Idem words take a few seconds to settle in and when it does, I offer him an apologetic grin, pay the bills and walk to my car, feeling a little dejected. I should have stuck to Edwin, at least he always comes back.
Still in deep thoughts, I pay no attention to my surrounding while inserting my car key into the keyhole until a deep, seductive voice breaks me from my reverie. "You look worried, ma'am, is everything alright?"
The reflection of the other person on my car window shows Paul with his hands shoved into his front pockets but I refuse to believe he's the one until I turn. Truly, truly, there is Paul, in flesh and blood, standing right behind me with a teasing smirk on his face like he did not break his promise to me.
Without much of a thought, I strike him across the cheek, the same hand I'd used to hit him going to cover my mouth when his head flies to the side. I tense and my teeth sink into my lip, half waiting for him to lash out or even retaliate. He doesn't speak, instead, he acts like he'd been expecting it.
Great job, Pauline. You've successfully found your way to his list of crazy women to avoid.
"I'm so sorry," I murmur now that the crazy button has been switched off and he laughs.
"I deserve it, I guess," he replies and I am glad we both agree on the fact that the shit he pulled back inside was an asshole move.
Still, slapping people I don't know? That's on the same level of asshole as him. Some men would have slapped the consciousness out of me with what I like to call: the hand of Satan. The woman who fainted after a bus conductor slapped her will agree with me on that. I shudder at that distant memory, absentmindedly rubbing my cheek.
"I'm sorry," I apologise again. "I won't be upset if you refuse to have anything to do with me after now," I add with a shy smile.
"You don't have to keep apologizing," he says and the corner of his lips curve into a smile. "I'm also sorry for leaving. I wanted to see your reaction, I guess. I didn't expect the slap though." His palm massages his cheek as if to ease the pain; if there is any.
I have been told my hands are as soft as a baby's butt and my punches are equivalent to a masseuse's touch. I tilt my head to one side when he finishes with his explanation. I find him too cool to be a waiter, the aura of confidence that surrounds him doesn't fit his job title but I don't think too much of it.
Now that we have both apologized, I don't know what to say. "Where are you headed?"
Paul watches me with the same fascination I will have on my face when I am presented with a red velvet cake or new makeup set.
"Home. Banzy Estate," he finally replies.
Going to Banzy Estate will mean taking a longer route to my house. "It's not far from where I live," I say. When he doesn't request for my address, I add, "I'll give you a ride."
We engage in a stare off and he shortens the distance between us. He's standing so close to me and I see that the thin line across his left eyebrow is indeed a scar. The mixture of his fragrance with spices that's probably from his time in the kitchen tickles my nostrils and I have to remind myself he's a stranger to avoid inhaling his musky scent.
His hand goes behind me and my breath hitches in my throat. He retracts his arm, takes a step back and dangles my handbag in front of me. "Your bag, ma'am."
"I didn't forget it," I say more to myself. He chuckles and my fingers itch to wipe that smug look off his face. Maybe I did forget about the leather bag sitting on the hood of my car but he doesn't have to know that.
"And its Pauline, not ma'am," I mutter to save face. We look to be in the same age bracket but I can't say for sure, men tend to look younger than their actual age.
"Yes, ma'am." I huff and he sighs but corrects himself, "Pauline. Can we go now?"
* * *
The major part of the drive to Paul's house is completed in silence. His head is leaning on the headrest, his eyes are closed and his face is relaxed as if he is listening to a song only him can hear. We are almost approaching the gates of his estate where security men are seated on white, plastic chairs and we have not exchanged a word.
I might as well be in the car with a mute.
"Sion sa, Sion ma," greets the men at the gate. They exchange pleasantries for a few seconds before one of the older men gives an order for the barrier to be lifted.
We drive in and Paul resumes his former position. When I request for directions, he gives them to me with his eyes closed.
"Thank you for the ride," Paul says as I park beside the fence of a building with tall shrubs that provides shade for my car. The number, fifty-four is written on the wall.
"After what I did, this is nothing."
Paul says nothing to that and I am not surprised. My head rests on the steering wheel, watching as he steps out of the car.
He stalls by the door for a bit then pokes his head inside. "Do you want to come in?"
A smile tries to make its way to my lips but I put up a neutral front. I pretend to think about his request for a bit before nodding.
We make our way into the compound and the gateman greets him with the same familiarity as the guards at the estate gate. I follow behind him to one of the two grey coloured buildings, unsure whether to comment on his popularity with gatemen.
