Chapter 8 #2
Rafael leaned even further toward her. “You have to tell me what you’re thinking now. There’s no turning back.”
Grace placed the fruit back in the bowl and shrugged. “I just don’t remember you ever making a joke before. I don’t even remember you laughing.”
“Before?”
“You know, forever ago when we met. In Barcelona.”
“Oh.” Rafael’s palms were sweating again.
He thought they’d both been avoiding the topic of before.
He didn’t want Grace to think about that.
He didn’t want her to remember the almost-kiss or how she’d turned away at the last second.
In fact, he was still hoping she’d forgotten it altogether.
“I wasn’t very funny then,” he admitted.
“I took myself too seriously, and I expected the same from everyone else.”
“And you’re different now?” Grace asked, giving him that look she had, the one that saw him so clearly.
He didn’t know how they’d gotten to this point.
Less than an hour ago he’d determined they would only discuss safe topics.
Picasso. Pomegranates were probably harmless, too.
But talking about their past and how he’d changed was too personal, too intimate. Who knew where that would lead?
That didn’t stop the next words from coming out of his mouth with a gravelly rasp that scraped over his question. “Am I different now?”
Their faces were so near to each other, as if they’d been moving fractions of centimeters closer without either of them noticing. Rafael could hear his own ragged breath. How had they ended up like this? Why hadn’t she backed away? Why hadn’t he?
He knew one thing for certain. He was not going to try to kiss her again.
She was his roommate now and his sister’s best friend.
Her life was in complete disarray, which was the reason she was here in the first place—in Spain and in his apartment.
And, even if he was starting to think maybe she didn’t completely dislike him, that didn’t mean she actively liked him either.
Finally, she eased her body away from the counter, away from him. Her only response to his question was a small shrug. “It’s been a long day,” she said. “I should probably get some rest.”
“Of course. I hope everything’s okay for you in the room. Is there anything else you need?”
She shook her head. “It’s perfect actually.
I love the little window and the view. You’re lucky you’re up on a hill and not just staring at the building across the street.
You can see trees and rooftops. Maybe I’ll even look out and see if I can find a pomegranate on the side of a building somewhere. ”
Rafael smiled. “I’m glad it’s working out.”
Grace pushed some of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear. “Let me know when you have those pictures from Christian’s collection.”
“Of course. Don’t worry, I’m holding you to our deal. I just thought I would let you get settled first.”
“Good.” She bobbed her head. “Okay then. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Graciela,” Rafael said. She turned away, and he watched her move through the apartment, her steps careful as she maneuvered the coffee table and the sofa.
When she reached the bedroom, Rafael thought she may have hesitated, but she didn’t look back.
At last, she walked into her new space and closed the door.
She would be right there all night, just across the hall from him, lying on a bed, sleeping, breathing. Something about it sent a shiver up the back of his neck.
He let out a loud exhale. If he was going to get through this, he needed to hold firm to his boundaries.
No more talking about the past or his hopefully improved personality.
No more deep dives into her personal life, even if he hated to think of everything she’d been going through the last several months.
No more staring deeply into each other’s eyes for no reason.
Pomegranates and Picasso. Those were the safe topics, and that’s what they would be sticking to from now on.
Grace preferred tea in the mornings, but she sometimes switched to coffee for the caffeine boost since she’d been sleeping so terribly.
She listened to podcasts too loudly in her headphones, so loud Rafael could hear the American accents when she walked by him.
She liked beer, but she was a slow drinker, usually unable to get through more than one without feeling bloated.
She liked cheese, but she ate it far too quickly.
Rafael had to make his own bowl of queso if he wanted a chance to enjoy a bite of it.
He didn’t mean to learn these things, especially not in such a short amount of time.
Again and again, he reminded himself of the boundaries.
Pomegranates and Picasso, he repeated like a mantra, as if he could create a wall in his mind to keep her out, as if he could prevent any more knowledge from getting past that very specific barrier.
It was a flawed system, though. He didn’t mean to pay any attention, but it seemed impossible to ignore the little details of Grace’s existence as he shared his space with her.
She left her hairbrush on the counter, which was disgusting.
She walked around the apartment while brushing her teeth.
She left socks on the floor in the living room, but they always seemed to disappear before he could comment on their presence.
He couldn’t help talking to her, as well.
She asked him an endless series of questions whenever they were in the same room.
Why did he live in the US? Why did he come back?
How did he get his company started? What was his favorite project?
She was happiest after her siesta, and she would watch cooking shows on her laptop even though she hated to cook.
Then she would work on her lectures, scouring the internet for pictures of famous paintings for her presentations.
“How’d you get into this stuff?” he’d asked her once when he saw a collage of abstract art on her laptop screen.
She turned to look at him, as if just noticing he was in the room. “Into what?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, then pointed a finger at the screen. “Whatever this is.”
Grace smiled as she studied the images. “It started with Gram,” she said.
“She didn’t study it or anything. She worked in a cafeteria, but she always loved art and traveling.
Curated cultural experiences, I guess,” she joked, mimicking his words to describe his company.
“She took me to museums as early as I can remember.”
Rafael nodded. “She liked this, too? This weird stuff?”
Grace let out a little laugh. “No, actually. When I started getting into abstract art as a teenager, she didn’t understand it. Thought it was just a phase of my rebellious youth.”
Rafael leaned in closer, squinting his eyes at the screen. “I don’t blame her,” he teased.
“It grows on you,” Grace said, a hint of a smile still lingering on her lips.
“Just wait. After you work on the exhibition some more, the art might surprise you.” He hadn’t wanted to push her too hard to help with the exhibition, but they’d started to discuss it more and more.
He still had time before the paintings were ready to be moved, and he wanted to give her some space to get settled, but they’d started to talk about some of the details, little by little.
Still, he didn’t mean for those conversations to get so wrapped up in their personal lives as well.
All of it was accidental. Talking with her about everything, getting to know her. Rafael especially didn’t plan to let her get to know him. He still felt safe, though. Even if he was attracted to her, they hadn’t crossed any lines. All of it was perfectly friendly.
“What about you?” Grace had asked. “How’d you learn about architecture?”
Rafael thought for a moment. He certainly hadn’t studied architecture, even if he would have liked to, but he couldn’t help being fascinated by different spaces, how they were designed, how they were used, practical function and impractical beauty.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It definitely wasn’t something anyone encouraged. ”
Grace cocked her head at him. “Really? Well, let me be the first to encourage you. Your knowledge of the Alhambra was astounding.”
Rafael grinned. “And here I was thinking you were there against your will the whole time.”
Grace had thrown her head back in a silent laugh, and Rafael felt his heart speed up. In a perfectly friendly way, of course.
Maybe they’d gotten to know each other and spent more time together than he’d anticipated, but this was a good stopping point.
Attraction was easy to come by. A nice chat wasn’t so unusual.
He and Grace would be friends, which was more than he expected, but that was all. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Well, I have to be nicer to you now that you’ve let me live with you,” she’d said.
He tried not to notice the way her cheeks turned pink when she laughed. He tried not to notice the way her lips gleamed after a fresh coat of balm. He tried not to notice the glimmer in her eyes when she teased him. All of that could be overcome. They could just be nice, and that was enough.