Heart Fire.

Chapter Six: Kitchen Apostle.

Solape’s P.O.V:

By 4:30 p.m, the church courtyard smelled like deliciousness.

And pepper.

And smoke.

And Jollof.

“Bisi, baby, if that spoon enters your mouth again before the food reaches the people we prepared for, I will flog you with this spatula o!”

The teenage volunteer she was referring to froze, spoon halfway to his lips.
“Aunty Solape, sorry ma,” he muttered, “Do you want me to return this one that I have taken. I have breathed on it o” He said, mischievously

“Just imagine?!” she said, picking up a plate to serve him properly. “Take this also.”

“My Gee!” Bisi said with joy, as he shoved a portion of food into his mouth that only a teenage boy could swallow.

“Omo!!!” He exclaimed after one bite

“Who is your girl?” Solape said

“Solape” Bisi replied

“O nice abi” the both said at the same time with the signature three finger snaps.

The other volunteers burst into laughter.

Solape was in full Lagos Aunty Caterer mode.

Hair in a sleek ponytail wrapped with a colourful Ankara scarf. Oversized “Friday, Food & Fun” T-shirt half tucked into high-waist jeans. Apron tied around her waist like a war belt. Six-inch platform sneakers…yes, they exist…on her feet.

She moved from table to table, commanding the food station like a small general with a big spoon.

“Plantain to the left,” she said. “Grills to the right. Small chops in the middle. No, no, no, we cannot put puff-puff beside samosa, are you trying to cause temptation? Spread them out. Let the people walk in the counsel of the godly, not the aroma of fried flour.”

Another wave of laughter.

“Chef, we’re almost out of suya skewers,” a volunteer called.

“Check the backup tray in the cooler,” she replied. “If it’s not there, call Dele. This is his calling. Me, I’ve done my own.”

As if summoned by his name, Dele appeared, pushing a trolley stacked with more trays from the kitchen.

Naija Tapas had come through.

“Did someone call my name?” he said with a grin,

She smirked. “Shior… look at you. Please come here and make yourself useful.”

“Yes ma” He said with a smile as he wheeled the trolley closer. “This smells heavenly. I think I am in love.”

“In love ke,” she laughed wholeheartedly, lifting one lid to check the food. “You better Focus…. Focus on the rice.”

He laughed, low and smooth. “You’re doing amazing though. Look at this setup. You sure say you no wan come run Naija Tapas with me?”

“I like my peace, thank you,” she replied. “And my kitchen ring light. Restaurant life is another kind of warfare.”

He watched her a beat longer than necessary. “If you ever change your mind…”

“I will send you invoice for consulting,” she finished for him, then she hit him on the shoulder. “Dele, please. Go and fry something.”

He placed a hand on his chest like she had wounded him. “Wow. No problem. Just remember I was here in your humble beginning.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have 600k followers. Which humble beginning again?”

He laughed and pushed his trolley away.

She tried not to notice the way a certain pair of eyes followed the exchange from across the courtyard.

She failed.

She felt him.

PK.

He stood near the stage, talking to the events lead, but every now and then, she caught him looking in her direction and then looking away quickly, like he hadn’t meant to.

Her stomach flipped and she focused on adjusting the garnish on a tray of coleslaw like it held the secret of the universe.

“Face your work, babe,” she muttered to herself.

*************************

PK’s P.O.V:

From the small makeshift stage, Korede watched the courtyard fill.

Fairy lights hung across the space like constellations. Plastic chairs were arranged in clusters around low wooden pallets that served as tables. There were board games, a photobooth corner, and a small area cleared for worship later.

It looked like a party. The healthy kind.

He loved it.

“Pastor K, are we starting with games or food?” the events lead asked, scrolling through her checklist.

“Food first,” he said. “Hungry people don’t listen to instructions. Let them eat and be happy, then we’ll do icebreakers and a short charge.”

He glanced toward the food station again.

There she was.

Solape.

Hands flying as she gave instructions, laughter spilling from her mouth like it was its own kind of music. Volunteers orbiting around her, energised, organised, amused.

She was… vibrant.

Too vibrant.

Perfect. Beautiful

Focus.

