Chapter 6 The Right Person, the Wrong Time
the right person, the wrong time [trope]
when two people are perfect for each other but cursed by the universe’s terrible timing; marked by missed opportunities, bittersweet glances, and life-altering events that keep them apart
As I pull up to my house, my stomach clenches. Rafael is in his front yard, crouched down and tinkering with something. His black leather jacket shifts as he moves, uncovering more of the tattoos snaking up both arms, half-covered by his sleeves.
It’s weird to see him there after so long. Actually, I can’t remember him ever hanging around his house much even when he was here.
Time to come clean, I guess. Will he figure it out the moment he sees me? When I say the first word? Or will he need to be spoon-fed the information? And if that’s the case, then what will it say about him? About last night?
God, I hate this.
I grab my things and slip out of the car.
I see him straightening out of the corner of my eye and immediately decide I can’t do it.
What if he doesn’t think The Incident was just a goofy teenage faux pas?
What if he’s horrified to find out I’m me and I tried to sleep with him last night?
What if he doesn’t even remember about the letter?
Keeping my face angled down and hidden behind my hair, I hurry toward the door.
“Hey,” he calls out, his voice light and friendly, though it feels like a thousand-pound weight on my shoulders. Goddamn it. “Hey, Scarlett?”
Ignoring him, I pick up the pace, practically bolting up the steps to my front door. My fingers fumble with the keys before I finally get it open, slip inside and shut it firmly behind me.
I press my back against the solid wood, holding my breath. I don’t think he caught on, but it’s just a matter of time. “Please let it go, please let it go,” I whisper, eyes shut tight.
When there’s a knock at the door, I nearly jump out of my skin. “Scarlett?”
Shit! What do I do now? I look around, grimacing. “Y-yes?”
“Hi, it’s Rafael Gray, your neighbor.”
“Yeah—hello.”
I clamp a hand over my mouth, breathing hard. Okay, so he doesn’t know it’s me. Not yet, anyway. But if I don’t end this conversation quickly, he’ll probably put the pieces together. Or he won’t. I don’t know which one would be better at this point.
“I heard about your parents,” he says, his voice muffled by the door. “I’m really sorry.”
Surprised, I let my eyes drift to the picture of them on the entrance table—Mom in her wide-brimmed sun hat, Dad with his arm wrapped around her, both of them laughing at the camera. “Thank you.”
“Your dad was always nice to me,” he adds. “Your mom, too, but your dad was… I really liked him.”
My lip stings as I pinch it with my teeth. Everyone liked my dad.
“I’m sorry about your dad, too,” I say back.
“Thank you. Is it messed up that finding out about your dad’s passing hit me harder? Talk about daddy issues, huh?”
I turn to the door, feeling the urge to open it. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ve been through that part already.”
“No, I mean… I’m sorry you and your dad weren’t close.”
There’s a pause, then, “Open the door, Freckles.”
My stomach plummets, the tightest knot forming in its pit.
He knows! He fucking knows!
“Yes, I know. I knew who you were the second I saw you at that party,” he says, sounding amused. “Come on. Open the door. I promise I won’t bite. Unless you ask me to, that is.”
Oh God. Why didn’t he say something?
“Okay,” he says after a moment. “I’ll leave. But I just ordered some Chinese food and have some extra. I’d love it if you could take it off my hands.”
My stomach growls on cue, traitor that it is. Chinese food is my favorite, and the last meal I had was with him last night. “N-no, that’s okay.”
“I’ll just leave a bag here,” he insists. “All right? In case you change your mind. Or the raccoons can get to it tonight. Bye.”
I press my ear to the door, listening as his footsteps retreat down the porch. A minute or two passes before my heartbeat settles, and I finally, cautiously, open the door.
“Got you.” Rafael’s hand catches the door as I try to pull it back, unabashed joy flickering in his gray eyes like he’s savoring every second of my surprise.
His rings tap lightly against the wood as he leans in.
“You really are something, Scarlett Moore,” he says as we stick to our positions, the door ajar and pressed between us.
I frown, scanning him. “Did you even bring Chinese?”
“Do you always have these sorts of trust issues?” The leather jacket looks older than him, the red lining showing where it’s been worn down at the cuffs. He lifts a bag from Dragon Palace, giving me one of those arrogant smiles. “But you only get it if you let me in.”
Reluctantly, I let go of the door, stepping back. He takes it as his cue to stroll in like he owns the place, shrugging off his jacket with practiced ease.
“There. Not that difficult, was it?” He shuts the door behind him; his jaw is rough with stubble and the scent of clean skin and woodsy cologne trails after him. “How’d you sleep?”
