Mondays' flight landed, and she took a Uber home. She opened the door to find Luce hanging decorations.

"Tu fais quoi là haut? [What are you doing up there?]."

"Wow, wow, Monday, tiens là vite, [hold it, quick]."

Monday rushed to hold the ladder.

"What are you doing here? You scared the shit out of me," screamed Luce, "I expected you here at ten."

"Don't tell me you were decorating for me?" Monday said as she held the ladder while her cousin stepped down.

"No, I was doing it for Micheal B. Jordan. Who do you think I was risking my life for on that ladder."

"Oh, Luce, ma Cherie, I didn't win anything," Monday said and hugged her cousin.

"Nooo, sorry, babes," Luce hugged Monday back before adding, "I hope you brought back something for me."

Monday let go, backed away, lowered her gaze, and shook her head in disapproval to see how her cousin quickly forgot her misfortune, "huh," she clapped in her hands and handed Luce tax-free items she brought before going through customs.

"Aww, La Prairie, Monday, this costs a fortune even with the tax-free."

Luce was thirty-seven and stressed about aging. Like Monday, she was single and felt she missed the love bus. Thus Luce tried any anti-aging product to level up. The nurse was a true beauty for Monday, and she didn't know the quality could be a curse. 

Unlike her, Luce had the figure and face. Monday called her the Naija Ciara. Luce had thin facial traits, but above all, she possessed that mad hourglass figure. In Mondays' opinion, men were scared to approach her cousin because she was too pretty and looked unattainable.

Desperate, Luce turned to the divine and began to attend Sunday service in the local church. She met the man of her dreams, but unfortunately, he was married to God.

Monday didn't dare tease; her cousin suffered. Pastor Jacob Lennox only lived to help others and had no intention of dedicating himself to one person.

Sounds familiar?

"So tell me about this fair," Luce said as she sat down to do an inventory of the products Monday got her.

"Luce, I messed up."

Her cousin frowned, "what I you talking about?"

"I met someone."

Luces' eyes grew wide, "what, who, where, and how?"

"No, it's not what you think. It's the worst thing ever."

The woman frowned, "what do you mean?"

Monday began to explain, and Luce listened. As soon as Monday stopped talking, the questioning began.

"The first time you met him was at your booth, right?"

"Not, exactly; he didn't speak to me then, and I doubt he even noticed me," Monday replied.

"When did he speak to you then?"

"I told you, at the bar."

Luce frowned, "but you said you're the one who asked about the sandwich."

"Yes, but he's the one who asked me to come to his conference. Kenneth also came to find me at the cocktail. He caught up to me on the street, and it was he who invited me to his suite," Monday said while enumerating on her figures.

The more she spoke, the more she recognized it was not a fateful encounter but the story of a man trying to get his way with her.

"So the guy came to you, ehen?"

"Yes."

"Then he's interested, Dayé. Why see evil?" Luce said.

"No, he just wanted to sleep with me."

Luce shrugged," ma fo, ma fo, [don't be intimidated, no bother] some men don't mind starting there."

Monday rolled her eyes, "Luce, this guy clearly stated he doesn't believe in love. He doesn't want it in his life, and he made no promises. He was upfront honest. I slept with him, and it's the end, but since I can't stop thinking of him. And those women in the toiletsㅡ."

Luce kissed her teeth, "those women are amebo [people who like to gossip]. You should have slapped those mouths shut.

Kolo [mad, angry].

Monday was kolo for sure. She fell in the man's arms like a debutante, got all frustrated with other strangers' opinions, and hated it.

"Anyway, je t'ai fais à manger, ma belle [I made dinner for you, babes].

From the smell, Monday knew it was one of her favorite dishes.

Balangu Jollof.

The rice dish with its fried meat, onions, tomato paste, and spices such as thyme and yaji; always made Mondays' mouth water. At that instant, it became the woman's comfort dish. It felt good to be home.

