“So,” said Marisol tucking her hair behind her ear. Bisi watched as Mari flirted (successfully), caught herself flirting, froze, and then, blushing, very deliberately lowered her hand and wrapped it around the frame of the car door. The whole process was completely fascinating. Ohhhh my god. That is adorable. Look at her. What am I to do? What can I possibly do? Bisi thought desperately. 

“Umm, you have my number and I can text you later this week with directions to my place, if that works for you?” Mari continued.

Bisi shook her head, an emphatic ‘No.’ “At all at all at all, Mari. Absolutely no. You will have to text me when you get home tonight to tell me you got in safe. Tomorrow you will need to text me to tell me how it went with the lost and found and silent auction items—”

“You never told me what happened with those!” Mari remembered belatedly.

Bisi grimaced. “Ah, a beautiful lithograph that I was bidding on was snatched right out from under my nose while I was with the star-ling. Very frustrating. Fortunately, I found something much more valuable and beautiful to replace it,” she said, half-turning her head, raising her eyebrows, and looking at Mari significantly from the corners of her eyes.

Mari snorted. “So cheesy. But effective,” she said with a laugh. “I had a good time tonight. I’ll send you the required texts, and then on the other days maybe you can come up with a reason to text me.”

“Oh, I will. And you can call me, too, if you like. Calling is also good. I’ll respond or pick up if I possibly can. And I’ll call you back as soon as possible if I’m in surgery.”

“Bisi, you’re a heart surgeon. Take. Your. Time calling me back. I’m a grown-up, my life is crazy, too, I’m not going to have a meltdown over gaps between texts when you’re out there saving lives and I’m out here saving… brides.”

“Yes, but I will have a meltdown if I miss a chance to talk with you,” said Bisi, truthfully. 

“You’re a disaster!” Marisol accused, cocking her head and scowling playfully. 

“That… is so.” Bisi humbly placed one hand over her thumping heart, ducked her head, and grinned. 

“Oooh, man. You’re actually making me not want to get into this nice, warm car,” said Mari, biting her lip. 

Bisi looked at the little white fang pressing into Mari’s lip and exhaled briefly and sharply through her nose. “You’re making me not want to let you.”

Bisi did, however, let Marisol get into her nice, warm car. She waited for Mari to settle herself, buckle up, and lock the doors. Then she reluctantly stepped away and let her drive off and gave her a little wave and walked over to her own car, a sleek black German-engineered hybrid SUV. She climbed in and locked her own doors and pushed the button to start the engine. Then she just sat there for a minute with a glazed expression, trying to wrap her head around everything that had just happened. 

Bisi had met her mate. After thirty-five years on the planet. After ten years of nagging from her parents and ten years of sincere protests that she was perfectly happy with her life as it was. After countless hook-ups, fix-ups, meet-ups, and break-ups, Bisi was really quite sure that she had just met the love of her life. Of course, she had also just let her newfound mate drive out alone into one of the most crime-ridden cities in the nation at three o’clock in the morning, which was less exhilarating. Or exhilarating in a very different way. And now it was time for Bisi to drive away from her mate and towards a city that wasn’t much safer. At least they were already three hours into Sunday. That meant she only had one hundred and eleven hours until she could see Mari again. Maybe she could persuade her to send pictures… or to FaceTime. FaceTime would be good… She sighed heavily, instructed Siri to play the “Simi Essentials,” playlist and put the car in reverse. 

Bisi drove home, presumably correctly, but she spent the traffic-free (the one benefit of three a.m. travel), hour-long trip focused on replaying every minute of the evening in her head. She had just been there in the gallery, mooning over the imaginary woman in the painting, and then, suddenly Marisol had appeared. She had come straight to Bisi and asked for her, and this seemed almost miraculous in hindsight, that an Omega like Mari would deliver herself into Bisi’s hands so simply, like an answered prayer. It beggared belief. She’d wanted Bisi to do a quick check-up on that other, famous Omega. Not a problem. Mari could have asked her to perform an arterial switch procedure right there in that office with a letter opener, a bottle of vodka, and some dental floss, and Bisi would have done it, and done it right, just to please her. Whatever you need, Temi. 

The scent of her, like sugar cane and cinnamon and nutmeg. The sight of her coming back into the lobby with her hair falling around her shoulders and her lips shining and crimson… not to be forgotten, not ever to be forgotten. Bisi shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, actively pining. Days and days until she could point her car in the correct direction again. Twenty minutes until she could even reply to the text that had come in a little while ago, presumably from Mari. At least they could talk. It wasn’t nothing. She loved Mari’s voice— crisp and sure, but warm, too. She loved the way Mari said her name. Briefly, her brain imagined Mari beneath her, crying her name out in that voice, and blood went catapulting towards Bisi’s clit and her palms grew slightly damp on the steering wheel. She gave herself a shake and refocused. None of that, Bisi. Not yet. 

But the kisses… The kisses. The difference between smelling a delicious thing and tasting it. Just…immersive ecstasy. “My god,” said Bisi out loud in the empty cabin of her car, “I absolutely have to have her.” What if Bisi had been called in for a surgery, though? What if she had decided not to bother driving to DC for the benefit? What if Halston Hollis had been sensible and had not overloaded his schedule while he was attempting to discontinue a dependency-inducing drug? Life was so tenuous, no one knew that better than a heart surgeon did. She could have missed Marisol, could never have known her, and yet… they’d met. They’d met, and they’d both felt it, and it seemed like Mari felt it, too. Could anything be that simple? Bisi had enjoyed a privileged life, but not a simple life. The privileges that she’d had at home were not in place when she got to the US--she'd had to get very used to putting up a fight. This tremendous ease made her nervous. 

Bisi drove through the gate into her neighborhood, giving Manuel the security guard a little wave. As soon as she got into her garage and put her car in park, she snatched her phone from the carseat like lightning to reply to Mari’s text

<Marisol Ortiz> Arrived home safe and sound. Did you? Thank you for a great night, btw. Looking forward to Thursday.

Could Bisi reply at four o’clock in the morning? What was the etiquette, here? She decided the greater risk lay in not replying. 

<Bisi Egbe> I just pulled in—I hope this doesn’t wake you. My street is looking *extra* mean, incidentally— the security guard waved but did not smile. You want to thank *me*? You bought the drinks and supplied the views and entertainment, you hard-headed woman. Thank *you*. I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to Thursday. Don’t forget to report back to me on the Lost and Found situation. It sounds like a thrilling drama.

And then Bisi went up the stairs into the spacious, modern, beautiful waterfront home that she loved, and for the first time since she’d moved in, sincerely wished she was somewhere else instead.