Ledi had already groggily pulled on her black trousers and was halfway through rebuttoning her tuxedo shirt when the phone rang. She was annoyed for a moment—people who called instead of texting were a plague on humanity—but then felt a brief flash of fear. Portia had never responded to her text the previous night. Maybe she’d had too much to drink again. Maybe . . .
But when she grabbed her phone, the name YVES lit up the screen.
“Hello?”
Yves’s angry voice hissed through her phone.
“Don’t come in today. We’re closed for a few days at least,” he growled.
“What happened?” Ledi asked.
“Several people got sick after lunch yesterday and they’re saying they can trace it back to this kitchen! MY KITCHEN.”
“Oh no.” Ledi’s hand went to her stomach as she imagined all the possible bacterial agents she might have been exposed to while working. She didn’t have time for food poisoning. But she’d likely already be sick if she’d eaten anything contaminated.
“See, I told them not to order that prepackaged salad shit and to keep buying from the farmer’s market, but they complained about costs. Now we’re paying for it!” Ledi held the phone away from her ear. “You should see the emails flying back and forth on the Institute’s listserv! Diarrhea this, and projectile vomit that. Everyone is acting like I wiped my ass with the Bibb lettuce before serving them. Jävla fan! The only way I could keep this kitchen cleaner is if I took a blowtorch to it!”
That didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility to Ledi. He might take a blowtorch to the Institute itself if they kept allowing people to besmirch his kitchen.
“I’m sorry, Yves. I know cleanliness is a priority for you.” That earned her a hum of approval. “So I shouldn’t come in at all?”
“No, I’m sorry, but your shifts today and tomorrow are canceled. I’ll give you a call when things settle down but I know you’re leaving for your internship soon. We’ll play it by ear, yes?”
She felt a new surge of panic as he said his goodbyes and hung up, this time thinking about her bank account. She reminded herself that she was fine—she scrimped and saved so that she wouldn’t have to freak out in case of emergency. Or at least not freak out A LOT.
As frustrating as it was, not having to work was one of the nicer things to happen to Ledi in a long time.
Besides the hot dude across the hall, that is.
She thought about Jamal, and the meal they’d cooked the night before. She’d been annoyed at having to take over the preparation, but working side by side had actually been kind of cool. She was used to impersonal dates. Movie theaters and coffee shops and possibly a few hours in the guy’s bed—if that long. She never brought men to her place, let alone cooked with them. She’d certainly never shared so much about her past.
She’d told Jamal about her parents. It didn’t seem like much in the current terrain of social media overshare, but it was way more than she’d ever told a stranger who didn’t work at Child Services. And it hadn’t felt like talking to a stranger, which made it all the more uncomfortable for her.
Her phone vibrated in her hand and she fumbled it, watching with horror and then relief as it landed on the less-hard-than-the-floor surface of her bed.
Hey! I’m on my walk of shameless. Your date with guy next door went well?
Ledi smiled.
It was fine. I ended up bringing my dinner back to my place, so not much of a date.
Wait. What? Was he a weirdo?
He was cool.
Cool enough that you left before sitting down to eat with him?
Yeah.
Did you guys talk?
Yes.
. . . and you liked talking to him?
Yup.
You see what? Ledi began unbuttoning her tuxedo shirt, passed her phone from hand to hand as she tugged it off by the sleeves. She wondered what Jamal was doing across the hall, and then reminded herself she didn’t care.
You’ve sucked it up through some of the shittiest, most boring dates known to humankind. But you left before eating with a cool guy last night.
Ledi rolled her eyes and tapped out her response.
I worked at the lab all day and then the Institute. I was tired.
Suuure.
In other news, I have off from work today.
Wait. What? Which work?
Both. Oh my god, I can go back to bed.
She eyed her textbooks and notes.
Yes! Don’t even think about studying. Go get some sleep.
Ledi felt a little giddy at the possibility of a block of time with nothing to do but recharge.
Maybe we can get lunch at that Brazilian restaurant you mentioned when it opened? My treat! And my former coworker at the Museum of New York City posted that they have an exhibition about historical epidemics. Friend date?
Ledi knew this was, in part, Portia’s way of making up for her late-night wake-up call, but also because despite her flaws, Portia was a caring friend and wanted to give her a reprieve from her daily grind. Ledi wanted to see her—to actually have a conversation that was coherent and would be remembered by both of them—but it was always uncomfortable when Portia made offers like this. The Brazilian restaurant was Michelin starred—lunch there would cost way too much. But Ledi thought maybe that was the point. She wasn’t the only one who confused being useful with being indispensable.
How about we get some pizza? That’s more in my budget.
Hey, you can take free food from some weird guy but not your best friend? I got you. I’ll pick you up at your place.
