Resurgence

12. Flood-Gates

“Sometimes, two people have to fall apart to realize how much they need, to fall back together.” – Colleen Hoover.

•••

The cold, chilly air dispersed by the air conditioner―which produced a shrill sound as a result―enveloped her as she stepped through the duo doors. Her eyes surveyed the interior of the restaurant—that she had previously visited with Tari last year—in search of a clock, although she was quite sure she was several minutes early for her meeting with the head painter and wallpaper crafter for the house.

It had been a busy year already, despite the fact that it had been only a couple of days since the crossover. As predicted, protocol had demanded that work commenced in full swing on the second day of the year. Ever since then, Lani and the team had dispensed criminal hours into creating the simulation design of the house back at the corporate HQ at Yaba. It had taken them two weeks, but they had concluded work on it already and were about to move into the next phase of their job: Implementing the design into the house―or rather, monitoring and supervising the implementation of the design since it was manual labor that would be carried out by sturdy, able laborers who were employed for such exclusive undertakings. After that was completed, then her work was indeed finished and what was left was to collect her paycheck, pray zealously that her work was met with great acclaim and praise, accompanied with Laurels and honor that would enable her to clinch the position of executive.

It sounded easier than done.

As she approached an idle, unoccupied table by the red paneled huge window frame―a figure, five tables away on the south started to wave her over. Initially, she disregarded the attention seeking gesture as misguided and perhaps meant for someone else, but the person didn’t hesitate to point both index fingers at her in a gravely informal way that could be termed rude, factoring proper social etiquette.

She had no intention to move an inch from her seat, and she guessed her linesman realized this also and rose to his feet to head over. He hadn’t taken more than five steps, before she was able to deduce his identity. Tall, slim and dark, with a confident gait and an apathetic, formulaic outfit. It was none other than Tari Ibiyemi.

He was wearing a cypress olive green, button down long-sleeve shirt on a pair of skinny, indigo trousers and burgundy moccasin leather brogues. His style was classic and even mouthwatering―but still formulaic. He never tried to be innovative or try something different in another format.

Then it hit her that he had no business being present.

“What are you doing here?” She queried him in a slightly irked voice, as he settled into the chair opposite hers with a satisfied expression on his face as though his presence welcomed.

“And happy New year to you, Lani. I trust you’ve had a splendid year so far.” He replied with an enthusiastic smile, his arms folded as he reclined into the chair. She’d be lying to herself if she denied the fact that her insides weren’t celebrating in a manic jubilee fashion at the sight of him after an entire month of silence, but she wasn’t going to let him in on that detail, nor succumb to the overshadowing want to reach out to caress his face and slide her fingers down to the fresh stubbles of hair under his chin.

“Good morning, Tari and how can I help you?” She went for a less hostile approach and knew she made a big mistake when he smiled triumphantly as he had of course located a loophole to capitalize on.

“Stop querying me on why I’m here and just accept the fact that I’m here. That’s how you can help me.” He shrugged. “You know―let it be my late Christmas gift, if you will. Or you could go on and chase me out of here and get me a proper gift later on. Your choice, you pick. I’m comfortable with both instances.”