Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The sound of scraping tugged her out of sleep.
One of Bea’s eyes peeled open. Early light. Too early. And not her apartment.
It clicked piece by piece: her bed, her room, Toronto.
She shuffled to the window in thick socks and parted the curtain. What she saw made a smile light up her whole face. She pressed her forehead to the frigid glass. Rafael was outside, digging snow from her driveway.
Not half-heartedly. Full military-grade snow-clearing, sleeves pushed up, jacket discarded.
Next to him, Umma stood like a tiny field commander in her fleece-lined coat, hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She said something, and Rafael straightened, accepted the mug, and nodded.
The kind of nod you gave your superior officer, or your girlfriend’s Korean mother.
Bea watched him work. Admired the flex of his shoulders, the ridges of his neck. Heart thudding, brain gooey at the size of him. It was ridiculous, how just watching him could make her muscles remember exactly what they were missing.
She glanced back at her unmade bed. The one he’d said he could make work.
But this was a family trip, a.k.a. chastity lock. Who knew when or where the next time would be? It made her almost anxious to think about it. The wanting sat low and restless, a pulse with nowhere to go.
By the time she made it to the kitchen, Umma was back inside.
“Merry Christmas.” Umma smiled. “Finally awake.”
“Merry Christmas.” Bea checked the clock. “It’s barely eight.”
“Rafael has been shoveling for an hour already,” Umma reported.
Bea sighed. “He’s an annoyingly early riser. Once he asked me to go jogging with him at dawn.”
At Umma’s look, Bea hurriedly added, “I declined. Because he’d have had to drive. To pick me up from my house. At dawn.”
Phew. Exactly how pure her parents expected her to be in her relationships wasn’t entirely clear, but she didn’t need to rub their faces in it.
“I told him not to, but he said he needed the exercise,” Umma said, pulling out chopping blocks and arranging them on the countertops. “Boys. So stubborn.” But there was the tiniest smile at the corners of her eyes.
“He’s not—” Bea stopped herself. Because Rafael was, in fact, very much a man. A man who could lift her like a paperclip. “Never mind.”
Bea heard the front door, the sound of boots thudding off. And then Rafael appeared in the kitchen.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, brushing a kiss to her forehead.
No lingering. No hands. Just restraint, buttoned all the way up.
Her mother was standing three feet away, so sure, fine, a chaste kiss was appropriate.
Also: infuriating.
Especially after she’d just watched him from behind glass being strong and capable and incredible, like some primal Christmas thirst trap.
Then his eyes caught hers. The look behind them gave her a general idea where that kiss would have gone if they’d been alone.
Aaaaand now she was blushing, all because of her own thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “Bet you didn’t think you’d start Christmas Day with manual labor.”
Rafael shrugged. “Snow’s lighter than concrete.”
Ugh.
Somewhere inside, a choir of hormones started caroling. This man was going to ruin her. And she was going to send him a thank-you basket.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Battery: 18%.
“One sec, going to grab my charger.”
She was halfway down the hall when she heard the bell ring and the door open. Shuffling feet, and then, “Oh, Gage!”
Bea froze.
Somebody sedate her. Auntie Sarah, don’t.
She turned and bolted back into the kitchen, socks nearly skidding on the wood. Just in time to see Auntie Sarah launch herself at Rafael in a hug that had all the enthusiasm of a long-lost reunion.
“Gage, you look so fit!”
Bea choked. “Auntie Sarah—we broke up. Last year.”
Rafael’s eyes flicked to Bea, then back to the woman clinging to him.
“I’m not Gage,” he said, calm as sunrise. “But I’ll take the compliment.”
She peered up at him, skeptical. “Sure you’re not Gage?”
Bea blinked. “I—what?”
“You young people, always breaking up and getting back together.”
“Sarah.” Umma’s voice could cut tile.
“Okay fine, he’s not Gage,” Auntie Sarah acknowledged, clearly unrepentant. She let him go. “I did see pictures of him online. But this one is very handsome, too.”
Rafael’s mouth tipped.
“Auntie Sarah, this is Rafael.”
“Ooo. Are you also a St. Ives boy?”
What was with the women of her family referring to full-grown men twice their size, as boys?
“Yes, ma’am. That’s where I met Bea.”
Bea sent Umma a wild-eyed entreaty: intercept now before she asks how many zeroes are in his bank account. This day was going to be stressful enough without trampolining on the socioeconomic landmines.
“Sarah, did you bring your radish kimchi?” Umma asked, slicing through the tension like her favorite kitchen knife.
Auntie Sarah was momentarily torn between her matchmaking instincts and bragging about her fermentation skills. The latter won.