Ledi sighed and brushed away her annoyance. She had a nap calling her name.
LEDI HAD CHANGED into less formal attire by the time Portia arrived: straight-legged jeans, bright pink slip-on sneakers, and a black scoop neck sweatshirt that hung off of her shoulders. She had nice shoulders, and she suddenly had the urge to show them off.
“Look at you!” Portia gave Ledi a pleased once-over paired with an encouraging nod. “You look so pretty! Is that mascara? And lipstick?”
“It’s lip stain,” Ledi said. “I actually found it on Regina’s website. GirlsWithGlasses has a great ‘makeup for all shades and budgets’ section. The site has really blown up. You must be proud.”
“Yeah, Regina always succeeds when she puts her mind to something,” Portia replied, her gaze becoming distant as it always did when Ledi brought up her twin sister. Ledi knew twinhood could be a fraught thing, but when your sister ran one of the most popular geek sites, it was bound to come up from time to time.
“Do you want to do the museum or get drinks instead?” Portia asked suddenly.
“The museum. It’s like noon,” Ledi said. “Your liver sent me a text asking for the day off, too.”
Portia was silent for a long moment, apparently not appreciating the not-quite joke, and the fun day that Ledi had imagined began to slip through her fingers. She didn’t feel like arguing. She wanted to enjoy her brief window of freedom.
Portia seemed to shake off whatever was bugging her and smiled. “You’re right. And I’m kind of excited about this exhibit. I can introduce you to the curator afterward if you want, and you can talk about science shit. Oh! Maybe they’d want to have you come in and do a talk!”
Ledi’s tension disappeared as Portia launched into some grand plan for Ledi’s future as a world renowned public scientist. She was always trying to push Ledi toward better things, even when she seemed to have no idea what she wanted from her own life.
Ledi grabbed her favorite purse, which was shaped like an amoeba, and declined to tell Portia which website she’d spotted it on as they headed out into the hall and she locked up behind them.
Ledi had always been extra perceptive of her surroundings, or for as long as she could remember at least. It was a necessary skill when you moved from one stranger’s house to another and had to adjust to new guardians and siblings on a somewhat-regular basis, no matter how caring they were. Maybe that was why she was already staring toward 7 N when the door swung open.
Jamal stood still for a moment, looking as good as ever in a V-neck tee patterned with swirls of black and gold, a dashiki of sorts, and those perfectly fitted jeans of his, in dark blue this time.
“Howdy, neighbor,” he said with a grin, as if that was a completely normal thing people said to one another.
“Well, hello,” Portia replied, her amusement clear. “Did you just move here from Mayberry?”
“They play reruns of that show where I’m from, too.” he said, flashing his smile. “We’re no New York City, but not quite as provincial as that.”
“And where are you from, exactly?” Portia asked, but Jamal had already transferred his gaze to Ledi. She remembered how he’d looked at her the night before, but could find little trace of it now. Only a reserved friendliness. He bent forward at the waist a little.
Is he . . . bowing?
“How was your dinner?” he asked. “Mine was delicious. There was only one thing that could have made it better.”
Ah. There was the look. Heat rose to the surface of Ledi’s cheeks and neck.
“Paprika?” Ledi guessed. “I thought it could have used some paprika.”
He shook his head and his gaze quickly traced the curve of her shoulder before returning to her face.
“Not paprika.”
Two simple words that sent up blooms of sensation in her breasts and belly.
“My dinner was good,” Ledi said, suddenly regretting not staying the previous night, which was a sign she’d made the right decision. “Probably not as good as the packet of ramen I would have eaten if you hadn’t been here.”
He laughed. His eyes squeezed shut as he did, and it was a relief. She had boundaries—everyone needed those—but when Jamal looked at her, she could feel just how tightly closed in on herself she was, and how tiring it was to always be that way. His gaze made her feel like opening.
She took a deep breath to center herself and something floral sweet and grassy green hit her scent receptors and kept going. It made a beeline for her brain and rustled around in her memory, nudging at shadowy outlines that she couldn’t quite make out. There was a flash of yellow against brown skin—and was that a smile?—but more than that there were feelings.
Again with the feelings?
Happiness. Belonging. The knowledge that she was loved.
Jamal closed his door and stepped fully into the hallway and she realized the scent was coming from him.
What the hell?
Ledi backed away from him a bit, not because the scent was cloying, but because she had no idea why it evoked the burning at her eyes or made her want to be held.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh. You’re the one who made Ledi dinner? The possible serial killer?” Portia’s gaze flicked speculatively between the two of them, the glance pulling Ledi from the memories and emotions that hovered just on the periphery of her perception. Portia was zeroing in on Jamal, and that was a problem.
Oh god. No.