Seriously? He’s going to act like this is normal? Like hanging out is something we just do? “Why are you here, Rafael?”
He hangs his jacket on the hook by the door, unfazed. He’s wearing a worn charcoal tee, collar stretched, hem uneven. It looks so perfect on him. “Uh, because I’m hungry, and—”
“Rafael.”
“We had a good time last night, didn’t we?”
I shrug, trying to keep my expression unreadable.
“Okay,” he says, stifling a laugh. “Well, I had a delightful time. And I’d rather be anywhere other than my folks’ place right now. So…” He points behind me. “Kitchen that way?”
I glance toward the hallway. “Yeah. But beware of the cat.”
“Noted.” He wiggles his brows before disappearing into the kitchen.
I follow, watching as he places the takeout on the counter and opens the containers. The familiar scent of sweet-and-sour chicken and garlic fried rice fills the air, and my stomach growls again, even louder this time.
He looks over his shoulder. “Easy there, T-Rex.”
“Very funny.”
“I try.” He winks. “Plates?”
I point at the cabinet, and he walks over, then takes out two deep plates.
“You gonna help, or just admire the view?”
Cheeks flushing, I grab two glasses from the higher cabinet and get a bottle of water. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I set it next to the food, the bite-size taste of daily routine making me feel all squirmy.
Rafael Gray is at my house. He brought dinner over, as if eating together is something we just do.
And now I’ll be expected to make conversation with him again, which is surprisingly easy yet the hardest thing I’ve ever done at the same time.
“Do you still read while you eat?”
Taking a seat at the kitchen island, I watch him warily. “What?”
“You always read during lunch at school. You’d sit there with your book propped open, completely zoned out.”
“Not always,” I say, crossing my arms. “Just when the story was too good to put down. You know, urgent reading.”
“Right, of course. Do you still do it?”
“Sometimes.” It’s a straight-up lie; I do it every single day.
“Would it bother you if I watch TV while you read?”
I blink, trying to process what he’s saying. Is he suggesting we sit here eating dinner together but not actually interacting? Just existing side by side?
“Freckles?”
“N-no, that wouldn’t bother me,” I stammer.
“Cool.” He reaches for the remote, switches on the TV, and takes a dumpling from the takeout container. He bites into it casually, leaning back as if he’s done this a thousand times before. When he notices I’m still frozen on the spot, he tilts his head. “Where’s your book, Scarlett?”
“Oh, uh…” I scramble to my feet, grab the paperback from the counter, and slide back into my seat. Pulling my hair up in a ponytail, I hesitate. “Are you sure? I mean, I can talk.”
He chuckles and shifts his focus to the TV, the glint of one earring catching the light. “Just eat your dinner, Freckles.”
“I thought you didn’t do romance,” Rafael teases.
I look up from the book in my lap, stifling yet another yawn. Dinner might have something to do with how sleepy I feel, but this crappy book is to blame for at least three of my last yawns. The story is bland, the plot dragging like a damp rag. “I don’t.”
“So why are you reading that?” He sets his chopsticks down next to the array of dishes scattered across the table.
The food was incredible—garlic fried rice, wontons, sweet-and-sour chicken, and a spicy noodle dish that lingered pleasantly on my tongue.
Rafael definitely overordered; leftovers are piled high in colorful bowls.
“Work. I’m a podcaster at—”
“Booked It, I know,” he interrupts. Surprised, I watch his sharp cheekbones softened by the flickering shadows, his hypnotic eyes catching the warm glow from the lamp overhead. “Small town, Scarlett.”
“Right. Anyway, my boss assigned me to Passion & Pages, our romance podcast. Which is great, because I’m finally full-time, but not so great, because…” I hold up the book, my eyes drifting to its overly flowery cover.
“Well, you’re a bookworm, aren’t you? Maybe you’ll find answers to your love problems in books.”
Maybe. So far, all I’ve found is repetitive dialogue and cringey lines that make me want to toss the book aside. “By the way, you remember Quentin and I—”
“Dated? Yeah, I remember.”
“Okay.” I guess it doesn’t matter, right?
The two of them weren’t particularly close when Rafael left.
Plus, it’s been years, and Quentin’s dated other people since our breakup.
Still, the last thing I want is the whole town’s attention on me.
It took a long time for everyone to treat me seminormally after my parents died.
I can only hope they won’t care about my lukewarm love scandal with two cousins.
“Why?” Rafael lowers his chin, trying to catch my gaze. “Did you decide you’ll give me a chance?”
“No,” I rush out, the word slipping from my lips too quickly. “I mean… no.”