“You’re remarkable, you know that?” he asked. The tone of his voice sounded like he was talking to someone working for an NGO, not a woman with questionable taste in pets.

She looked up at him, the heat in her cheeks moving faster than the speed of light so that she was already blushing before he came into her line of sight.

“They’re just mice. I mean, likely genetically engineered mutant mice, so I guess they’re more remarkable than I am.”

He shook his head. “Come to dinner. But wash your hands first. The Grams are cute, in a way, but I’d rather you not contract the bubonic plague. Or share it with me.”

“You’re thinking of rats, not mice, and that’s actually a smear campaign against them. I’ll wash my hands because I touched a subway pole on my way home. You really don’t want to know what kind of disgusting bacteria use the subway as a means of transportation.”

Jamal shuddered.

“Yes. I’ve heard the subways are covered in filth and that beggars accost you at every turn.”

Ledi laughed. “It’s not quite that bad, Jamal. Only people who’ve never taken the train say things like that.”

He focused his attention on the box in his hands and Ledi was dumbstruck.

No. There was no way . . .

“Have you never taken the subway before?”

He shook his head back and forth stiffly, as if he were unsure whether to express embarrassment or pride over the fact. Ledi had figured he was a rich kid slumming it, but even the richest people she knew had taken the train at some point in their lives. What was Jamal’s deal?

“How is that possible?” she asked, not caring if the question was invasive. He’d dug into her most painful memories—he could stand a query about his transportation methods.

“It’s not that strange,” he said after a long pause. “Have you personally tried every means of travel? I’ve traveled by blimp, have you?”

“Well, no,” she said. Who the hell had been on a blimp but not a train?

“Hot air balloon?” he asked.

“No.”

“Helicopter?”

“What? No.”

“Plane?” He asked that the same way she would have said city bus.

“No. I’ve never flown anywhere before,” she said. She met his gaze in challenge. “But a flight is way more expensive than a train fare. Well, slightly more expensive with all of these MTA fare hikes, but not the same thing at all. And all of this just raises more questions instead of answering mine.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

“There aren’t any trains where you’re from?” she pressed. She could sense that he was holding something back. “And where exactly is that since you dodged the question earlier?”

“My country has an aboveground light rail system in the main city, not a subway. I’m from Africa,” he said. Ledi’s stomach jerked as she remembered the strange emails she’d been receiving. The emails that had mysteriously stopped when Jamal arrived.

“Africa isn’t a country,” she said as dread tingled in her fingertips. It didn’t seem possible, but could the scammers have found her somehow? Was this some long con? Worm their way into her life, and then rob her of what little she had? That would be crazy, but she enjoyed putting on true crime podcasts as background noise while she worked. Stranger things had happened.

“I’m from the south of Africa,” he said.

The vibrating of her phone distracted her, and she pulled it out hoping it was an email from Dr. Kreillig.

Today was so much fun! If you hang with Jamal again, make sure you do some vetting. He might not be a serial killer, but the fuckboy pandemic is too real.

She wondered if Portia’s bestie sense had been tingling.

Interrogating him now.

Yasss. Interrogate him like you’re peer reviewing dat ass.

Naledi laughed, then glimpsed the notification for a new email. She felt a surge of hope, but when she navigated to her inbox and saw the subject line, she groaned.

The People of Thesolo Welcome You: Our History

It seemed Likotsi the Scammer hadn’t given up and moved on to greener bank accounts. Frustrating, but her suspicions about Jamal eased. Africa was a huge continent; it was like someone assuming she knew their cousin in Toronto just because she lived in North America.

“So you’re from South Africa? That’s interesting,” she said as she put her phone away.

“Yes. Very interesting region,” he said. “Let’s see what’s for dinner, shall we?”

“Sure. We’ll cook at your place again.” She guided him to the door of 7 N. In addition to not cooking, she also wasn’t going to do dishes, she decided. She was really starting to enjoy this delegation stuff. Her night was going to be awesome. “What’s for dinner?”

She saw his relief in the loosening of his shoulders and the way his smile made a tentative return.

“Gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches,” he said. “I doubt even I could mess that up.”

Chapter 12

It was the wail of a fire truck screaming past, the harsh siren reverberating off of brick and asphalt, that jostled Ledi from sleep. It was a sound that she should have been used to after a life in NYC, but it still made her heart beat fast sometimes when it caught her unawares. Her brain searched for a foothold in time and space.