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“She’s a golden retriever. Her name is Violet. I rescued her about a year ago. She’s a wonderful girl. She seems to have the spirit of about five dogs. I am always good and well attacked every time I return home.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s with my mother. I think it helps my mother miss me less. Would you like to see her?”
“I would love to. I hope I can get a house soon so I can have a dog again.”
Rafael pulls his phone from his pocket. His lock screen lights up with a photo of an older woman and a beautiful creamy golden retriever. After he punches in his code, his gallery opens to rows and rows of his pup.
“Here is my loca. She will fetch until your arm is ready to fall off. I was on video chat with them before dinner. I think that’s what made me miss her more.”
“Your mother is beautiful. I’m assuming that is her. You look just like her. Same smile.”
“Mia Mama. She’s beautiful.”
“How long have you been in the US?” I ask.
“This time it’s been about three months. I’ll have a holiday before I go home when my work here is complete.”
“Where is home?”
“Lucca, Italy. It’s about an hour outside of Florence.”
“That’s on my to-do list. I’ve always wanted to visit there. I almost don’t have any wall space left in my apartment for photographs of where I want to go.”
“Why are they pictures of where you want to go, instead of where you’ve been?”
I look down into my drink and whirl the ice cubes around the rim of my glass. “Work. Life. Money. I could give you a million reasons. Some of them are good, some of them not so much. I’ll get there some day.”
“I hope you do. As much as I love it here, I miss home.”
I take a quick peek up into his eyes before I continue, “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but your English is very good. I hear the accent, then sometimes it’s barely noticeable.”
“My language instructors will be happy you said that. I have to work quite hard at it. I spend sometimes a couple hours a day going over things, especially in the beginning. English isn’t an easy language. It’s been the hardest one for me.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
He takes a second to reflect on it then surprises me with his answer. “I’d say I’m fluent or mostly fluent in Italian, French, Spanish, English, and Portuguese. I also know a little Russian. Just enough to get me kicked out of a pub or two.”
“Holy crap. I thought I was doing well with one and a half.”
“You are, Bella. Which one other than English?”
“Spanish. I taught myself with the help of my roommate. Her parents were born in the Dominican Republic. She was born here.”
A soft slow song fills the space around us. It’s a song from a film I love. I just can’t place it. I don’t know how Rafael knows, maybe my face lit up. It does that when it involves something special to me, but he rises from his seat and extends his hand. “It looks like there’s a little space here and that you clearly enjoy this song. Would you like to dance?”
My heart bottoms out into my stomach like I’m going over the top of a roller-coaster hill. For a split second, I consider saying no, but then the devil three blocks over is screaming at me from her sleep. I don’t say anything and just take his hand. There’s that connection again as soon as we touch. I can’t read anything into it, I mean seriously. He wraps his other hand gently around my waist not only to help me from the booth, but also to hold me closer to him.
We haven’t seen a soul. It’s like the world evaporated into only Rafael and me. He grips me properly with a hand in the small of my back and our hands join in proper dance hold. We sway a bit in abject silence except for the lyrics around us. “You dance very well,” I tell him.
”Years of ballet when I was young. Sometimes, until I knew better, I thought my mother wanted a girl instead. Then when I was old enough to understand, she answered the question of why all the lessons. She said, if you could hold a girl like this, she would start to trust you. You could also know that you can trust yourself to lead her. That is a responsibility, maybe one of the greatest ones you’ll ever have. So, when I ask a woman to dance, I’m letting her know it’s okay to trust me.”
Holy fucking shit. Either that was the best line I’ve ever heard, or he truly believes it.
“Why do you need me to trust you?”
“So when you’re ready to leave, you’ll allow me to walk you home.”
