It’s not a date and we haven’t even exchanged names.
We follow the hostess into the heart of the restaurant’s sleek, cavernous dining room. The artwork and furniture are a perfect fusion of the Caribbean, African and Black American cultures that inspired the menu. Sleek, plushly covered chairs in dark blue fabric encircle dark wood tables adorned with gold finishes.
It’s beautiful.
The waiter places menus in front of us but I don’t need to look. I already know what I’m having.
“I’m going to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” I make a quick detour to powder my nose and when I get back he’s reading the menu.
“Okay, are you ready to order?” I ask with relish.
He looks up from his menu with a civil smile. “I ordered a few starters for the table, but he’ll be right back to add to yours. Feel free to add more.” He hands me the menu.
“I was going to order the suya.”
“I ordered it.”
I grin, excited. “Great. I’ll just wait and order my main course whenhe comes back.”
“Your RG&T,” the waiter says.
I look up with a smile but shake my head. “Thank you. I didn’t order this.”
“I did,” says Kwame.
“Oh,” I raise my eyebrows. “Thank you.”
“If you’d rather have something else, he can take your order.” His baritone is smooth as bourbon, his gaze is direct, and his smile is easy. I push my troubles away and focus on the boon the universe saw fit to send me.
“No, this is perfect.” I smile and pick up the glass.
He lifts his beer glass and tilts it across the black marbled table. “You’re welcome. Cheers to…?”
“New beginnings.” I lift my glass.
He nods. “And airport lounges.” He winks at me before taking a sip.
I wrinkle my nose and wish the floor would swallow me whole. “Oh my god. Don’t judge me, please.” I snort a deprecating laugh.
“I wasn’t.”
“I have my reasons,” I plead, trying to assuage my guilt and shame at once.
He holds up a hand and gives his head a slight shake. “You don’t need to explain.”
“I’m not a liar,” I add.
“Then you might want to see a neurologist ASAP because thisisn’tan airport lounge.”
I laugh despite my flaming embarrassment. “I meant in general.”
He chuckles. “I’m giving you a hard time. I did the same thing tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t my date who canceled. It was me.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Damn. Why?”
