The entertainment portion over, it was time for the feast. The guests attacked the buffet table with the ferocity of invading bees. A woman next to Gordon was helping herself to kebabs. He caught just a hint of perfume from her—something classic and understated. He took her in without staring. In iridescent blue and pink that only a Ghanaian woman would dare sport and make it work, she was almost as tall as he.

“Looks impossibly delicious,” he said to her, referring to the food and realizing the double entendre too late.

She smiled at him. He thought she was in her late forties, although she could have been older. Her lipstick was ruby red. She had a small gap between her front teeth. He found her unconventional beauty wildly alluring.

“It certainly does,” she responded. He immediately recognized the class of Ghanaian accent well—educated and well-traveled.

“I’m Gordon, by the way,” he said.

“Hello, Gordon. I’m Josephine. It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise. Is there any shito?”

“Oh!” She looked both surprised and rather delighted. “You know that word.”

“I spent years in Ghana in the Peace Corps,” he told her, “and ended up marrying a Ghanaian woman, may she rest in peace.”

“Oh, my condolences,” she said, her expression taking on real sympathy.

“Thank you,” Gordon said. “Anyway, all that said, I love hot pepper—especially kpakpo shito.”

“Wow,” she said. “Hard-core.”

They laughed together as she found the shito and dabbed about half a teaspoon onto his plate. “Is that enough?”

“A tiny bit more,” he said, inclining his head. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, and I’m impressed.”

“But I promise you, I will turn red as a tomato as I eat it.”

“I would like to see that,” she said, laughing. “Would you join my friends and me at our table? Or are you committed elsewhere?”

“Not at all,” he said. “Happy to.”

She was with two couples, one Ghanaian and the other black American. Gordon wondered where Josephine’s husband was, safely presuming she had one. It was rare for a Ghanaian woman of her age to be unmarried. Gordon turned out to be right. In the following hour or so of conversation, he learned Josephine was married to Ghana’s inspector general of police, the highest law enforcement position there. No wonder she frequently went on trips to Europe, Canada, and the United States. Such perks came along with that kind of status in Ghana.

Gordon was surprised, if not disturbed, by the desire he was experiencing for Josephine. It was the kind of fanged lust that could eat a man alive. He wanted to invite her somewhere for coffee or a drink or dinner—anything, but his sensible side warned him not to begin what he could not finish. Josephine was a married woman, and in a few days, she would be returning to Ghana.

But she had a surprise for Gordon. As they were about to part ways, she offered to give him her contact information in Ghana. “You must visit soon,” she said as he fumbled with his phone too eagerly. “So much has changed since you were last there.”