“Of course. A whole tub. I added extra garlic this time.”
Bea made a note to warn Rafael not to get caught in a conversation with her aunt post-kimchi. Unless he wanted to be adopted into her latest multi-level marketing scheme.
Another wave of relatives crashed soon after, carrying heaping platters wrapped in foil. There were debates over parallel parking, and aunties shrieking greetings, making a beeline for Rafael.
Bea was arranging the pan de pueblo on the table, trying not to cringe as her family asked if he was the boyfriend, if he was a billionaire, if he liked children, if he could help lift a cooler.
Most men would’ve looked hunted. Rafael welcomed it. She remembered Nico’s graduation dinner. It seemed like Greek/Westhavian chaos wasn’t so different from the Korean/Spanish variety.
Later, Rafael was outside again, on the back deck this time, shoulder to shoulder with Papa and her uncles.
There were two smokers going as well as the grill.
Papa handed him a beer. It was barely eleven o’clock but Rafael accepted it like that was a normal morning beverage, and said something that made two of the uncles laugh.
Not fake chuckles either—real, shoulder-shaking ones.
She leaned on the counter, sorting napkins and bamboo cutlery into tidy piles, observing him through the window. One of the uncles pointed a pair of tongs at Rafael, who responded by flipping the ribs with a confident flick of the wrist.
“Are you watching a wildlife documentary?” Elias asked. He was her oldest cousin, employed and therefore now an adult. He was halfway through a meat bun.
“He’s just so…good with them.”
Elias bumped her shoulder. “Is that surprising?”
“Not really,” Bea said thoughtfully, picking up a cookie from a tray of cooling polvorones.
Her cousin Joon, a sophomore at U of T, sauntered over and stole half before she could take a bite. “Remember when you pretended you weren’t dating a billionaire over Christmas?”
Elias winked. “Good times, Nuna.”
Bea narrowed her eyes. “Can you two go set up the games before I revoke dessert privileges?”
They mock saluted and retreated, still laughing.
The back doors creaked open. Rafael ducked inside, cheeks a little pink from the cold, holding a platter of chorizos and pork big enough to feed an army battalion.
“Where should I put this?”
Bea pointed toward the end of the buffet table. “Over there.”
“Raaaaaffaeel!” A blur of red and black Spider-Man pajamas slammed into his leg.
Six-year-old Han latched onto him like a panda to a bamboo stalk. He craned his neck back dramatically, face full of wonderment. “You’re so tall!”
Han lifted his arms in the universal request to be picked up. He wasn’t exactly pocket-sized anymore, but since he was the youngest cousin, everyone still treated him like he was.
Rafael put the platter down onto the counter, then hoisted him up and onto his shoulders in one easy motion. Han squealed in glee.
Bea’s heart twisted with affection, desire, and every unruly thing you could feel about a man you’d only been dating for three weeks.
He picked the platter back up with one hand, biceps flexing, the other holding Han firmly by one ankle. The veins in his hands stood out. She had an unhealthy fascination with those veins; her brain stuttered like bad Wi-Fi.
He looked built for this. Built for—
Being a dad.
“You need help?” she asked softly.
“Nah. Comes with the job,” Rafael said, striding to the buffet table as if he didn’t have fifty pounds on his shoulders.
Han tugged on his collar. “What job?”
“Bea’s boyfriend.”
“That’s a job?”
Rafael smiled up at him. “Full-time.”
Bea’s reproductive system sat up and started applauding.
“Nuna Bea, are we going to play giant Jenga?” Han asked.
“Of course.” She smiled. “It’s tradition.”
“Can Rafael be on my team?”
“We’re taking the trophy,” Rafael declared.
By the time they sat down to eat their second meal together, Rafael had Joon and Elias hanging on his every word, and every kid under twelve treating him like a superhero.
She couldn’t even blame them. Even in the matching blinking reindeer sweater he’d bought them as a joke, he still managed to look edible.
Han had taken up permanent residence at his side, and was giving a detailed account of his school’s winter concert. The twins were staging a one-act circus with grapes for him while their parents attempted discipline.
Meanwhile, Auntie Linda brought out a tray of persimmons, and the family immediately launched into a debate over whether they outranked pomegranates as the ultimate winter superfood.
“Rafael, come here,” Auntie Melissa called.
Rafael glanced at Bea for translation.
“She’s harmless,” she whispered. “Probably.”
Bea watched like a hawk as he rose and followed. Auntie Melissa was less chaotic than Auntie Sarah, but only by a fraction. She led him to the corner of the living room, near the framed diplomas and family photos, and began what could only be described as an interview.