That extra scoop of ice cream was a legendary fucking mistake. The sugar hit that boy’s system like a bolt of lightning, and he transformed from a sweet boy into a tiny, shrieking demon. Getting him to bed was a full-on wrestling match.
By the time the little terrorist finally crashed, it was a solid hour and a half past his bedtime, and I was more drained than a bottle of Fanta at a party. I felt a small pang of guilt for ignoring Mr Osha’s instructions, but I shrugged it off. How was I to know the boy would turn into a jumping bean? He would understand.
Once Tope was finally asleep, I tamed the warzone he’d made of the living room and kitchen. Then I collapsed on the couch, flipped on the TV, and powered through my homework. With that done, I started flipping through some of Mr Osha’s fancy magazines, checking on the sleeping monster in the other room every so often. Next thing I know, my body betrayed me. I was jerked awake by the sound of the front door opening, disoriented and confused.
I shot up like a thief caught in the act, sending a magazine sliding off my lap just as Mr Osha walked in. He had a tired but amused smile on his face. “Ah, did I wake you?” he asked.
I couldn’t hide a massive yawn. “It seems you have, sir,” I said, laughing at myself. “I didn’t even know when sleep captured me.”
He chuckled, a deep, warm sound, and bent down to pick up the magazine. As he straightened up, his eyes scanned over me. “So,” he said, his voice laced with a knowing tease. “Did my son finally succeed in stressing you?”
A sheepish grin spread across my face. “Honestly, sir, the blame is on my head.” I could feel my cheeks getting hot. “My heart just softened for the boy, so I gave him an extra mountain of ice cream. That sugar turned him into a jumping bean, and I had to wrestle him to sleep. He slept later than you said. Please, forgive me.”
“Ah, don’t worry yourself,” Mr. Osha said, waving a dismissive hand. “For him to even warm up to you is a miracle. A little ice cream is a small price to pay.” Then his brow furrowed slightly. “But why did you feel so sorry for him?”
I nervously chewed on my bottom lip. “Well, he just… he started telling me about… about his mummy… and I just—”
Mr Osha smiled, a bit sadly, and raised a hand to stop me. “No need. I understand.” I finally took a proper look at him. His face was young, but his eyes were tired and his shoulders were tight with stress. His tie was hanging loose, his jacket was gone, and he had rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms.
He caught me staring and let out a short laugh. “I look like something the cat dragged in, I know,” he sighed, collapsing onto the couch. “This single father life is not easy, oh. Since she… decided to vanish. I love my son with my whole chest, but she was the one who managed the home front. Now I’m just one man trying to be both mother and father while my job is trying to kill me.”
I gave him a weak, unsure smile, and he immediately noticed my awkwardness. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his face. “You’re too young for this my trouble.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I answered quickly. “Well, you know, if you need help, my door is always open. I can come and handle the small boy any time.”
He gave me a genuine smile this time. “I will hold you to that. And thank you for cleaning this place up. You didn’t have to do that.”
I smiled back. “It was nothing.”
“Seriously, thank you. You saved me tonight.”
I grabbed my bag. “Sir, would you mind if I make a phone call to my mom? Before she sends out a search party.”
“Not at all.” He sank deeper into the couch as I walked away, and I made sure my walk was just a little bit more intentional. Let the man look.
I marched into the kitchen, grabbed my phone, and dialled my mom’s number. She picked up after a few rings, her voice sounding frantic.
“Mum, I’m done o! Come and pick me up now,” I said.
“Susan, have you opened your eyes?!” she yelled back. “Have you seen what is happening outside? The weather has gone completely mad! It’s flooding everywhere!”
I peered out the window and my jaw dropped. The place had turned completely riverine. Rain was falling like someone was shaking a giant bag of water from the sky, and the wind was howling like a beaten dog. “Ah! I slept, I didn’t see this one coming,” I admitted, feeling like a fool.
“No wonder your phone was just ringing and ringing! I’ve told you to stop putting that thing on silent! Listen, my car is bad. It will not start, and the road is flooded. We are trapped here.”
“Don’t worry yourself, Mum,” I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. “I will just find one of those brave taxi drivers.”
“Okay o! But you will tell me the moment you enter that taxi. I will not sleep until I know you are safe.”
I promised her I would and hung up. My mind was already racing. I walked back into the living room where Mr. Osha was still sprawled on the couch, looking like a tired, handsome king in his own castle.
*
“Oga, you get Bolt or Uber for your phone?” I asked, trying to sound casual even though my mind was starting to run wild. “I need to find a taxi before this storm worsens.”
“Ah, of course,” he said, pushing himself off the couch. He handed me his phone, his fingers brushing against mine, and then leaned against the kitchen counter, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me as I stabbed at the screen.
No cars. Nothing. The app just laughed at me with a blank screen.
I slowly looked up at Mr Osha, my hope completely shattered. “No taxi,” I announced, my voice flat.
He just nodded, like he expected it. “The roads are a proper disaster. I’m not surprised.” He paused, and I saw a flicker of an idea in his tired eyes. “Look, if it’s not a problem for you… you are welcome to just sleep here. We have a guest room that doesn’t bite. I would offer to drive you myself, but waking Tope now would be like waking a sleeping lion.”
I pretended to think about it for a second, but we both knew I had no other choice. My options were a warm bed in a fine man’s house or drowning in Lagos’s vengeful flood. “It seems… this is the only way to survive tonight,” I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “If you are sure it will not be a disturbance.”
He gave me a smile that made my stomach do a small somersault. “No disturbance at all. You saved my life tonight. This is the least I can do. Call your mother before she sends the army. I’ll go and make sure the room doesn’t have too many cobwebs.”
