On that day, I took a taxi to my shop. Raymond said I was too clumsy to drive myself — his words, not mine. And he claimed I always delayed him, so I stopped arguing. I paid the driver and stepped out, distracted, lost in thought.
I almost walked straight into the busy road without checking the traffic light. A firm hand gripped my shoulder, stopping me mid-step. Irritated, I turned — and froze.
The man towering over me carried himself like power was stitched into his very skin. Dark-skinned, broad, taller than any man I had ever seen. His eyes — deep brown, almost black — locked with mine. They held the warmth and vibrancy of mother earth. His jaw was strong, cut sharp, and his lashes were so thick I almost felt jealous. Everything about him radiated stubborn strength, an aura that pressed against me.
He cleared his throat, snapping me out of my staring. Heat rushed across my cheeks. My complexion betrayed me easily — fair, almost too fair. Sometimes I wondered if my absent father had been white.
"Are you alright, madam?" His voice rumbled with a husky rasp that sent a shiver of sensation down my spine.
"I'm fine," I muttered, though my body disagreed.
"I can help you cross, if you don't mind," he said, gesturing at the light now turned red. "It's safe."
The suggestion was innocent. My thoughts weren't. For a moment, I wanted to slip my hand into his.
"No, thank you," I replied quickly, stepping forward with the crowd.
He followed, leaning closer as we reached the pavement. "Be careful next time, madam. Don't forget the traffic light." His breath brushed my ear, his tone so low it almost sounded like a secret.
I nodded wordlessly. He walked away briskly, towards an office block five streets from my shop. I caught myself watching him go
"Timi, are you going in?" Bose's voice broke my daze.
"Ah—yes." I forced myself inside.
After greeting my workers and apprentices, I slipped into my cubicle of an office. But concentration deserted me. My body betrayed me with every memory of his face, his voice. Chills prickled down my spine. My nipples ached, sensitive to every thought. A hunger built in me — a hunger Raymond had starved for months.
"Are you with me, Timi?" Bose's voice intruded, sharp with suspicion.
"Sorry, what?"
"I said some new customers are asking for you, but you don't look well. I'll just attend to them." She moved to exit the office.
"No! I'll see them." I stood too quickly.
Bose narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure? You look red."
I laughed nervously. "Turn on the AC. Must be the heat."
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, oga." And she left.
And then — guess who walked in, Officer.
Until you say, ma'am.
He stepped into my office. The stranger from the road. Only this time, he wasn't alone. A strikingly elegant woman walked ahead of him, her every movement polished. She sat without waiting for my offer, her perfume filling the small space.
I pulled myself together and forced a professional smile. "Welcome to Beauty Covers. Please, have a seat." I gestured to him to get a seat.
He murmured a thank you as he sat beside her.
"I'm Timi. How can I help you, ma'am?"
"We need curtains for the doors and windows. And several bedsheets," she replied without a smile, her tone brisk.
"Do you have colours or designs in mind?"
"No. Show us what you have."
There it was again: the "we" word. My chest tightened. Was this his wife? Was I fantasizing about another woman's husband?
"Perhaps your husband has preferences?" I asked, watching her closely. Testing the depth of the boiling water in front of me.
She smiled faintly — not warmly. "He has nothing in mind, Miss Timi."
You're done for, Timi. Sniffing around another woman's man.
I forced myself back to business. "Very well. Please, look through our design albums."
As she flipped through, his gaze pinned me. I didn't dare look up, yet I felt it — heavy, unblinking. My body betrayed me again: my nipples hardened under his stare. Shame and desire tangled inside me until I could hardly breathe.
Finally, he spoke. "The walls are all painted white."
The sound of his voice snapped my eyes to him, breath catching in my throat.
I clenched my thighs together under the desk, fighting the ache rising there. "Then… any of these designs will work," I managed, my voice tight.
She chose four photographs, oblivious to the charged air in the room.
"I like these," she said.
"I love it," he murmured, eyes glinting as he caught me tugging my blouse higher to cover exposed skin.
I quickly moved to fabrics. "This is damask — elegant, patterned, durable. Velvet — expensive, keeps warmth, very soft. Egyptian cotton — light, airy. And silk, smooth, shiny, luxurious…" My words tumbled, too fast, as if talking could save me from the electricity threading my body.
They both touched fabrics. She smiled politely. He said nothing — only watched me.
She settled on damask and silk for the curtains, cotton and bamboo for the sheets.
"Please fill in this form — address, bed sizes, window measurements and how many sets—"
"I don't know the sizes, but I…" Her phone rang, interrupting what she wanted saying. "Excuse me." She said before she stepped out.
He leaned closer. "So, you're a tailor?"
"Yes. We do curtains, duvets, bedsheets, table mats…"
"Natasha will like your work. I'm Gregory — her best friend." He smiled.
I didn't know I held my breath until I exhaled slowly. Best friend. Not— husband. Relief and danger tangled inside me.
"Thank you for earlier," I whispered. "I wasn't watching the road."
"I'd cross you every morning if I had the chance." His voice lowered, almost playful.
My heart pounded. Was he flirting? Or was it just me?
When Natasha returned, she hurriedly asked him to help handle the rest. Which was how I ended up walking out of my shop.
Just like that, Officer, I found myself stepping into Gregory's car. And nothing was ever the same again.