at the dining table” policy, which her husband always seemed to forget.
Clement caught his wife’s eye and sighed. “So, Ama. Do you think this club of yours is really going to find you a man?”
“Why not?” She took a sip of wine. “The men are friends with at least one member in the group, so it’s safer than going out with complete strangers. We already know they’re decent guys; we only need to find out whether or not we get along.”
“I can picture you dating a photographer,” her aunt remarked. “You’re a make-up artist, you love glamour and fashion, and he probably works with a lot of people in fashion and beauty. This could be a good match.”
“Are you getting good vibes, Mama?” asked Senzeni slyly.
Amarava groaned. “Don’t mind her. Anyone for dessert?”
“I’ll get it,” said Olivia, getting to her feet. “It’s banana bread with ice cream, and frozen yoghurt for you, Ama.”
“Thank you, Auntie.”
Amarava loved being with her family. Nice as it was to have her independence, there was something special about coming home and enjoying a meal with the people she loved most.
* * *
“I’m nervous,” Amarava admitted as she stood in front of her full-length mirror, checking her white-and-purple dress.
“You look gorgeous,” Sheila assured her. She had come over to offer moral support and finally pick up the Amarani mascara she had ordered weeks earlier.
“Thanks.” Amarava frowned at her sleek ponytail, pressed her red lips together and slipped her feet into a pair of peep-toe ankle boots. “I think I need more shoes.”
“If you buy any more shoes, you’ll have to sleep in the lounge,” Sheila told her. “Relax, he’ll love you.”
“Have you met him?” Amarava glanced at Sheila as she picked up her bag.
“No, but Angie says he’s cute.”
“Cute or hot?”
Sheila laughed and pulled Amarava away from the mirror. “Hey, you’re going to be late. Can you get a move on?”
Litha was curled up on the sofa with the TV on and her laptop in her lap. She looked up and whistled. “Is that a new dress?”
“I bought this last month!” Amarava rolled her eyes.
“Exactly, new,” said Litha, grinning. “You look spectacular, as always, but aren’t you a little overdressed for sushi?”
“A woman can never be overdressed,” replied Amarava with a wink.
Sheila walked her to the car. “Remember, he’s going to be in an orange shirt.”
Amarava nodded. “It better be a nice shirt, or I’m walking right out of there!” She got into the car and started the engine. “Litha will give you the mascara. See you later!”
“Have fun!”
Amarava waved and pulled the car into the road, tyres screeching, and sped off.
When she arrived at the restaurant, it was five to seven. The restaurant was dimly lit, with Japanese paintings on the walls and lovely wood panelling. A sliding door led to the smoking area on the left, and the waitresses all wore black kimonos. The place wasn’t full, so she took her time scanning the tables, searching for an orange shirt. There he was, near the back.
Her heart started to pound. Besides the rusty-orange shirt – which got her approval – he wore black jeans and black boots, and a leather jacket hung over the back of his chair. She couldn’t see his face, but he was clean-shaven, with short, neat hair. So far, so good.
Amarava made her way towards him. He glanced at his phone, then looked towards the door. Her heart jumped. He really was handsome, with wide, laughing eyes and a soft mouth. Their eyes met, and for a fraction of a second Amarava felt as if she had been plunged into boiling water.
His eyes widened in appreciation as he realised who she was. He smiled, and his face took on a charming childlike quality that made her smile, too. He got to his feet as she approached.
“Amarava?” he asked hopefully.
She nodded. “You must be David.”
“I hope so, otherwise I’ll be very disappointed,” he remarked with a grin.
She laughed and took the seat opposite him. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“No, really, the pleasure is mine,” he said. “You’re beau–tiful. Is it okay for me to say that in the first five minutes?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll have to check the manual. No, I’m kidding. Thank you. You’re not exactly hideous yourself.”
“The surgery was successful,” he replied with another grin. “Oh, here comes the waitress. I have no idea what to order in a Japanese restaurant, so I’ll follow your lead.”
Amarava smiled. She liked him. He had a positive energy and he had made her laugh almost immediately. Plus he was sexy. Very sexy, she realised, glancing at him over the menu. She ordered sushi for herself and stir-fried rice and tofu for him.
Her phone rang just after the drinks arrived. It was Portia, no doubt calling to find out if her “good vibes” had been correct. Amarava apologised, put the phone on silent and made a mental note to call Portia later.
“Was that Rihanna?” asked David. “Your ringtone.”
Amarava grinned. “Yep. Are you a fan?”
He shook his head ruefully. “I like her hair, but not her music.”
Amarava’s jaw dropped. “At least tell me you like Beyoncé.”
“Sorry. I’m more into Zahara, Norah Jones. You know, laid-back stuff. All that jumping around in sexy costumes frightens me.”
Amarava laughed again.
“So.” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “Tell me about your name.”
“Oh.” She smiled; she should have seen that one coming. “People always ask. It’s the name of the queen of the first people, from Credo Mutwa’s book Indaba, My Children. Read it?”
David raised his eyebrows. “Ask me again next week.”
Amarava chuckled. “I’m told my dad was obsessed with the book. My mother wanted to name me after my grandmother, but he wasn’t having it. They died when I was seven,” she added, in a more subdued tone.
David’s smile faded. “I’m sorry to hear that. Who raised you?”
“My aunt and uncle. They’re fantastic. Anyway, tell me about you.”
He cleared his throat. “I was named after the kid with the slingshot who beat the giant Goliath. Obviously my parents had great expectations.”
Amarava laughed again. As the evening wore on, she found herself laughing so often that she couldn’t take the smile off her face. David wasn’t afraid to be silly, or to admit that he was nervous. His gorgeous smile didn’t hurt either, and when he looked at her with those expressive eyes, her heart beat a little faster.
“You’re not big on fish?” she asked, amused by the way he looked at her sushi.
“It’s the raw part that bothers me,” he confessed. “I’m more of a burger and chips kind of guy.”
“There’s only one word for that,” she replied. “Cholesterol.”
He laughed. “I know! I love it. Give me grease and a charred steak any day. But you’re obviously a health nut. Low fat, low sugar, low fun?”
“Low risk,” she retorted.