He reminded himself why he was here: to pastor, to shepherd, to create a safe on-ramp for people to belong.

Still, watching her serve quietly dug into him in a way he didn’t have a name for yet.

No dey lie my guy… you have a name for it. You like her. And now, you’ve seen her in action… serving… she fits.

Plenty people are serving, he told himself. She’s not the only one.

But then Dele appeared beside her again, saying something that made her laugh and push his shoulder lightly, and something hot and unfamiliar bit at his chest.

Jealousy?

He inhaled sharply and adjusted the microphone at his lapel

Ridiculous. Immature.

He closed his eyes briefly. “Lord,” he prayed under his breath, “help me… Abeg.

When he opened them, she was still there.

All five foot seven inches of her. Her signature heels adding an extra 6. He didn’t believe a woman could look that beautiful in merch t-shirt and jeans. The hoops at her ears, the ankara scarf on her head. She looked …

…disarmingly at home here. Too at home, for what his heart could safely handle.

He looked away and signalled to the band.

“Alright guys,” he called, slipping fully into service mode. “Let’s kick off.”

People trickled in steadily.

Families. Singles. Uni students. Office workers still in their Friday shirts. The courtyard morphed into a humming, colourful sea of life.

Solape’s P.O.V:

“Look at our iya yard,” Miriam whispered an hour later, as she and NJ walked in through the main gate.

“Which one is iya yard again?” NJ asked, her voice dry but her lips twitching.

They both paused.

They could see her from across the courtyard. Solape at the food stand, gesturing with a serving spoon, laughing with a group of volunteers, yelling affectionately at one man who tried to steal plantain.

“Ah,” Miriam said softly, “see our girl.”

“She’s in her element,” NJ replied, a small smile tugging the corner of her mouth.

Ladi joined them a minute later, hoodie over his head even though it wasn’t cold, guitar case slung across his back.

He stopped when he saw the spread.

“Wow.”

“Food has entered his spirit,” Miriam teased.

“I’m just respecting the labour of the saints,” he said, but his eyes were already scanning for Solape.

He found her.

His brows lifted. “Omo. See Aunty Caterer.”

“Behave yourself,” NJ muttered, but there was fondness in it.

They made their way closer.

“Look at these traitors,” Solape called when she spotted them. “My so-called best friends. Late comers. .”

“ ‘Tion ma,” Miriam replied, hugging her tightly. “Alase! Cookist! I bow.”

“Solape! Tussi Greato. You have shown yourself here. You’re in trouble now,” NJ added, eyes glinting. “This setup is mad. These people will not allow you to rest after today.”

“Where’s PK?” Miriam whispered conspiratorily.

“Abeg, abeg,” she said quickly, ignoring the way her heart skipped at his name. “Who wants food? Rice? Small chops? Everything?”

“Everything,” Ladi said. “I’m here to support your ministry.”

She eyed him. “You’re here to support your stomach. Shift.”

He laughed.

“You look… happy,” he added quietly, when the other two turned to pick plates.

She blinked. “I am happy. I’ve found family. This church, is home.”

He smiled. “And one tall pastor… doing CCTV on you from the stage.”

She choked. “Sorry, what?”

Ladi nibbled on a stick of asun. “He’s been glancing in this direction since we arrived. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him you also glanced.”

“I didn’t glance.” Too fast.

He raised a brow.

She tried again. “Okay fine. Maybe once. Or twice. Or whenever I breathe. Eat your meat and mind your business, abeg.”

He laughed so loudly that a few volunteers looked up.

“Relax. I’m on your side,” he said. “I’m just saying… guy looks… invested.”

“Invested in what? I’m a new believer. That’s why he’s checking on me.”

“If you say so,” Ladi drawled, but his eyes were kind. “Just… be careful, Sha. Pastors are human too.”

The words landed heavier than she expected.

She shrugged it off and pushed a plate into his hands. “Collect food, Dr Phil.”

PK’s P.O.V:

Korede stepped down from the stage after leading a round of silly ice-breaker games.

People were loosening up, laughing, slapping each other on the back. A group was gathered at the game corner playing charades; another group hovered around the photobooth taking ridiculous boomerangs.

