Read Also: Finding Love In Accra Episode 4: Let me hear your voice
By Saturday evening, I had shaved things that had no appointment.
Let me confess early so we can all be disappointed in me together.
I went to dinner without panties.
The dress was fitted. Underwear would show. That was the explanation I gave myself while standing in front of the mirror.
There were seamless options in the drawer.
I closed it.
All week, Kojo and I had been talking. Small messages in the morning. Calls that lasted longer than either of us intended. Once, he said my name so quietly that I asked him to repeat himself even though I had heard him perfectly.
Now he was coming to my apartment for dinner.
My suggestion.
“Restaurants are noisy,” I had told him.
Apparently, I required absolute silence to ask a man about his week.
At seven fifteen, my doorbell rang.
Kojo stood outside holding a bottle of wine, wearing a dark shirt that fitted him with unnecessary precision.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped aside.
His hand touched my waist as he passed.
A brief, ordinary touch.
My body received it as correspondence.
Dinner was lovely, which made everything worse.
He liked the food. Asked for more. Helped carry the plates into the kitchen despite my protests.
Then he stood beside me at the sink, drying a glass while I washed.
Domestic behaviour.
Very dangerous when you have already imagined where somebody might keep his shoes.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
“Just tired.”
I had enough energy to power Tema.
He took the glass from my hand.
“Leave these. You cooked.”
We settled on the sofa, closer than necessary because I had placed the wine at one end and the cushions at the other.
I had organised the seating like an event planner with a personal agenda.
For a while, we talked easily.
Then his phone lit up on the coffee table.
Nana 
I looked away so quickly I nearly injured my neck.
He silenced it.
“Sorry.”
“Won’t you answer?”
“I’ll call her back.”
Her.
I lifted my glass.
“The lady from the restaurant?”
“Yes.”
Something in his voice made me put the glass down carefully.
“Who is she?”
“My girlfriend.”
I nodded.
Once.
Then again, as if he had explained a parking arrangement.
“Oh.”
The room became painfully detailed. The hum of my fridge. A drop of water on his sleeve. My own bare legs crossed beneath a dress that suddenly felt much too short.
“You have a girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that?”
He turned towards me.
“I thought you knew.”
“How would I know, Kojo?”
“You saw us together. And you introduced me as—”
“Please don’t say, brother.”
He stopped.
I pulled a cushion onto my lap.
For warmth. For dignity. For the entire situation.
“Lovia,” he said slowly, “what did you think tonight was?”
There are questions a person should answer while fully dressed underneath.
I looked at the bottle on the table.
“You asked me to dinner.”
“And you invited me here.”
“Yes. Because I thought…”
I couldn’t finish.
His expression changed.
“Oh.”
“Yes,” I said. “Oh.”
He leaned back and rubbed his jaw.
“I should have answered you when you asked about her.”
“You laughed.”
“I know.”
“You knew I was asking for a reason.”
He looked at me.
“Yes,” he admitted.
That hurt more than I expected.
“So why let me keep guessing?”
For once, he had no quick reply.
“I liked hearing from you again,” he said eventually. “I didn’t want to make it awkward.”
“Well. Excellent work.”
He looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
I believed him.
It did not make me feel less foolish.
He left a few minutes later, taking his warmth, his lovely shoulders and the possibility I had built around both.
I locked the door and stood with my forehead against it.
Then I called Emefa.
“How was dinner?” she asked.
“He has a girlfriend.”
Silence.
“Lovia.”
“I know.”
“Did you ask before tonight?”
“I tried.”
“What do you mean, you tried?”
I walked into my bedroom.
Opened the drawer.
Put on panties.
“Emefa, please. I cannot explain all my decisions at once.”
To be continued.