I wanted more.”

Funmi was rattled to hear him say her name; it had always been prefixed with ‘Sis or Madam’, or he just wouldn’t say her name, but for some reason, that seemed to have changed. It was as if Kayode read her thoughts because he responded to it.

“You have never been ‘ma’am’ to me. I didn’t start liking you weeks ago. I have always cherished you in my mind, but you have just been so unattainable.”

“What makes me attainable now?” she asked, turning from the window to look at him.

“I don’t know,” he said, pulling her into a hug. He missed her so much.

A part of her wanted to sink into the hug and live her imagination of the past few weeks, but the other side was struggling to be rational. She pulled away from him.

“How old are you?”

“Excuse me?!” Kayode was thrown off by the question, but Funmi was determined to pursue her line of questioning. She was getting too old for small talk, and she definitely wasn’t interested in having a fling. She’d been hurt too much to play with her heart again.

“I am your brother’s friend! How old are you?”

Kayode scoffed but responded. “Thirty-three. I’ll be thirty-four in a few months.”

“I’ll be thirty-five.”

“So…?”

“Kayode come on! This can’t lead anywhere. You need to start seeing me as a big sister; maybe even a career mentor,” Funmi said.

Kayode laughed, amused. “Because you’re a few months older than me?”

“A year at most!”

He snorted in dismissal and reached for her again, holding her close, “My career is doing fine, and I darn well don’t need a big sister. What I need is my own woman, and you are the only one I want.

She turned to face him.

And he did what he hadn’t planned to do.

He leaned in and kissed her, softly, slowly, then pulled back just as quickly, breathing harder than before.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, rubbing the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have…”

Funmi searched his eyes.

“I want you in my life,” he repeated, his voice low. “But I want to do it right. I want God’s hand in it. I don’t just want romance. I want something real.”

She didn’t speak right away.

Then, finally, she said, “I’m in. All in.”