On the other side of the channel, Kenneth took a late business class flight to New York. Irish by birth, Kenneth resided in the U.S, where he established his consulting company.

"Kenneth, are you alright?"

The man carried a permanent frown since they left the fair. He had that thinking overdrive expression that usually appeared when he thought of a new project, but the additional creases between his eyes indicated he met a dead end.

"I'm fine, Meredith," the man said and turned to look out of the aircraft's window.

Though it was her job, traveling alone with the man was priceless. The woman couldn't refrain from feeling as though she were Kenneths' little wife as she sat beside him or walked alongside him. Meredith watched the man take out his laptop once the plane attained his cruise mode and begin to look over the courses and templates his team developed. They landed eight hours later and parted at the airports' entrance.

Meredith sighed; she now had to wait for Monday to see the man again. Kenneth would soon forget about Dayé if it weren't already done. The author was just one amongst; nothing more could happen, the assistant thought.

Forty minutes later, Kenneth arrived home from JFK.

"Good morning Mr. Mosley," the doorman said as Kenneth entered his central park apartments' building.

"Good morning, Frank."

Kenneth passed and went up to his penthouse.

He took off his shoes, posed his luggage, went to watch his hands, and began his inspection. Maria had cleaned, and the man was sure things weren't at their place. A few inches, no millimeters that none saw but bothered Kenneth. He adjusted paintings, moved furniture before attacking his library. Marias' daughter Prudence loved to play about with the snow globes on the shelves. Kenneth detested seeing books slanting, misplaced book spines that made one read half of the title, or worse, wholly fallen works that played dead on the shelf.

The man took his time when he started one shelf but always ended up redoing all of them.

Happy, Alone.

Not only could Kenneth not invest in a relationship, but he was also incapable of letting anyone in his garden. Kenneth worked on his library despite the fatigue. His 10 PM flight landed a 6 AM, and he fell on his bed at 9 AM.

The three days at the fair were intense in every way. Even slightly smeared and blurred by the kisses, the redness of Mondays' lipstick allured. When Kenneth closed his eyes, all he saw were Mondays' lips parting as she panted.

Women were never natural around him. All looked at Kenneth with eyes of devotion. In bed, they bent to any of his whims to please him. After they expected something, though, he told them he wasn't emotionally available. 

If the orator was first overwhelmed by the attention, he soon profited from his new notoriety. A certain lassitude soon installed itself.

Sex, for the sake of it, wasn't as fun as he imagined in the long run. The man found more plenitude reflecting and working, but another problem arose. Some women obsessed began to stalk him, calls, messages, Kenneth even had to ask for restraining orders. From then, the man distanced himself from women and avoided sending out the wrong signals.

With Monday, there was none of that. The woman's gaze remained neutral. She only knew him by name before BookInc, and even when she met Kenneth, Monday didn't modify her attitude to accommodate him.

"I still don't like you."

For the first time in a while, he met someone who didn't withhold her words, fearing the supposedly intelligent man's reaction. Her unconscious audacity became quality in the mans' eyes.

Monday was far from the women he fancied he liked voluptuous blondes Scarlett Johansson style or brunettes with bright eyes like Meredith. The latter was almost a carbon copy of Ana De Armas. Yet Meredith never captured his attention, perhaps because he knew he could have with one snap of his fingers.

Kenneth was attentive to details; he liked delicate hands, filed long nails, and pretty feet.

Hairs on toes, bunions, chipped nails, even Scarlett Johnasson would be struck out by the man if he saw one of his pet peeves. He didn't get a chance to proceed to his inspection on Monday. Exhausted from the talks and podcasts, the man was surprised he held two rounds in bed after they both fell into a deep sleep.

The usually light sleeper slumbered like a newborn till the morning. That, too, was something he never did, as with the rising sun came the awkward and frequently embarrassing farewells.

Monday left like a thief. The man thought the hopeless romantic would react differently.