His eyes, traitorous things, scanned automatically for her again.

He found her, near the food stand, talking with Ladi.

She was laughing at something, head thrown back, spoon in hand.

Ladi, for his own part, looked like he was enjoying the banter a little too much.

Relax, he told himself. You can’t be jealous of every man who enjoys her company. If you want to talk to her, go over there.

As if hearing him, Solape looked right at him in that moment and their gaze held.

He smiled at her. She smiled back.

He raised his glass. She raised her serving spoon.

Then he watched as a cluster of girls swarmed Ladi, two asking for a selfie, one joking about him being her “Celebrity crush”—Korede saw, from a distance, the way NJ’s face stilled.

He watched Ladi handle it politely, graciously, almost too smoothly.

He watched NJ fold her arms tighter.

He sighed.

People think the biggest warfare in ministry is demons and principalities, he thought. Many times, it’s just… hearts. Fragile, scared, learning how to trust.

His gaze drifted back to Solape.

She was dishing food to a small child now, bending low to his level, making a joke that made the boy giggle. She tapped his nose with a clean spoon and sent him away with his plate and a smile.

Warmth washed over him and settled in his chest

He forced himself to look elsewhere and focused on the next part of the evening.

“Short charge in 15,” the events lead reminded him.

He nodded.

“Okay. Let’s give them Jesus.”

Solape’s P.O.V

Back at the Food Stand,

“Ha! See groupies,” Miriam muttered under her breath, nodding towards where Ladi stood.

Two girls held their phones up, taking selfies with him at angles that made even Solape squint. Another girl was pretending to ask about his songwriting process while leaning forward entirely too much.

“Wow. See church girls o…,” Solape said.

NJ said nothing.

Her face was neutral. Too neutral.

“You okay?” Solape asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” NJ replied. “He’s a public figure. People will always flock.”

Her tone was measured, but her jaw was tight.

“You don’t sound fine,” Miriam said softly.

“It’s not them,” NJ said, eyes on the scene. “It’s… I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m sharing him with an invisible audience. I don’t know where I fit inside his life. It’s like… there’s Ladi the brand and Ladi the man and I’m not sure which one I’m dating.”

“That’s actually valid,” Miriam answered.

“Have you told him this?” Solape asked.

NJ snorted. “Every time I try, it becomes banter. Or he says I’m overthinking it. Or he kisses me instead of answering the question.”

“Ah,” Solape said. “Classic fine boy tactics.”

They all stared as one of the girls touched his arm and laughed like he had just proposed.

“Wow,” Miriam murmured. “Spirit of sexy usher is working over time.”

“Please,” NJ muttered, but her lips betrayed a small smile.

“Go and drag your man,” Solape said lightly. “Before somebody volunteers to be backup vocalist in his destiny.”

NJ rolled her eyes but started walking towards him anyway.

“Don’t fight,” Miriam whispered after her. “Just… talk.”

“Babe,” NJ said when she reached him, tone light-but-not-light, “they’ve not told you that these your fans should form a queue?”

The girls laughed.

One of them said, “We are just borrowing him for a few minutes. And you are…?”

NJ fumed.

Ladi chuckled. “She’s the one that owns the borrowing rights,” he said, slipping an arm around NJ’s waist in a way that was both gentle and public.

The girl who’d called him ‘celebrity crush’ squealed. “Ah! So this is your girlfriend?”

The girl who asked who she was, gave her a once over.

NJ’s throat went dry.

She wanted to say no. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say mind your business.

Ladi jumped in. “Yes,” he said, half teasing, half serious.

The girls screamed, took one more selfie, and finally left.

As they walked away, NJ muttered, “You didn’t have to say that?”

Ladi sighed. “NJ. Don’t start.”

“Start what?” she asked.

“You know what,” he said. “You tense up every single time someone recognises me. Or takes a picture. Or makes a joke. Then if I introduce you as anything, you have an issue with it. You don’t want to step into the public as my girlfriend. You also don’t want… See NJ, I can’t keep apologising for being seen… ”

She flinched.

