Hot Cake 5

PREVIOUSLY ON HOT CAKE 4

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EPISODE 5 CONTINUES

Elvis!

Elvis?

My mind was buzzing with his name like it was a stubborn mantra.

His eyes met mine and suddenly the smile on his face vanished.

I could swear that at that moment, time stopped. But not in the romantic Nollywood movie kind of way. This was different. The laughter around me faded into the background, the music became distant, and even the mouthwatering aroma of the Abacha that had held my entire attention moments ago disappeared. 

For a brief second, he looked... shocked. No. Not shocked. More like haunted. But, the expression disappeared almost as quickly as it came. In fact I would have missed it if I had blinked. It was automatically replaced by the familiar calm, charming, heart‑stopping smile I remembered. The one that could get most ladies tweeting love quotes all week.

My eyes travelled down all that perfection in quiet appreciation. The man looked like he had just stepped off a Paris runway. Gosh. He was every bit the Enyinna Nwigwe replica, and the old Nikky would have started taking deep breaths while my heart did backflips. But this new me simply sat back and admired God’s handiwork. 

Elvis remained, as ever, a quiet delight to behold. Resistng the urge to laugh out loud at my own thoughts, I cleared my throat while my subconscious noted that my friend had stopped waving like she was auditioning for a music video.

"Nikky..." he said, slowly walking over, eyes locked on me like I would disappear if he even glanced away for a second.

"Elvis... hi!" I gave my best, most elegant "abroad‑returned" smile as he scanned my face like he was searching for something.

My friend looked from him to me and back again.

"You two know each other?"

Elvis chuckled.

"Know each other?" he said. "We go way back."

"Way back?" My friend gasped. "As in... how far back?"

"Neighbourhood, secondary school..." I added. He kept his gaze locked on mine, like we were back in those secondary school stare‑down games.

My girl clapped excitedly, "see village people oo! Abuja is really small."

Indeed, I nearly said out loud. If only she knew the full gist of how I hastily packed up and japaad. How a part of me still wanted to literally run out of that restaurant at full speed. I slowly looked down, picked up my fork and scooped a massive portion of Abacha into my mouth. If I was going to do any running, my stomach was at least going to be fed.

Elvis pulled out a chair without asking for permission.

"May I?"

Before either of us could answer, another voice interrupted.

"Sir..."

A tall man in a dark suit briskly walked over, leaned slightly toward Elvis, and whispered something into his ear.

The change was immediate. The warmth drained from his face as his jaw tightened.

"I'll be there," he replied quietly.

The man walked away.

Elvis turned back to us with an apologetic smile, but I instantly sensed his attention was no longer fully with us. His eyes drifted toward the entrance as though he was expecting someone, and that reactivated the FBI mode I had shut down during our first dinner years ago. It went into full military deployment.

"I won't interrupt your evening any longer," he said.

His politeness should be studied, I thought as my friend protested immediately.

"Ah! At least sit down for a few minutes."

He glanced at his wristwatch before shaking his head.

"Another time."

His gaze settled back on me and I stopped chewing as his eyes darkened. Okay, this time, my heart skipped two beats as images from the past resurrected without my permission. I blinked and placed my fork down... Nikky, get a grip of yourself nah, I chastised myself while trying to shut down whatever was brewing within me.

"It was really good seeing you again, Nikky."

He reached for my hand and I dramatically reached for my palmwine glass.

You can say whatever you like, but I didn’t want to touch or be touched by Elvis. Don’t get me wrong, I do not find him repulsive, but somehow I wasn't sure how I would react to his touch.

But the man always wore patience like a real virtue. He watched me sip my drink and took my hand the minute I slowly placed my cup down.

The moment our fingers touched, his grip tightened ever so slightly. I frowned.

"Nikky... this time, I'll find you," he said carefully.

Before I could respond, he gave a slight nod, turned, and walked away.

I watched him weave his way through the restaurant until he disappeared through the doors.

"See fine man...God Abeg!" My friend sighed dramatically. "If I wasn't already taken...hmmm. Anyway, I think Elvis is into you. Nikky, what are you hiding?"

I laughed, finally releasing the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

"Can we eat now?"

We had barely picked up our cutlery when the main doors swung open.

My friend paused mid‑chew, her fork suspended like she was posing for a food magazine. Having made up my mind that after Elvis, nothing was going to distract me from thoroughly savoring my Abacha, I stayed focused and refused to be moved by whatever was holding my friend's attention. Seriously, why would I be reacting like a CCTV camera when too many people were entering the restaurant, which, by the way, wasn’t what we bargained for. But then I heard it. 

"Nikky?"

At that point, I was asking myself, wetin dey happen today? I turned—slowly—because that voice was familiar in a way that set off every alarm in my usually calm, collected brain.

It was not Elvis. Not even anyone connected to him. This time, it was someone from a completely different chapter of my life. Someone whose presence made my stomach forget the Abacha and remember a memory I had intentionally buried.

He stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at me like he had rehearsed this moment several times in his head and was annoyed I wasn’t reacting the way he expected.

My breath caught as my friend whispered under her breath,

"Jesus. Is today reunion day?"

I didn’t respond. I couldn't because the man walking toward our table wasn’t smiling. He looked… sure. Too sure it was me. And that was the problem.