Adventures With Theresa 🚦🚘
Episode 19
Written by: Frank The Writer
❌ Do Not Copy or Repost ❌
~Theresa’s POV ~
After lunch the next day, I decided to go to the confectionery shop instead of calling the lady. It looked professional if I go there myself. I didn’t put much thought into my clothes, just jeans and a black T-shirt. I really liked how close it was to my apartment.
I arrived there in a few minutes. When I didn’t see anyone, I just opened the door and stepped inside. There was a bell on the door that sounded kind of annoying, announcing that someone came inside. I looked around and was amazed by the work I saw there.
“Hello,” the young lady appeared from nowhere.
“Hi.” I waved at her.
She looked at me, trying to remember my face.
“You’re the person I saw yesterday, right?”
“Yes, well, I live around, so I thought it was okay to come instead of calling. Hope you don’t mind,” I smiled.
“No, it’s perfect. I love it.” She said, her accent was thick.
“Well, I don’t know how to do an interview, this is my first shop and I just need help to keep the work smoothly and the customers happy, and of course to have everything organized. Anyone can do this job but…”
She began to work around the inside, while she talked, I followed right behind her and stopped when she does, in front of a yellow and blue painting of all cake.
“Do you know anything about art?” she asked, moving her hip to one side.
“Um, a bit, the necessary.”
I moved my eyes away from her and looked at the painting next to us.
“Well, when I stepped inside I noticed all these paintings have something similar. I can say they are from the same artist. This is a collection, right?”
“You’re right, you have a great eye. What else can you say about them?” She looked at me and then at the painting.
“I’m taking a wild guess here but I think he’s trying to tell us something about a relationship.” I looked at the painting next to the other.
“He started with the two main colors separated. Then, here,” I walked towards the gallery. “He started mixing them, creating a green. He hasn’t used green in the others.”
“Continue,” she said, nodding her head. So I continued. I kept walking until I was at the end of the last painting.
“The blue is now mixed with red, creating a dark purple. You can see just one little point of yellow at the very bottom. They broke up…” I said, with a sad sigh. “Or at least, that’s my point of view.”
She stayed with a pensive look on her face, she looked at the painting and finally, she looked at me.
“You’re good. You got it right and I know you haven’t been here before.”
She walked to the end where there was a glass table and a computer. She grabbed a piece of paper and handed it to me.
“You can start tomorrow if that’s okay with you. I really need help like, soon.” She said with her and out to me.
“Really? Okay.” I said with an excited smile on my face. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Welcome to the team, Terry.” She said while I shook her hand, taking the paper with me.
Lagos, I love you.
***
On my first Saturday after working for three days straight, my body became used to everything, the weather, the brightness of the clear night, and the chilled wind in the morning; the streets, the vibes, and Inshallah. My mind, on the other hand, was still processing the fact that I was finally in Lagos.
Day after day, I found myself doing different things. Since I started working in the confectionary shop, I had a lot to learn about the art movement. I have made some small research on other related cake designs.
Also, my boss was planning to deliver a luxurious cake to a customer which has been keeping me busy, so busy that I have been running around from one errand to another.
Later in the evening around 7 pm, work was over for the day, the street was filled with different folks. Some of them looked like they were just starting the night and some others like me, went back home because the night ended for us. I looked at a couple in particular, only because they were walking in front of me in the same direction, also it made me kind of jealous. They looked like they were in love, they stopped every now and then playfully. He would tell her I love you, and she responded too. He wasn’t shy and held her butt in public and she laughed. They were carefree.
Just looking at them made me feel jealous of not having someone to be carefree with. I can’t lie, I thought of Frank and his alluring face and smile. I have been avoiding his call for days, and being in that woozy state doesn’t help, but I didn’t let myself think of him, so I pushed the thought away.
When I arrived home, I headed straight to shower. I was so tired and weak to the bone marrow. I got out of the bathroom after a few minutes, then I heard a knock on my door. It was thirty past seven.
Then I remembered I told Gideon ( my new neighbor) that there was something wrong with the faucet in the bathroom. Maybe he came earlier but I wasn’t home. I was sure he could fix it in no time. It was just something with the water pressure.
I stood up and got to the door, yawning and realizing how tired I was.
“Gideon?” I opened the door, and the smile on my face quickly faded away because it was Gideon.
I had to hold tight on the door to not lose my balance. Just when I promised myself to push the thoughts of him away and right there looking at him right in front of me, it confused me. I was sure my face said it all because it made him speak.
“Surprised to see me? He said half a grin on his face.
I stood on my spot, my mouth wide open. I looked around the apartment, making sure I wasn’t imagining this whole thing in my head. I closed my mouth and then frowned in confusion.
“What… How…” I started saying, trying to speak a coherent sentence but my heart rate didn’t let me.
“What are you doing here?”
Frank smiled, fully this time. And this time, I let myself to really look at him. Could this be real? There he was, in front of me, in front of my apartment, and here, in Lagos. I couldn’t help but stare. His hair was short, shorter than a week and a half ago. He was wearing a hoodie even when the weather wasn’t cold outside. He had a bag hanging from his shoulder and that same look he had when we encountered after those long months.
Images of our last day together, his n***d skin, the wedding, his family, Asaba, the whole road trip and adventures, his lips on me, that tiny movement we had inside his car, it all came back to me. He was there.
And after what felt like a little eternity, he answered my question.
“I didn’t want us to stay unfinished,” he muttered. He then pushed me in calmly through the door. I was just on only wearing a white towel.
How did Frank get to know I stay here?
To be continued…
Frank The Writer
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