“That’s not what I want,” she said quietly. “I don’t want you to apologise for being seen. I want… See, you announce to the world that I am your girlfriend, yet, I feel like one of your fans.”

He stared at her for a moment, eyes dark.

“Come,” he said finally. “Let’s not do this here.”

He dropped NJ off with Miriam for a moment and somehow ended up back at the food stand, offering to help carry extra trays to the back.

“You and NJ fought,” Solape said as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Wow,” he said dryly, lifting a tray. “Not only are you a church girl now, you are also a prophet.”

“She’s my friend.”

“She’s my woman.”

They stared at each other.

“She’s scared,” Solape said gently.

“Scared of what?” Ladi, “I love that woman. I have not loved anyone the way I love her in a while. I want to tell the whole world that.”

“Well that is the issue… is it not” Solape asked, “NJ thinks that announcement is a performance. She thinks your relationship is surface level. She feels she is dating Ladi Bello the brand, not Ladi Bello the person.”

He gave an exasperated sigh

“From one extrovert to another, you’re… hiding.” Solape said

“Hiding what?”

“Your insides,” she replied. “Your real thoughts. Your real feelings.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Pot calling kettle black.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. But today is not about my insides. Answer the question.”

He exhaled slowly, looking away toward the fairy lights.

“Sincerely, maybe I don’t know how to do the inside thing anymore,” he said finally. “I have hidden behind my brand for so long, I maybe don’t know how to turn it off.”

She was still listening.

Ladi continued, “When my Parents died, my mourning was public. I was a party boy, not the good kind. The death of my parents woke me up and my recovery made the headlines. The papers and blogs documented every tear, every mistake… See, I made a decision not to put my personal life under the spotlight ever again.

She went quiet. They stared into the distance for a while.

Then she spoke, “Ladi, I know what it means to put up a front so people don’t hurt you. Porcupine Energy. When they get the spikes, they can’t hurt the skin underneath. I know what it means to hide layers of yourself so people don’t judge you. I acted so long, I started to believe that part of me was all there is to me. But someone told me that my Fire is not Choas… and it hit me. So now, I am myself. I put my full self first. If I slip up and do too much, I listen to the Holy Spirit and adjust. I’m still learning sha… I don’t know if that helped”

Ladi looked at Solape in new light. The woman at the restaurant 6 weeks ago and the woman who stared at him now.

Something had changed.

“Omo. This church has really done something for you o. Na you dey advise me so…” He said finally.

Solape hit him in the chest, “ You see yourself, I brought vulnerability, you turned it to gist.”

Ladi laughed, “Maybe, I’d come to church too.” He said

Solape screamed and hugged him, “definitely yes!”

Ladi laughed again and hugged her back.

They sat in silence for a minute.

‘So, he called you Fire yeah…”

Solape knew who he was talking about.

“Yes he did… it healed something inside me.”

“Well… that’s it. Man’s gone gone.” Ladi said.

Solape laughed, but her heart did a tumble.

She put a hand lightly on his arm. “Maybe tonight you can start with a small open. Not a big open. Just… tell her one thing you’re scared of without joking about it.”

He huffed a laugh. “Look at you, Fine Girl turned therapist.”

She grinned. “We all have range.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Now go and hold NJ,” she added. “Before one of the men in this church finds her and collects her from you.”

His laughter was real this time.

PK’s P.O.V:

The sun dipped.

String lights took over.

Korede stood on the small stage, mic in hand, as the last of the games wrapped up.

“Thank you guys,” he said, smiling. “Hope you’re having fun?”

The crowd responded with a cheer.

He spoke briefly about community. About God not just saving us into heaven, but into a family. About being known in a way that doesn’t shame, but heals.

He kept glancing, involuntarily, toward a specific corner.

She was there, leaning against a tree, plate finally in hand, hair scarf slightly askew from hard work, laughing at something Miriam said.

He forced his eyes back to his notes.

This is why you have a prayer life, he told himself silently. To remember you’re a man of God before you’re a man with feelings.

After the charge, the band eased into soft worship.

People lifted their hands, some sitting, some standing, some swaying gently.

He saw her close her eyes.

No phone.

No performance.

Just… her and God.

His heart softened.

