Three drinks in and Miriam mentioned her nine am lecture in a voice that was soft but pointed. Ade took note, filing the fact away for future dates, and squeezed in a fourth before he offered to walk her home. Selfish, probably, but this was his moment.

"You don't have to," she said as she shrugged on her leather jacket, chair legs scraping against the floor.

"I want to," he insisted.

She licked her lips, the last of her gloss smudging, and glanced at him for a moment, mouth curling into the slightest of smiles before her shoulder rose and she tilted her head to the right. "Sure," she said, "why not."

They headed out, arms brushing against one another, knuckles bumping, until Ade grabbed hold of her hand, wove his fingers through hers and raised them to his mouth for a kiss, singular and fleeting. She let out a bubble of laughter, so buoyant it ascended to the clouds with ease, jumping and bumping until it settled, full with an iridescent sheen.

"Smooth," she teased, nudging him gently.

"Did you expect any less?"

"From a seasoned fuckboy like yourself? Of course not."

He shook his head which only seemed to make her laugh harder. "Abisola's got to stop filling your head with lies."

"Abi's done nothing of the sort."

"So where have you gotten this twisted version of reality?" he asked.

"Twisted? Weren't you the one who said it's all true."

"Yes," he muttered, retroactively cursing himself, "but I'm more than my—"

"Sexcapades?" she offered with an innocent grin.

"Yeah, that."

Miriam nodded and cast him a glance so sly it sent a shiver down his spine. "I don't know," she said in a sing-song voice, "all anyone ever speaks about are your sexcapades."

Ade had heard it all before, probably worse, but never had it left him feeling quite so hollow. Yes, he had a reputation, yes it was deserved, but for her he'd been different, taken his time, put in the work. For her, he was on the boyfriend track. Something he swore he'd never do, not after Hilary.

"Although," Miriam added quickly, jerking to an abrupt stop, "it's not like we know each other all that well."

Ade inched closer. "There's still time to change that."

Her eyes, big and brown and unblinking, drew him in further until his forehead, slick with sweat, hovered above hers. The beads clustered along his hairline, growing in volume until he had no choice but to brush them away and style out his embarrassment by placing the same damp hand around the nape of her neck. Her skin was soft, smooth, interrupted by wisps of curls coiled tight and the slight tension in her jaw which just begged to be kissed away.

"May I—"

"Twenty questions," Miriam squeaked, side-stepping out of his grasp. "What I mean is." She cleared her throat and ran both hands down the dark material of her dress. "We should play twenty questions."

"Oh."

She began to walk away; Ade followed, half in daze.

"Sure," he said, not bothering to take her hand again.

"Alright. What's your favourite colour?"

"Green. What's your favourite dish?"

She hummed beneath her breath. The sound alone helped lift some of the awkwardness; her eventual smile, slow and serene, chased away the rest. "My granny's curry chicken with roti," she said. "Where's your favourite holiday destination?"

"Zanzibar." Ade paused and considered his next question. He could keep the game light, airy, an idea which flitted around them so quick it almost ceased to exist. Or he could take control, direct them straight to the heart of the issue, or rather her heart, for that was what was up for grabs. But she beat him to it and turned the tables so quickly it felt he'd been knocked on his arse.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked. There was no pretence in her voice, no concern to hide behind, just pure curiosity, honest and true.

"I don't know," Ade said. Maybe he'd loved Hillary once upon a time, but any feelings were overshadowed by the reality of what happened. "Have you ever been in love?" he asked.

"Yes." The ease with which she admitted this was both admirable and disconcerting.

"With who?" Ade asked.

"Doesn't matter."

"Surely it does, I mean you—"

"Oh look." Miriam stopped in front of a building. "Home sweet home."

Ade glanced at the glass door and swallowed a frown, replacing it with a slight smile and some much-needed distance. He, after all, wasn't the type to make the same mistake twice. Except there she was, arms reaching up, head tilting ever so slightly, fingers brushing against his skin. There she was whispering, "I had a great time," and, "we should do this again." There she was existing in her perfect little bubble. So, he licked his lips, bent and brushed his mouth against hers in what was both the most chaste yet electric kiss he'd ever experienced. Not dirty and quick, rushed, rough, but gentle and slow, revered, remembered, accompanied by the startling realisation that if he ever fell in love, there was a good chance it would be with her.

"Goodnight," she whispered as they parted, voice melodious as a lone nightingale.

"Night," Ade called after her. He stood, rooted to his spot, and watched until she was long gone, body whisked away in the lift and returned to Wes. Except now, Ade had a part of her Wes couldn't even begin to imagine. At least he hoped he couldn't. After all, Ade most definitely didn't want to repeat history.

When he returned home, he was on cloud nine. It felt odd to be so happy. Or rather, to attribute such happiness to a woman. That is in the absence of sex. Ade was always happy after sleeping with someone, but this was different. It felt brighter, vibrant, real in a way that a satiated libido never had. Even when he saw Abi strewn across the sofa, he didn't feel the usual pang of annoyance that accompanied her unwelcome presence. And if she wasn't going to knock his buzz then he knew that Miriam was the one.

He shuddered at the thought, at the childishness of it, but didn't fight it. It was as true as it was embarrassing. A fact that would've scared him two weeks ago, but now Miriam was within grasp simply settled into him, becoming as much a part of his psyche as his name or number.

"What are you grinning at?" Abi asked, sitting up to make space for Daniel who returned with a steaming mug of tea.

"Miriam," Daniel said in a sing-song voice.

Ade lobbed a pillow in their general direction. "Fuck off," he hissed.