Portia had offered to help kill her ex the other night, and although it had been hyperbolic, her friend could be a bit overprotective when it came to men. Men and Ledi, that was. She showed no such discernment for herself.
Ledi began to drag Portia away. “The Institute is closed because of an emergency, so I’m going to actually do something fun before studying this evening.”
“Closed? Is it . . . Was it because of the fire?” he asked, walking alongside them as they headed for the stairwell. His expression was so contrite that Ledi couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. A little.
“No. The restaurant survived your arson attempt, only to be felled by nature’s greatest asshole—the bacterium.”
He looked confused.
“Food poisoning.”
His confusion changed to worry and she remembered that he’d recently eaten there, too. She’d let him figure out that he was fine on his own as a final repayment for his behavior that night.
“Wait, what fire? What are you talking about?” Portia asked, turning back to look up at Ledi. That was when Ledi realized that she was walking next to Jamal instead of her friend. She hopped down a step so that she was next to Portia.
“Nothing,” Ledi said. At the same time, Jamal announced, “I set fire to the fondue station.”
Now it was Ledi’s turn to look up and back.
“I’ll never forget the sight of you racing to save the day,” he continued. The white of his teeth broke up the uniform blackness of his beard as he smiled. “You were like—”
He began to move in an exaggerated slow motion, mimicking the pivotal scene in just about every summer blockbuster. He pointed an imaginary fire extinguisher in Ledi’s direction. “The foooooonnndduuuuuuueeeeee!” he yelled in a voice that he also slowed and deepened as he pretended to spray an imaginary extinguisher that threatened to slip from his control. “Not on my watch!”
When he finally stopped and met her gaze, his arms still raised as if they held the extinguisher, they both burst into laughter. Ledi didn’t know what was happening, but her stomach hurt from the heaving and she had to stop and hold on to the banister with one hand and her chest with the other.
“That’s not what happened!” she managed to gasp.
“I’m the one who nearly set himself on fire, Naledi. It is quite literally burned into my memory, and also my left forearm,” he said. “Trust me on this.”
And then they were laughing again, and Ledi realized she felt the same way she had outside her door when she’d caught a whiff of his cologne. Happy. Like she belonged.
“I don’t get it,” Portia said. Her thin brows furrowed and Ledi saw the slight hunch of her shoulders. Unlike Ledi, who was perfectly happy on the sidelines, being out of the loop was something that made Portia uneasy.
“Eh, you had to be there,” she said as they touched down on the landing. She slipped her arm through her friend’s and headed for the exit.
Standing in the vestibule was someone dressed in a suit that made Jamal look like a beggar. Tan slacks with a crease so sharp Ledi would find her jeans fashionably slit if she walked too close. A dark brown suit jacket that tapered at the waist—oh.
The besuited woman was texting with a dreamy little smile on her face.
“Who is that?” Portia whispered. “That outfit is everything!”
“I don’t think she lives here,” Ledi whispered back. “But let’s jump her for those spats. I think I can fit into them if I cut off a few toes.”
When they pushed through the door the woman glanced up from her phone, taking hold of the door as they passed through, like their very own dapper doorwoman. Her gaze locked on Ledi, and for a moment Ledi was sure that she knew her from somewhere; the woman looked at her as if they were old acquaintances. She said nothing, but gave a nod of acknowledgment that made Ledi feel almost regal.
I really should wear this lipstick more often.
Then she was looking past Ledi and Portia, and her expression grew more reserved. “High—Hi . . . man,” she said to Jamal. She had an accent similar to his, but with the “something else” more pronounced. It was closer to the lyrical English of the women who braided Ledi’s hair every now and then. “I regret that I have distressing news about, uh, stuff. Things. You know.”
The smile she had sported while engrossed in her phone screen was gone.
“Stuff and things. Quite.” Jamal turned to Ledi and Portia and gave another of his little bows. “Well, ladies. I hope you enjoy the museum,” he said, then turned to talk to the fabulously dressed woman. His demeanor was suddenly serious. He seemed taller, more rigid, more in control.
Ledi liked this side of him, too.
“Bye!” Portia was a bit too enthusiastic with her farewell.
Ledi glanced back as she walked out of the building. She wasn’t jealous—she didn’t know him well enough for that. But still, curiosity bloomed. This woman was well acquainted with him, whereas Ledi knew nothing about him at all beyond the fact that he smelled good and didn’t want to disappoint his family. There seemed to be something more going on beyond the story Jamal was feeding her, though. It wasn’t that she wanted an excuse to see him again, or anything, but she had to make sure he wasn’t doing anything that Mrs. Garcia wouldn’t approve of in her apartment.
If she had to meet up with him again, she was just being a good neighbor. That was it.