The courtyard of Madam Comfort, the best tailor in the neighborhood, buzzed with activity. Women streamed in and out with colorful fabrics draped over their shoulders, voices rising in debate over measurements, colors, and who would sit closest to the bride on the big day.
Glory and Chiburuoma sat side by side, wrappers spread across their laps. Madam Comfort's tape measure dangled from her neck as she barked orders at her apprentices.
"Hold the fabric well, you hear? If the pleats no balance, I go use am flog you!" she scolded, making the women burst into laughter.
Glory giggled as she pinned a head tie into shape on Chiburuoma's head. "Hold still. You're already moving like the bride price is being paid this minute."
Chiburuoma rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. "My dear, you don't understand. All these details matter. If my gele is not standing well, my enemies will laugh at me."
"Which enemies?" Glory teased. "You've charmed everyone already, including half the vendors."
Their laughter blended with the voices around them, warm and easy. For a moment, Glory felt grounded again — back in the place where she belonged, wrapped in friendship, love, and the promise of celebration.
---
Later in the afternoon, they walked back to the compound, arms full of fabric samples and matching jewelry pieces they had picked out. The air was thick with the smell of roasted maize from a roadside vendor.
That was when Desmond appeared, leaning casually against his car parked near the gate. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing toned arms, and his smile was easy, practiced.
"Ladies," he greeted, stepping forward to collect some of their load. "Allow me."
Glory hesitated, but before she could speak, Chiburuoma thrust a bag at him. "Ah, thank you o! My hands were already crying."
Desmond chuckled. "Anything for my future in-laws."
Glory blinked at the word, her cheeks warming. She knew he meant it as a joke, but something about the confidence in his tone unsettled her.
---
Inside the compound, Abraham was crouched by the front steps, repairing a loose hinge on the gate with a spanner. Sweat darkened the back of his T-shirt, but his focus never wavered until he heard footsteps behind him. He straightened, eyes landing on Desmond carrying half of Glory's bags.
For a heartbeat, silence stretched.
"Abraham," Desmond said smoothly, inclining his head in greeting.
"Desmond," Abraham replied, voice steady but clipped.
Chiburuoma, sensing the air tighten, quickly excused herself with most of the load. "I'll drop these inside. Glory, come help me." She shot her friend a mischievous look, then disappeared indoors, leaving the two men standing near each other.
---
"You're handy," Desmond observed, nodding at the spanner in Abraham's hand.
Abraham wiped his brow. "Some things can't wait for a repairman."
Desmond's smile tilted. "True. That applies to many things." His eyes flicked briefly toward the door Glory had just entered.
Abraham's grip tightened around the spanner, though his expression remained calm. "Some things also can't be forced."
The silence between them throbbed, heavy but unspoken. Then Desmond chuckled, breaking the tension. "We'll see." He turned and strolled toward his car, leaving the faint scent of his cologne in his wake.
---
That evening, Abraham sat with Emperor and Tamuno under the mango tree, the three of them sharing roasted corn and palm wine.
Tamuno was still fuming about Arsenal's loss, gesturing wildly as he argued that their midfield needed restructuring. Emperor laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. "Tamuno, abeg rest. Arsenal don break your heart since secondary school, and you still dey defend them?"
Abraham only half-listened, his mind replaying Desmond's words. The man was bold, deliberate. And worse, Glory didn't push him away. She accepted his help, his attention, maybe even his admiration.
"Guy, your mind no dey here," Emperor said suddenly, eyeing him. "What's the problem?"
Abraham shook his head. "Nothing."
But Tamuno smirked. "If na nothing, why your face dey serious like referee wey wan blow final whistle?"
Abraham shot him a look, but his friends only laughed.
---
Meanwhile, in Chiburuoma's room, the girls sprawled across her bed, wrappers and jewelry scattered around them.
"You can't pretend forever," Chiburuoma told Glory, munching roasted groundnuts. "Two men can't be chasing you like this and you're acting as if it's only mosquito disturbing you."
Glory groaned, covering her face with a pillow. "Stop exaggerating. Nobody is chasing me."
Chiburuoma snorted. "Then what's Desmond doing? Carrying your bags like husband material? And Abraham — the way he looked at you today, my sister, if eyes could talk, the whole compound would have heard it."
Glory's heart thudded, but she shook her head. "They're just… friends."
"Friends?" Chiburuoma arched a brow. "Then may your own friend look at you the way Abraham looks at you. Let's see if you won't faint."
Glory tossed the pillow at her, but she couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips.