Doctor Ken sat at his office desk with his head buried behind a laptop. He was in black trousers and a silver-grey shirt. It was 8:00 p.m., most of the workers were long gone except for the guards and his secretary. It didn't surprise me. He was a workaholic. I had waited at a coffee shop nearby for everyone at the hospital to leave so that I could get him alone. The last thing I needed was to be a topic of gossip.

"Hello, Ken?"

Months had passed since I last saw him – surely enough time to give me some kind of immunity against him.

Looking up from his table, he gave a little indulgent, half-cocked smile and then stood. "Maria? I wasn't expecting you. What are you doing here at this time of the night?"

Vain hope. I swallowed, trying to quell the rush of guilty longing which made my heart begin to race as I stared into his face. Because was there a woman on earth who could have been unmoved by his presence?

"I know it's late, but I needed to talk to you."

"Come in." He pointed to a chair across from him. "Sit."

He took in my snug jeans and soft oatmeal sweater. He was looking at me in such an odd and piercing way that I could feel colour stealing into my cheeks. I swallowed down the acid taste of nerves.

"Is everything okay?"

"No." Wiping my sweaty hands down his jeans, I met his gaze. "I need some help. I remember the offer you made me the last time we spoke. Does it still stand?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"I need a place to stay."

There was a pause while he regarded me thoughtfully. Awkwardly, I wriggled my shoulders. Had I overstepped the mark and allowed my feelings to influence me? Was it a mistake to ask him for help after my entanglement with Edward? Wasn't there a danger that close confinement might prove too much of a temptation?

"Did Edward throw you out of his house?"

"No. I left. I didn't think it was appropriate for me to stay with him any longer. Since I feel so much better now, it was time for me to get back to my life."

I had left Edward's home amicably. Even though his face was a mask of disapproval as I left, we both knew it was for the best. That chapter of my life was closed.

"I have an extra room I could offer you," he said.

I tried not to be affected by the silken texture of his voice, but it wasn't easy. "Thank you."

"How long would that be?"

'I plan on looking for a house tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. My untouched salary, from the paid leave, will be enough for a small studio in my old neighbourhood. I won't be in your hair for too long. I hate to impose, but I didn't know where else to go tonight."

"It's okay. I'm always happy to help you, Maria. Don't worry about it. Take as much time as you need. When do you plan to come back to work?"

"Monday, if that okay with you."

"Of course. It'll be great to have you back."

"Thank you."

Shutting his laptop, he picked his jacket from the chair. "Let's go."

Carrying my luggage, Ken walked beside me, stealing glances with his peripheral vision. What was he anxious about? Was he nervous to bring to his house? Did I even want to know?

He was a relaxed and skilful driver, weaving in and out of the traffic with perfect ease. Once he parked his car in his gated apartment block, I followed him up the stairs to the first-floor house number 303.

"Karibu nyumbani."

He was watching, waiting. Chivalrous, I supposed. I took one step inside the apartment. Not as expected. No cherry floors, leather, and chrome. There was a smooth carpet, richly coloured rugs, and silk-covered chaises.

"Would you like a drink?"

He was moving into an open lounge, jacket tossed on the back of a couch. I wondered behind him, watching his fluid, masculine movements.

"Thank you. Anything you have is fine."

He took out a bottle of the red label from a drawer under the kitchen sink. For a split second, I remembered my father's love for the red label and my heart swelled then focused all my energy on watching him pour into two glasses.

He handed one. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Feel free to look around," he said. "I'll order some dinner from a restaurant downstairs. I think I still remember your favourite meal."

"Thank you."

Unlike Edward's house, Ken's focused on simplicity. Less was always more for him. There were bookshelves in the living room. All the books were arranged and aligned back to back where there the insides couldn't be judged by their covers. He had a collection of pacesetters. It took me back to my high school days where pacesetters were all I could read. I had a copy of each book by my favourite writers: Ben Chirasha, James Irungu, Kalu okpi and Chinua Achebe.

Try as I did, I couldn't bring herself to stand still. I paced, anxious and stopped for a few seconds, studying the only painting on the wall of the lounge. The painting showed a man whose face was in a spiral with a paintbrush clenched between his teeth with the sky as the background.

I turned to comment and then I felt his presence behind me. I didn't feel safe as I stared up into the hawklike features and the lash-framed shards of his black eyes. I felt ... what? As if danger and excitement were shimmering in the air around us, as tangible as any aura. One step and I could be locked in the powerful circle of his embrace. Isn't that what I always yearned for – the cumulation of all those years of wistful longing?

"A gift from my father. The J'aime la couleur by Chéri Samba. This piece unfurls Chéri's self-portrait in a spiral -before the immensity of the sky- proclaiming a message of planet-wide fraternity."

"It's interesting."

I swirled my drink in the glass, listening to the clinking of ice cubes, finishing what remained in one swift moment and needing more.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I murmured absently, my eyes shifting outside the window for a flash then back to the painting. "I wasn't expecting to be here, that's all."

"It's nice to have someone else around."

"You get lonely staying alone?"

"Sometimes," he said. "But I usually bring my work home. It makes the time fly by and the nights seem less lonely. Let me show you your room."

The room was simple; plain white walls and a single bed. Standing close to the window, I gazed at the view of the sweeping Ngong Hills right down past the meandering Southern Bypass. From so far up, everything looked the size of ants surrounded by a woven tapestry of the cities and forests.

"Wow! This ...I could get used to."

"I'm glad you like it. The view was the main reason I rented this place."

"Yet you spend most of your time buried in work even at home," I said. "It seems like such a waste. Doesn't it get boring?"

"Boredom: The desire for desires." He bit back a reluctant smile. "It doesn't'. Not when you're content."

The doorbell rang.

"Dinner is here."

The scent of roasted chicken and gravy was distinct, watering my mouth. Ken brought the food and more whiskey to the dining table. We kept the conversation light as we ate. My mind was a wasteland. I didn't know if it was because of the alcohol or because I didn't have the energy to think. Either way, the calm - in what would otherwise have been a storm - was welcome.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

Pouring himself more whiskey, he turned and faced me, sipping on the drink as slowly as he could. "Depends."

"About the scars on your body. What happened?"

Ken's eyes held mine and my throat felt dried and ripped raw. "Why do you want to know about them?"

Because I love you. "Because I care. Because you know everything about me, and I don't."

"They're from a fire. I worked at a hospital out of the city when I finished my degree. It caught on fire during my night shift. Some of my friends and I were trying to evacuate the building and we got caught in it. I was lucky to survive with just these minor burns."

The sigh that escaped his dry lips was slow as if his brain needed that time to process the past. I felt the kind of sadness, for him, that seeps into your bones rather than exploding in a cascade of tears.

"I lost a lot of good friends on that day because I felt like being a hero was more important than doing what was expected of me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Ken's face tightened with a sense of inevitability. He stood, clearing our plates. "You should get ready for bed. I have a lot of work left that I need to take care of."