God, keep her, he prayed. Whether she ever thinks of me this way or not, keep her. Let this not be a phase.

Solape’s P.O.V:

The band was packing up. The fairy lights glowed softly, casting warm gold across the courtyard.

People were drifting into smaller circles, laughing, hugging, taking pictures, or stealing last bites from the food table.

Solape wiped her hands on her apron dramatically.

“I am finished. I have served food, shouted ‘drop that plantain!’ fifty times. My name must enter the hall of fame for volunteers, if not, I’ll protest.”

Miriam burst into laughter. “You’ve earned your crown, babe. Maybe even a tiara with pepper-shaped diamonds.”

“Abeg,” Solape flicked her scarf. “I don’t want pepper diamonds. I want real diamonds!.”

NJ smiled softly. She had calmed since the talk with Ladi, leaning lightly against him now. “You did great today, You were in your element. Fire Girl.” She finished with a wink

“Thank you, my Professor,” Solape said, squeezing her cheeks with exaggerated gentleness. “This your hair is shining o. I take credit. Why don’t you allow me to finish my makeover in your life eeen… NJ.”

“She is perfect” Ladi said, turning NJ’s head to him and giving her a peck on the forehead.

Suddenly, Miriam nudged Solape immediately.

“He’s coming o,” she whispered.

“Who?” Solape whispered back, already knowing.

“Your PK.” Miriam said with a wink

“Your head,” Solape muttered, even though her pulse did one small somersault.

PK reached the group.

“You guys all good?” he asked, hands in pockets, voice low and warm.

“Great event, sir,” Miriam answered, giving him a mock salute.

“Thank you,” he replied, smiling.

Then his eyes flicked—briefly but unmistakably—to Solape.

She pretended to be inspecting a tray of leftover puff-puff.

NJ piped up next, clapping his hands once. “I liked the sermon, PK. Short. Punchy. I especially like the line of God not just saving us into heaven, but into a family. It was brilliant.”

“I’m glad.” PK replied, “So would we be seeing you ladies in church next Sunday… Even you Ladi, don’t let Solape come alone any more.”

“PK sir. The girl is sly.” Miriam said, “she did not tell us she had been coming to church”

“Really” He said, while looking at Solape. She looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. If she were lightskinned, she would be red from embarrassment

“Oh Yeah,” NJ added, leaning up from Ladi’s arms. “She was on stealth mode. She only confessed last week. She wanted to keep you all to herself.”

At this, Solape lunged at NJ, but Ladi shielded her.

PK tried to hide his laugh.

“Well since it’s all out in the open now, there’s no excuse anymore. You all have to come to church now.” He said, as he took his seat beside Solape.

Miriam and NJ exchanged a look. Ladi winked at Solape, Solape kicked his feet under the table.

He raised his hand to protest. Solape glared at him.

“Don’t worry, we would be in church” Miriam said, “All of us.”

“Yes,” Solape said, “Especially Ladi, he needs Jesus the most.”

“You’ve started,” Ladi said. “You this Kitchen Apostle.”

Solape was about to give Ladi a dressing down when PK placed his hand on hers.

The jolt it sent up her arm caused her tongue to stop in its tracks and her eyes to look up at him.

“Be nice.” He said, when her eyes met his.

“I am nice” She protested

“You’re… intense,” he countered, a smirk tugging his lip.

She gasped. “Really?! You are dragging me…”

“Just a little,” he said.

The way his eyes lingered on her.

Not safe.

Not innocent.

Definitely not pastoral.

The moment changed from playful to charged.

His hand was still on hers.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

His jaw flinched briefly

Ladi noticed. His eyes narrowed.

NJ cleared her throat.

PK turned to look at both of them and raised one eyebrow.

“You know,” He said, ending the moment, “some powerful Apostles started from the kitchen. Stephen, Phillip, the whole Acts 6 crew.”

“You see” Miriam chimed in, “When you won’t read your bible?”

Ladi responded to her with a smirk.

“What did they do?” Solape asked.

“Well, they were chosen to help in sharing food amongst widows and from there, Phillip took a whole city for Jesus and Stephen became the first martyr,” PK answered.

