41. It’s okay, she knows I’m crazy about you.
41 /
it’s okay, she knows i’m crazy about you.
charlie
After a slightly smaller feast than the last time we were here, Ana Maria starts getting things prepped for today’s recipe: farofa. She explained that it’s a staple in their household and Brazilian culture, but how she makes it has always been a mystery. Until today.
“All right, Char, this one is a side dish, but it’s got a lot going on, so I might be at the stove more than I’m here, okay?” Rafael is resting his forearms on the island countertop across from me, but I hardly notice his muscles or the apron he has on that says Hot stuff coming through (and I don’t mean the food).
“You just called me Char.” My eyebrows are suddenly very well acquainted with my hairline.
“I call you a lot of things, pretty girl.” He winks and steps off to the side, giving his grandmother room to stand next to him. Where the bloody hell does this charm come from? And how was I immune to it for so long? With his hands on his hips, he smiles widely. “Put me to work, Vózinha!”
For the next twenty minutes, they chop and prep. And now, Raf is standing with his back to me at the stove, working two pans at the same time.
Is it hot in here? Why is that making me feel warm and tingly?
It smells amazing, and I’ve got my work cut out for me with this one as they both hover over the stove, occasionally shouting ingredients or instructions at me, like “add the onions into the bacon grease” and “a mix of green and black olives.” I do my best to make it all make sense, and whenever there’s a lull as they wait for something to cook, I either just watch them joking with one another in that easy way they have, or I type out another recipe that was already in the notebook.
In the end, I find that I very much enjoy farofa—despite being skeptical of some of the ingredients going into it. It’s soft yet crunchy, savory, and incredibly flavorful.
I help with the clean-up this time, since I get to reap the benefits of their hard work, and as I’m wiping down the countertop, Ana Maria places her warm hand over mine, stopping my movements. “Thank you for what you’re doing here. I’m so glad he has you in his life. You know, Rafa truly is the best of us all, with the kindest heart. He’s never been anything other than ours in every way that matters, but I know that he sometimes still feels like he needs to prove his worth. As if he needs to work harder than anyone else to be a part of this family.” She squeezes my hand. “He doesn’t, of course. I hope you know that. I hope you’ll see that.”
“Oh, dona Ana, I know he doesn’t need to. The way you love him is written all over everything you do. It’s obvious, even to someone like me.” I stop, wondering how I can backpedal. “Someone coming in as an outsider, that is, that you mean the world to one another. He’s lucky to have you, yes, but you’re equally lucky to have him.” I don’t know if I’ve said too much, or maybe not enough, but she smiles brightly .
When her grip on my hand loosens, I expect her to walk away, but instead, she palms my cheek in the same way she does to Rafael when she greets him. “I knew you could see it too. How special he is. Now stop calling me dona. It’s Vó.” Her touch is gentler with me but no less full of affection. It makes my chest tighten with a longing for my own loving grandmother. The one I never got to have.
Just as she lets me go, Rafael walks back into the kitchen. “All right, the garbage is taken care of. Should we head outside for a bit before we go? I bet Charlie will love your garden, Vó.” Standing between us, he wraps us both up in his arms, laying a kiss on his grandmother’s head, then turning to do the same to me. Receiving this kind of affection sends tingles right down to my toes. I know he gives it away easily, freely, but with him, that doesn’t make it any less special. Not one bit.
As we step onto the back deck, the orange grove I could see from the kitchen comes fully into view, and it’s far larger than I thought. But it’s the backyard itself that takes my breath away. Just below us is a vast expanse of green grass. The size of a football field, at least. On one side, there’s a large sitting area with several chairs circling a fire pit. The small pond next to it is perfectly still. On the other side, there are several rows of raised garden beds with a large greenhouse next to them.
With her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, Rafael helps Vó as we walk down together into the greenhouse. Despite the chill in the air, it’s toasty warm in here. There are flowers everywhere. Each more beautiful than the last.
