“Moyo?”
“Oh, Niyi,” she says, shocked. “What are you doing here?”
My tension dissolves. “Getting something to eat. What about you?”I ask, then remember the outcome of her second date. “Also, I’m sorry about the date. I thought that one would work out.”
I won’t deny it. When I got the notification and saw they weren’t a match, I might’ve done a sly fist pump under my work desk. Before the crushing realization that I’d have to find her another date hit me like a freight train.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. He was a great guy, just not for me.”
“We should schedule a meeting to talk about this in detail, but is there anything you want me to reevaluate ahead of your third, and final,Cupid’s Bowdate?” I ask. The earlier I can start prepping myself, the better.
Moyo breaks our eye contact. She tugs on her bottom lip.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah…um…I actually wanted to…uh.”
“Moyo, it’s okay. I can take whatever it is.”
Moyo tilts her head and crosses her arms.
“I don’t bite, unless requested,” I say. Now that makes her relax a little.
Her arms fall by her side. “I’d like to cancel the third date—”
“Oh…okay.”
“And stop working with you, as my dating coach.”
“Oh.” My heart sinks. I always knew the relationship would come to an end, but I was banking on having time to prepare myself, not having it yanked away like a rotting tooth.
“Instead, I’d like to go on a da—practice date. You know, like you initially mentioned way back when?” She chuckles awkwardly. Maybe she’s trying to let me down easy.
Honestly? I’m fine with it. One more time in Moyo’s presence. I’ll take it versus quitting cold turkey.
“Sounds good to me. I’ll set it up and forward you the details,” I say, using an over-exaggerated smile to conceal my disappointment.
“Perfect,” Moyo says.
“Great,” I reply.
“Sweet.”
“Nice.”
“Cool. Gotta get these to a friend.” Moyo holds up the takeaway pack.
I move out of her way. “Yeah, I should get back to my friends.”
She looks back at me on her way out, giving me a final wave and smile.
Calmer, I return to the private dining room, expecting to reach an agreement or get into a proper screaming match with Merc. Instead, Vee sits alone, sipping on the rest of our Chapman.
“Merc left.”
“I can see that,” I say.
“Y’all need to talk it out later,” she says. “I can’t have you fighting.”