The door opens to reveal a large space which I assume will be his sitting room by the time the mess has been fixed.
"I just moved in," he explains and I nod.
He goes on to unlock one of three doors I didn't notice earlier and offers me a seat on his bed since there are no chairs. When he asks me to make myself at home, I can't help but laugh. This is no home, not yet.
"Welcome to my humble abode," he starts in a British accent that has me laughing and feeling more relaxed. I'm surprised he has a fun side, I like it. "What may I offer you?"
The tension in the room dissolves and I reply in a fake accent of my own, "Nothing, Milord." If I eat anything more after what I consumed at his workplace, I will explode.
"No way." He sounds like a parent whose child has refused to eat before taking her drug. "You have to take something, however small. This is your first time here, I insist."
"Thank you but I will have to refuse and unlike you, I won't run," I reply. My tongue sticks out of mouth briefly and he smiles.
"Fine. Please yourself."
He goes outside and by the sound of metals clanging, I can tell he is in the kitchen. I take the time to inspect the room that's almost as big as mine, it lacks a personal touch.
The floor is covered in brown carpet with flowery designs, a big Plasma TV is propped on a makeshift stool that's made entirely from the TV's carton with a DSTV decoder and remote by the side. The standing fan is a few feet away from the door that's ajar, everything looks brand new. He didn't lie.
Paul returns with a tray of malt and a plate I can't see its contents. His poker face is gone, same with his work clothes that have been replaced with shorts and a tank top that puts his solid muscles on display. I was right about one thing; he goes to the gym.
The dreamy side of me swoops in and I picture us holding hands while taking a stroll. I am quick to snap out of it, the only reason I am here is to make amends.
"You look nice," I compliment.
When he arches an eyebrow, I grimace. I don't dish the compliments, that has always been Edwin's job. Thinking about him now, I wonder what the next step is for us. I don't see a future with him, not anymore.
"Thanks, I guess."
The tension returns with awkward silence and I scratch the back of my neck for a topic to discuss. If we were back in the university, I would have described Paul as that guy who made you think twice before speaking else he would call you out on your stupidity.
I manage to come up with a question I think sensible enough and ask, "How did you change?" Then point to his closed wardrobe.
He smirks and I groan internally. I know he didn't take out any cloth from the wardrobe so my question is valid. In reply, he positions the tray on the bed and I see that the plate contains chinchin and groundnut.
The chinchin are shaped unevenly like the work of an amateur but the taste says otherwise. "Did you make this?"
Paul nods; join me on the bed and I am back to square one. He turns on the TV, flips through stations while I pick at the snacks, wondering what to do with this mute cook.
"I think I will go," I say and stand up after ten minutes of him watching TV like I came here to eat chinchin and talk to myself.
"Yeah, thanks for coming," he starts and I almost roll my eyes. He picks up the plate and says, "I will wrap this up for you but next time you have to eat real food."
Next time? I scoff. "There will be no next time." He raises his eyebrow in question and I go on to explain, "It's not like we did anything, I just sat here while you gave all your attention to the TV. You are boring."
"Boring?" his eyebrow is still raised, I nod.
Paul is a fine, male specimen with a great body, kissable lips. He makes tasty chinchin too but it's of no use if he can't hold a simple conversation. If he so badly wants to watch TV, he should have let me be on my way.
He never stopped you from leaving. I shut the voice up, no one asked for her opinion.
"I am boring?" He looks surprised to be called that and I wonder exactly what kind of girls he has been with in the past.
"Oh, that's how it is," he nods, "I see. Let me get this straight, when you are out with a guy, he's expected to lead the conversation while the lady just sits and stares at him? Then if he has nothing to say, he's boring?"
Wow! I never saw that coming. This is also the longest I have heard him speak. Wow.
"I didn't mean boring in that sense," I try to explain or even apologise, "I meant ..."
Go on Pauline, tell him what you meant.
"I never realized there were different types of boring. But what do I know?" he shrugs.
The shock of his outburst leaves me staring at him, he's one to talk. "I should go."
"Yeah, you should," he supports.
Coming here was a big mistake on my part, I realise that now. I don't wait for him as I grab my bag and head out. This is insane.
Paul comes out a few seconds after while I am struggling to unlock my car. He grabs my wrist, opens up his palm for me to drop the car key. I scoff but do as he says, the car opens in no time and he steps back for me to get in. When I do, he places the wrapped parcel on my legs and a kiss to my cheeks.
"Only boring people get bored," he mutters with his eyes on me while closing the door.