“This is gorgeous.” I run my fingers through some leaves, close my eyes, and smell the literal roses growing in here.
Warm fingers wrap around mine. “Careful of the thorns, gata,” Rafael whispers as he brings my hand to his lips. I twist quickly to find Vó is pruning a plant, blissfully unaware of her cheeky grandson’s actions. He chuckles, letting his lips linger over my fingers. “It’s okay, she knows I’m crazy about you. It’s impossible to hide anything from her.” She might know that, but do I? He’s never so bluntly said that before. Sure, he’s attracted to me, and he likes spending time with me, but that ? It sounds awfully close to something real.
It’s a large greenhouse, so we step away a bit further, hidden behind some of the larger plants where we have more privacy, which is wonderful. I mean, no, it’s terrible because then Raf’s lips are on my neck, his whispered words making me shiver. “I used to come in here sometimes just so I could smell the roses. So I could feel closer to you.”
Every part of me wants to lean into him, to let those words wash over me, but I’m so terrified of what will happen if I leave LA. When I leave LA. When . That thought alone has me stepping away from him, moving on to look at other flowers. If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. Not for the rest of the day.
On Wednesday morning, Rafael texts me to let me know he’s thinking of me.
ME:
I’ve been thinking of you too.
I’ve been thinking I’d like to try that pasta recipe.
The one you made for me?
I bought all the ingredients.
Even the veggies to hide in the sauce, like you recommended.
Would you like to have some with me?
RAFAEL:
I would love to have dinner with you, carrot cake. Why don’t you come make it at my place? The kitchen at yours is tiny, and I doubt Taylor even owned pots and pans when he lived there.
I’ll send you the door code. Come over anytime. I won’t be home until about six, but you’re welcome to whatever you want.
ME:
Okay.
I’ll come make it at your place.
Thanks, by the way.
RAFAEL:
Really? You’re gonna be here in my house when I get home tonight?
ME:
Well, yes.
That’s what we just agreed to.
His next response is a GIF of Joey and Chandler from Friends doing a happy dance.
ME:
See you for dinner.
RAFAEL:
I like this way too much.
I like it way too much, too. It’s dangerous, how much I like the idea of being in his house, having dinner with him, that he trusts me to be in his home when he explicitly told me he doesn’t have women there.
But it’s also what a couple might do, right? This is the ‘ normal relationship stuff’ I’ve needed to try. This is what I need to understand and practice just as much as the naked stuff. Not that there will be any of that tonight. Will there? Does anybody want to have sex after a plateful of pasta?
I guess we’ll find out later.
By five o’clock, I’ve got the sauce made and everything cleaned up. I had no idea how long this would actually take, so I’ve been here for two hours already.
It feels good being in this house. It’s warm and inviting, and it smells like Rafael, which I like very, very much.
The only thing left to do is boil the spaghetti, but I’ll do that when he’s here so we can have it fresh. Pumpkin—the cat, of course, because I would never refer to myself in the third person or by one of Raf’s nicknames for me—has been in and out of the kitchen since I got here, and she’s been inching closer and closer each time.
Since I have nothing to do but wait, I go to the living room and look through his books. Sure enough, every single one of mine is there, including the new one he just bought. I dig through my bag for the Sharpie I always keep on-hand to sign copies when I see them at bookstores and pull out all my books. Without messing with the order he had them shelved in—chronological, by series, because he’s the perfect man—I open them up to the cover page.
Rather than just signing my name, I decide to leave him a personal message in each one. It’s surprisingly easy to come up with things to write to him, which I suppose makes sense since we know one another so well.
With fifteen minutes to spare, I finish signing and place everything back as it was. When I sit back on the sofa, Pumpkin jumps up next to me. She had been cautiously watching from the other side of the room, and as I wrote my messages, I said them out loud, sharing them with her as I went.
She purrs into the side of my leg and looks up at me with those striking blue eyes. Looks like we’re both starting to feel a bit more comfortable here.