And the makeup.
Dark, sharp, heavy enough that I half-expect Mum to kick her off the porch for witchcraft.
But it…works?
It allworks.
I blink, my brain stumbling over itself, trying to reconcile the clingy, annoying kid I remember with this version standing in front of me.
Why the fuck does it work?
Why is she attractive all of a sudden?
“Bari, you remember Frankie, right?” Zaza says from inside the house.
Frankie’s lips curve just slightly.
Does she have dimples?
“Nice to meet you,” she purrs.
I pause.Wait. Meet me?
She used to worship the ground I walk on, and she’s talking about meeting me?
“Meet?” I question.
She nodded lightly. “Yeah, you’re Zaza’s brother, right? She told me so much about you.”
No way in hell she’s forgotten me.
“Yes. I’m Za’s brother, but we know each other, right?”
She tilts her head, pretending to think. “Um. I don’t think so?”
“Frankie,” I say, my voice sharper than I mean for it to be. “We grew up together. I moved to Nigeria when you and Zaza were in secondary.”
Her mouth twitches. “Hm. I don’t recall.”
Bullshit.
She remembers. No way she doesn’t.
“Aren’t you gonna let her in?” Zaza’s voice snaps me out of it.
I blink again, still staring at a confused Frankie.
“Yeah…right,” I step to the side. “Come on in.”
She moves past me, brushing close enough that I catch the faintest whiff of her perfume—spicy, but dark, not what I’d expect.
Cinnamon maybe?
I shut the door, jaw tight. Something is off. And not just off.Different.
Frankie and Zaza shuffle through the living room with normality that gives me pause. The casual ease of Zaza messing with a knocked-out Dad on the couch before heading to the kitchen with Frankie trailing behind her with that too-cool stride lets me know how comfortable they are here.
Does that mean they come here often?