"I'm serious man." The pillow fell short. "She's all you smile about these days."

"You're making me seem like some lovesick puppy."

"Aren't you?" Abi asked.

If Ade could've thrown another pillow, and ensured it sent Abi's face flying, he would've. Unfortunately, not only was he pillow-less, but he was eighty percent sure Daniel would kill him with his bare hands if he hurt a hair on her irritating head. Okay, ninety.

"I think it's nice," Daniel said, filling the silence. "It's been a while since you liked someone, and I was thinking—"

"I love you bro," Ade interrupted, "but we're not going on a double date."

Daniel snorted. "That didn't even cross my mind," he said. "What I meant, or what I was wondering, was if you wanted to invite Miriam to my parents' house. You know, for the party."

"As in your birthday party?"

"Yeah." Daniel's voice was as light as a cloud, unbothered, untethered. Except, upon closer inspection, Ade saw a glimmer of something else. Expectations, perhaps. Or, better yet, instructions.

"Was this your idea?" Ade asked.

"What do you mean?" Daniel said.

"Exactly that. Was this your idea?" Ade enunciated every syllable, careful to avoid dolling out the incriminating glare he felt Abi deserved. Not that he didn't want Miriam there, of course he did, but he didn't want Abi interfering either. It might set a precedent, and he could do without those.

"Obviously," Daniel said. "Miriam's a good vibe, and you like her. Just invite her and stop stressing about who thought of it."

"So it was your idea." Ade shot Abi a withering stare.

She shrugged. "Just say thank you and move on."

The path to an argument was clear and well defined, populated with ever growing vegetation that shot into the sky, tended to with the purest form of rage. Rage which was tempered by the memory of Miriam. Her legs in that dress, toned and long. Her knees pressed up against his. Her smile. The way her eyes dimpled ever so slightly in the corners. Her lips. Her hands. That kiss.

"Whatever," he muttered, rolling to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Daniel asked.

"To make a call."

Ade stalked towards his bedroom and perched on the edge of his unmade bed. He held his phone, stared at it for a second, before sucking in a massive gulp of air which he held for a beat and released only once he dialled Miriam's number. The phone rang three times, dial tone spinning, and then she answered, voice small and distant.

"Hey." Ade itched the back of his neck while the word, loose and pathetic, stretched into the distance.

"Hey," she said, cutting through his voice. "I had fun tonight."

A deep-set smile found its way onto Ade's face. "I had fun too."

Silence settled over them like a blanket, warm and comforting, melding to the contours of their bodies. It felt right, to sit there, with her, not literally, but with her, just listening, waiting. It felt like a new chapter, unexpected and welcome at the same time. If Ade believed in it, he might've said it felt like fate.

"Anyway." The word was a sigh. "I was talking to Daniel, and he said that you should come through for his birthday."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, he always has this big party out at his parents place."

"Oh, well, I don't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't be," Ade insisted. "I mean the house is crazy big, and Abi will be there." He didn't even shudder at her name. Progress.

"When is it?" Miriam asked.

"We're going next week and will probably come back to Eastford on Monday."

"Four days?"

"Yeah, but it'll be fun. I promise."

"Sounds it," she said.

"But?"

"But we've only known each other a couple of weeks, and it sounds kind of intense." She paused, breath hitching over the line. "And the thing is," she said, "I don't do intense."

Church bells rang. She was a woman after Ade's heart.

"I don't either," he said.

"So, you'll understand that as much as I appreciate the offer, I can't come."

"Or it's why I think you should come." He took a deep breath. The plan to save his perfect weekend was shaky, a risk. She couldn't say no to what he would offer, of that he was sure, but perhaps his hail mary would also turn into his worst nightmare. And yet, he said, "With Wes."

"Wes?"

"Yeah. The two of you, together." His voice weakened. "It'll be fun, and I know how close you are. Think of it as a weekend away with your friends. I'll just happen to be there."

"What a happy coincidence," she giggled.

"Exactly."

"I'll have to ask him," she said.

"I can handle that."

There was a pause, then: "Seriously?"

"Yeah, how scary can he be?"

"Well, you heard him earlier."

Ade let out a surprised huff of air. Wes' outburst seemed like something of a taboo, but there Miriam was, smashing through any awkwardness built in the wake of his earth-shaking eruption. Standing in that corridor, Ade expected her to cancel, leave him high and dry to tend to Wes' hurt ego, but she shrugged it off just as she was now. It was impressive, sexy even. It was all Ade ever wanted.

"What was that about?" Ade asked, his curiosity further tugging the issue into the spotlight.

"Wes is just very—"

"Protective?" The alternative was worse.

"Yeah," Miriam laughed. "Protective."

"All the more reason I should be the one to invite him."

"It's your funeral." There was a moment, a beat, then: "In fact, there's no time like the present."

Before Ade could stop her, Wes' voice barrelled down the line.

"Hey man, it's Ade." He knew better than to falter. Last time he had, Wes swept what was his right out from beneath him.

"Hey," Wes said, "what's up?"

"Daniel's birthday is coming up." Ade cut straight to the chase. "Which is why I was wondering if you wanted to come."

"Does he still do it at his parents'?"

"Yeah."

Ade expected a pause, a breath, but Wes said yes so quickly there was no space to panic. No room for it.

"Great," he said.

"Cool."

Ade opened his mouth, ready to ask for Miriam, but before he could, Wes hung up, leaving him sitting there gawping like an idiot. He forcibly closed his mouth, frown setting in, then remembered the yes. Remembered the weekend. Remembered the kiss.

This was it. His moment. His time. His win.

***

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