Page 19 of Out of Focus

Ugh. Shut up.

RAFAEL:

Come over at 7. I’ll have dinner ready.

Dinner? How is he so casual about all of this? He sends his address next as if I won’t remember the house I’ve been avoiding going near for weeks, and I don’t respond. He doesn’t send any other messages, so I guess it’s settled. I’m going to Rafael’s house tonight. We’re going to eat dinner, and he’s going to help me sort out my future love life under the pretense that I need help with writing. Which I do, but that’s not all this is about.

It’s fine.

He doesn’t need to know.

Totally fine. I’m totally fine.

11/

are you propositioning me, carrot cake?

charlie

The hours tick by, and I end up spending the afternoon cleaning up my flat, then having a shower early enough that my hair isn’t soaking wet by the time I need to leave. I attempt to tame the loose curls but end up giving up, reminding myself that this is just a meeting between two people who barely even tolerate one another.

Despite the slow pace of my walk, I arrive seven minutes early. I’m always either early or late for things. On time? I’m not familiar with that concept. Now, I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t want to seem too eager, so I pace around the front of his house until my phone vibrates in my back pocket.

RAFAEL:

I can see you pacing on the sidewalk. Come in before my neighbor calls the cops on you. Front door’s unlocked.

Crikey! This is embarrassing already. I look up and see Rafael’s profile as he stands at the kitchen counter. He’s bobbing his head to music I can’t hear, and he lifts his hand, waving me in without looking out at where I now stand perfectly motionless.

I take a couple of deep breaths and walk to his front door, finding it unlocked as he promised. I’m expecting to be greeted with loud music, but the moment I step in, it’s the smell that hits me first. Garlic, basil, and something else. The music ends up being quite low, a song I haven’t heard before, with acoustic guitars coming through the speakers.

“Hello?” I call out. I can’t see the kitchen from here, so I walk around the corner toward the delicious scent in the air. As I round the corner, his colossal frame comes into view. I should have been ready to see him in his white T-shirt and jeans since I saw him from the sidewalk. Up close, however, the sight of him in a perfectly fitted white shirt, low-slung jeans, and bare feet, with a tea towel thrown over his shoulder is making me a little weak in the knees. I freeze on the spot yet again, my gaze traveling back up his body slowly. Too slowly. By the time I make it to his face, his grin is so wide that I gasp.

“Did you want me to do a little spin, red? Give you all the angles?” I shake my head, and some sort of sound leaves my throat, but no actual words. What the hell is happening? His smile grows impossibly wider, and those twin dimples impossibly deeper. “I made pasta. I hope that’s okay.” He looks at me over his shoulder as he walks away and points to the breakfast nook, where he has two place settings. “What can I get you to drink?”

He’s annoyingly casual about this whole thing. But then again, I suppose that’s far more normal than my speechlessness. Rafael and I have known one another for over three years; we’ve eaten many meals at the same table and even celebrated holidays together. This shouldn’t feel so strange, and yet I have to work hard to remind myself that this is exactly why I asked him for help. I don’t need to make small talk. There’s no awkward getting-to-know-you phase; it should feel easy. He’s not a stranger I’m putting a mask on for. He’s seen me remove myself from social situations and knows I’m introverted. Though it’s not the whole truth, those facts stabilize my rickety emotions.

It hits me that I’ve gone too long without answering his question when I catch him cocking his head to the side, eyebrows raised, but without a hint of irritation. He’s just waiting for me. “Um water, please.” He nods and turns toward the fridge. I take the opportunity to remove my jumper since it’s inexplicably hot in here. I also take a moment to toss my hair up in a bun. I can’t enjoy a meal with hair around my face.

“You ready to eat?” I feel his eyes travel up my body as he sets the glass of water down, but he looks away so quickly I almost miss it.

“Mmhm.” I down half of my glass as Rafael takes a seat in front of me, setting our pasta bowls on the table. It’s spaghetti bolognese, which I absolutely love. It smells divine, and I’m reminded of the fact that I didn’t eat lunch before my cleaning spree today.

“Dig in,” he says with another deadly smile, so I do. As the perfect sauce hits my taste buds, I close my eyes, and I’m almost certain I moan as I chew. Hearing Rafael’s choking sounds, I drop my fork, causing a loud clanging noise as he takes several gulps of his water.

“Are you all right?” I’ve never seen his face so red before, but at least he seems to recover quickly. He gives me a thumbs up, and I take that as my cue to stop staring at him and get back to my delicious dinner. It might be the best spaghetti I’ve ever eaten. “You have to tell me what’s in this sauce. This is incredible.”

He has fully recovered, and now he’s the one watching me with a small, dimple-free smile. “Glad you like it. I can give you my recipe.” He looks back down at his plate and resumes eating.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that. I’m not a great cook. I absolutely need recipes to follow; otherwise, it’s just chaos, and everything tastes rubbish.” He watches me intently as I talk, and I find that kind of attention from him a little overwhelming. Not uncomfortable, but new.

We finish our bowls in an oddly comfortable silence. I offer to clean up, but he makes quick work of tossing everything in the dishwasher and sends me to sit in the living room instead. I take in his space for the first time, appreciating how clean and tidy it is.

The furnishing is minimal but warm, with a few unique handmade pieces mixed in. He has colorful artwork on the walls and a few family photos on the massive bookshelf. “Do you live alone?” I nearly shout, hoping he’ll hear me in the kitchen.

His deep chuckle catches me off-guard as he’s standing closer than I expected. “I do.” I widen my eyes while he rounds the couch, setting two glasses of water on the coffee table. “You seem surprised by that.”

“Not surprised, per se, just pleased I don’t have to spend the evening in some bachelor pigsty.” He laughs softly, and I move around the coffee table to take a seat. “You haven’t shagged on this sofa, have you?” The question pops out because I hate the idea of touching someone else’s bodily fluids, but of course, that’s not how he takes it.

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