*
I called my mother back and broke the news. “Mum, I will be sleeping at Mr Osha’s house.”
“Well… alright,” she said, her voice dripping with suspicion. “But be a good girl o! In the morning, make sure you help Mrs. Osha in the kitchen. Don’t just sit there like a piece of furniture.”
I pursed my lips, deciding that explaining the absence of a Mrs Osha was a conversation for when I wasn’t trapped in a flood. “Yes, Mum. See you tomorrow.” I hung up before she could ask more questions.
I crept down the corridor, following a sliver of light coming from the room next to Tope’s. Just as I got there, Mr Osha stepped out, looking like a gorgeous ghost in the low light.
“I put fresh sheets for you,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble. “But I’m afraid I don’t have any clothes for you to change into. I didn’t plan on hosting a beautiful stranger tonight.”
“That’s fine,” I whispered back, though the thought of sleeping in my skin-tight jeans was a special kind of torture.
He looked down for a second. “Well… see… my wife, she… she left some of her things behind. I haven’t had the heart to throw them out. If you don’t find it strange, you can take something from there. A T-shirt, something.”
Now it was my turn to feel embarrassed. The offer was awkward as hell, but better than being strangled by denim all night. I just nodded. He moved past me in the narrow hallway, his body briefly brushing against mine, sending a jolt through me. He motioned for me to follow him further down the corridor, towards the master bedroom. My heart was now pounding like a talking drum.
We entered the master bedroom, and the sight made me bite my lip so hard I nearly drew blood. This wasn’t just a room; it was a shrine to a ghost. When Mr. Osha said “her things,” he wasn’t joking. One half of the room was a tornado—shirts on the floor, papers scattered like fallen leaves. But her side? It was frozen in time, perfect and untouched. Bottles of expensive perfume still sat on the dresser like little glass tombstones.
He turned and gave me a weak, apologetic smile. “I know, I know. I should burn this place down and start over, abi?” he said, his voice a forced, louder attempt at a joke.
I let out a soft, nervous laugh. “It’s… fine.”
He gestured to the massive closet. “Just pick anything. I’ll get you a toothbrush.” He disappeared into the bathroom, and I was left alone with the ghost.
I pulled the closet door open, and a cloud of dust and old perfume hit me. Her clothes were arranged with military precision—by occasion, then by colour. My eyes scanned the sections until they landed on the pyjamas. Jesus Christ.
This woman’s sleepwear consisted of lace teddies you could see through, garter belts, and matching sets of lingerie that left absolutely nothing to the fucking imagination. My face burned. I couldn’t stop the mental image of Mr Osha, his hands slowly peeling one of these delicate things off her body. What kind of sounds did she make?
I frantically shoved the sexy things aside, the fabric feeling musty and dead under my fingers. It was clear nobody had touched this stuff in years, not even her before she vanished. Finally, at the very back, I found a pair of cotton shorts and a thin pink tank top. It was the least revealing thing here, which wasn’t saying much. I pulled it out with a sigh. It would have to do.
“Mommy?”
I spun around so fast I nearly fell into the vanished woman’s closet. Tope’s little head was poked through the door, his big, sleepy eyes fixed on me. My heart squeezed.
“No, my love. It’s me, Aunty Susan. Remember?” I said, my voice soft as a feather.
His bottom lip started to tremble, and his face crumpled like a wet paper bag. Shit. I just stood there, helpless, as the waterworks were about to begin. Just then, Mr Osha emerged from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.
“Tope, what is this? You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“I WANT MOMMY!” the boy screamed, and then the wailing started—a loud, heartbreaking siren.
Mr Osha shot me a look that was equal parts apology and command. “Go and change inside,” he said, nodding toward the restroom. “This small hurricane doesn’t last long, but I need to take him to piss.”
I watched as he scooped up his sobbing son and carried him down the hall. I slipped into the bathroom, my heart still pounding. The place was nice, with a faint scent of his cologne and soap. I peeled off my damn jeans and tight top, unhooked my bra, and finally pulled on the pyjama set I had chosen.
Immediately, I knew I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. This Mrs Osha must have been a skinny, short vampire. I wrestled the tank top over my breasts, the thin cotton straining for its life across my chest. The damn thing was so short it stopped a good three inches above my navel, leaving a strip of my stomach bare. The shorts were a little better, but just barely—they were so tight and short they were basically glorified panties. The drawstring was a lost cause; I just left the damn thing hanging.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Jesus. I looked like I was dressed for a very different kind of night. I frantically scanned the bathroom for a robe, a large towel, anything to cover this mess, but found nothing.
“Susan?” Mr. Osha’s voice was a soft murmur from the other side of the door.
I cracked it open and peeked out. He was standing in the middle of the bedroom, looking tired but still so damn fine. “You found something to wear?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Ehm… you could say so.” I hesitated, my words tripping over each other. “I found something, but I didn’t realize… well, the woman wey own this cloth… she be like snack, and I be like full meal.”
He caught my meaning and nodded quickly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “Ah. I didn’t even think about that.” Then he shrugged, trying to play it cool. “But it’s just for sleeping, now. No wahala.”
I stole another glance in the mirror. The fabric was begging for mercy. I had a strong feeling his “no wahala” philosophy would vanish once he got a proper look, but I just shrugged. “You’re right,” I said, and pushed the door fully open.
When I stepped into the room, the man’s jaw practically hit the floor. My whole body flushed with a mix of embarrassment and a strange, hot pride. His eyes did a slow, deliberate scan from my feet all the way up, and they got stuck, wide and staring, right on my chest. My breasts were practically spilling out of the strained cotton.
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