“Our Solape can definitely take a whole city.” Miriam said.

“She definitely can.” PK answered, “If the work she did tonight is any indication.”

“Ah,” she said quickly, waving it off. “It’s small work. I’m just—”

“No,” he interrupted, gentle but firm. “It was excellent.”

Silence, just the briefest moment.

Then Ladi coughed loudly into his fist.

“So, uh… PK,” he said, “Did you try the Gizdodo Skewers? They will baptise your tastebuds.”

PK shot him a grateful look for breaking the tension. “I did. They were good.”

“Good?” Solape gasped. “Sir, respect my sweat.”

“You did most of the cooking?” he asked.

“Ehn now!” Miriam said before Solape could downplay it. “She was the commander-in-chief of the Kitchen Battalion.”

“She cooked like twelve mothers,” Ladi added. “And shouted like twenty aunties.”

“I supervised with grace,” she insisted.

Miriam scoffed. “Grace that almost slapped somebody.”

“That boy deserved it,” Solape muttered.

NJ giggled.

PK watched her with that small, careful smile he wore when he was trying not to reveal too much.

“I love the way you bring life into rooms,” he said quietly.

Solape went still.

Miriam blinked.

NJ widened her eyes slightly

Finally, Ladi exhaled sharply and turned to NJ.

Then suddenly—

“Ladies,” he announced, clapping once. “Please, follow me. Someone is giving out leftover drinks and I want to make sure you people collect your share.”

Miriam raised a brow. “Since when do you care about drinks?”

“Today,” Ladi said quickly. “Right now. Immediate effect. Come.”

NJ caught on first.

Her eyes widened with mischief.

“Ohhh,” she mouthed to Miriam.

Solape glared. “What are you planning?”

“Pastoral Assist,” Ladi said, herding both women away. “Very important ministry.”

Miriam winked at Solape as she went. “Enjoy.”

NJ blew her a kiss. “Behave.”

In thirty seconds, they were gone.

Leaving only PK and Solape.

And the warm night wrapped around them like foil.

It suddenly felt quieter.

PK scratched the back of his neck—unusual. He rarely fidgeted.

She yawned.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she said too quickly. “Just… tired.”

“Your friends aren’t subtle” He said.

She laughed.

He smiled in wonder.

Maybe… what if…

“Solape…”

“PK…”

They said it together. They both laughed.

“I’ll go first. Can I get your number?” He asked.

She called it out as he dialled it into his phone. She watched him save it as Solape Fire.

“Lol… How many Solape’s do you know that you need an adjective for my name.”

“Just one” he said as he placed a call to her phone so she could have his number..

“Thank you again for today.” PK said, “You were amazing”

“I’m glad I could help.” Solape replied, “I cannot remember the last time I cooked this much though. I am really tired.”

“You could have fooled me.” He said, I thought you could be on your feet all night. You haven’t even taken the heels off”

“My dear PK, tiredness lasts for a minute” Solape said, “But the drip, the drip is forever.”

He laughed heartily.

“This woman, your energy…”

“You think I have too much energy,” she teased.

“No,” he said.

Then quieter:

“I think… you bring life wherever you go. That’s… rare.”

She looked at him then—really looked.

And he didn’t look away.

Which was becoming dangerous.

She swallowed.
He exhaled.

Then—

“Solape!” Derry called from across the courtyard, waving two takeaway packs. “Your jollof arancini! Chef Dele said to give you!”

PK blinked.

The spell broke.

She sighed. “Duty calls.”

He smiled softly. “See you next Sunday?”

Her eyes softened before she could stop it. “Definitely.”

He nodded, gentle, warm.

“Good.”

And for the first time tonight… the jealousy, the tension, the running-around, the noise… quieted.

Leaving an undeniable truth hanging between them:

This wasn’t one-sided.

Not anymore.

---

Author’s Note: You people, I am feeling the butterflies ooo, PK and Solape are smitten! They are gone for each other, lol.

From Solape to Solape Fire, next it will be my Solape or my fire.👀

Catch Up: Read Chapter one here, Chapter two here, Chapter three here, Chapter Four here, and Chapter Five here.

See you next week.❤️