Before him was Naledi. At least he was fairly sure that the cloud of thick curly hair and the spectacular bottom that poked out from beneath a heavy backpack belonged to her. She fumbled with her keys, and then dropped them. He could tell by the way she bent to retrieve them that she wasn’t clumsy or drunk; she was exhausted.

The urge to go to her welled up in him, but he found he couldn’t move. Likotsi’s chastisement rang in his ears.

Stalker.

What had he been thinking? Moving in across the hall from Naledi? Peering at her behind without her knowledge? Just a few days before he’d had to reprimand a palace guard for sniffing after one of the maids. Was he any better?

She looked up suddenly, apprehensively, and Thabiso jumped away from the peephole. Sweat broke out on his brow and his stomach tightened. Had she seen him? What was he going to say if she had? That was one of the many parts of this plan he hadn’t thought through. He had recently completed an exhaustive ten-year outlook for Thesolo’s projected growth, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Naledi that could ensure their next few hours.

He heard footsteps and a male voice. This one had an accent like he’d heard in films. The approaching man was what had caught her attention, not Thabiso’s peephole creeping.

“D’you order Yellow Spatula Dinner on Demand?”

“No.” There was a thread of apprehension in her voice, as if she wanted the man to leave her alone.

“It says here there’s a delivery for seven p.m. for apartment 7 M.”

Silence, followed by the shuffling of paper. “No, that’s an N. Mrs. Garcia’s apartment.”

The tightening in Thabiso’s stomach transformed into a sick pulse of fear as a heavy knock sounded on the door. Thabiso took a step away from it as another knock fell.

“Look, I can’t hang around. It’s dinnertime and I got a ton of deliveries to make.”

He heard Naledi sigh. “I’ll get it to her. She’s always home at this time. La Mujere Morena is on right now and she never misses her stories . . . Here, hand it over.”

Footsteps echoed in the hall, and then there was another knock at the door. This one was quiet. Tentative.

“Mrs. Garcia?” Another knock, a little more insistent this time. “Mrs. Garcia, are you there?”

The concern in her voice was unmistakable. He could hide there like a coward and let her think her neighbor had suffered a heart attack, or he could open the door and face her. That was the point of the whole ridiculous plan, wasn’t it?

He took a deep breath and exhaled.

“One moment!” he called out. He’d meant the words to be a warning—not Mrs. Garcia!—but when he opened the door fear rippled across her face. She shuffled away from him until her backpack bumped into her own apartment door.

Thabiso remembered that this was supposed to be a surprise to him, too. He gasped.

“Naledi? What are you doing here?”

“What am I? What are you? Where is Mrs. Garcia?” He didn’t miss the way she readjusted the fingers of her hand holding her keys into a fist, with one pointy key sticking out from between the knuckles.

Stalker.

“She went to Puerto Rico to visit family,” he said. “I’m renting her place while she’s away. About yesterday—”

Naledi didn’t relax the grip on her key. “She didn’t mention any trip. And she hates having strangers in her apartment.”

“It came up quite suddenly, and apparently my renting helped her afford her hotel accommodations,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. That was true, somewhat, but he still felt like a creep.

She betrayed you, the priestesses, and your people. A lie or two won’t harm her compared to what she’s done.

“I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I didn’t mean to,” he said. That part was completely true.

“Freaked me out? Last night you flew off the handle like you have anger control issues when you were at fault, left me with fire damage to clean up, ruined my mood for the entire day, and you called me a dog. I’m more than freaked out—I’m pissed. I can’t even escape asshole co-workers at home now.”

Thabiso had spent the entire day recriminating himself over the fire and his behavior, but he hadn’t given much thought to cleaning up either situation.

“My behavior yesterday was unacceptable,” he said. “I’m not used to failure, and I took my frustration at myself out on you.”

“Well, what’s done is done.” She shook her head, then pinned him a sharp look. “Though I’m not sure Mrs. Garcia would have let you stay if she knew about your pyromaniac tendencies.”

“My flirtation with pyromania was a one-night event,” he said calmly.

“Well, aren’t I the luckiest Saint Bernard in the world to have witnessed it?”

Apparently he’d struck a nerve with that insult. He cursed his big mouth and wondered how one handled such things. His relationships with women never generally reached the point where there was arguing and making up. He tired of them, bade them adieu, and then Likotsi handled anything that came up after that. He wasn’t quite sure how to apologize to her. He supposed it couldn’t be much different than dealing with a head of state who felt slighted.

Thabiso caught her gaze and held it. This was the moment on which the rest of his week rested.