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Before I can inquire further, the alarm on his phone rings, prompting him to pull dinner from the oven. “I hope you like what I made. I was doing it from memory. I messaged Mama for her ingredient list. She challenged me that I couldn’t make it as good as she could. I guess we’ll find out, yes?”
“I feel like I know your mother the way you talk about her. I’m sure she’ll be glad to have you back home.”
“She will. She said as much last time I spoke to her. She also knows I have unfinished business here too.”
Just like in our messaging and emails, I feel like he’s holding back just a bit. Now that I can see his body language and read the expressions on his face, I’m sure of it. “If you’d hand me your plate, I will dish you up. Just relax. I feel like you need to.”
He’s right. I can feel the tension in my neck. I keep rolling the stem of my wine glass between my fingers when I’m not drinking from the glass, and my shoulders finally fall below my earlobes.
I take another slow sip of my wine and settle my focus to the lush colors of the backyard. It’s so pretty, like something from a storybook. The birds are flying from tree to tree. The bees are moving from flower to flower. The leaves are gently mixing together creating a white noise I don’t often take the time to notice.
“You’re even more beautiful when you’re relaxed.”
His compliment brings me back inside finding him sitting across from me, the steam of our dinner rising in front of both of us. “Buon appetito, Bella.”
From the first bite to our last, the dinner could not be more perfect. He grilled a couple of lean chicken breasts with a hint of lemon and served it on a bed of crisp spinach. He had a small fresh baguette with some of the ripest berries I’ve ever tasted. We talk about current events, his last day of filming, and the project as a whole. He asks for my opinion on his contract. I don’t know if it was meant to make me feel comfortable speaking about something I know well, if he really wanted my opinion, or both.
When we realize we’ve polished off the entire bottle of wine, he asks if I’d like to sit in the backyard for a while. I simply nod as he rises from his seat, placing his napkin on the chair he just left, while offering me his right hand.
It’s crazy. I was, I guess I still am, a huge fan of fairy tales. I read them, I watch them, hell, I even dream about them. Nothing, I mean nothing, can compare to having it live and in color. I take his hand and our walk through the side door to the yard is a magical blur.
I can feel the gentle guide of his hand in the small of my back. I remember having conversations a lot in college, and since with my girlfriends, about what you first notice in a man. Many say the usual things. I’ve always been about the eyes. More often than not, the eyes don’t lie. They open a window to a person’s soul. If they don’t look at you, you can immediately sense an uneasiness. If you are the only thing around you when they look at you, you know there’s something there.
He always looks at me. Always.
In the couple of times we’ve spent in each other’s presence, I’ve begun to notice a couple of other things. First, is the nearness of him. I’m used to a certain distance, especially at work and I guess even in my relationship with Vince. When I’m near Rafael, I’m near him. He talks close, stands in my bubble. It makes me feel amazing and anxious in the same breath.
My other favorite thing is his hands. I have kid hands. I have this running joke with my friends. I prove that I have the smallest set in our group. I’ve yet to hold up my hand, palm to palm, with another adult, okay let’s be real…someone over the age of twelve, who has smaller hands than I do. So when he takes my hand to kiss it, or right now with his hand across my back, he engulfs me. I can feel his pinky on one hip and his thumb on the other. Again, amazing and anxious.
“You seem to have a lot on your mind, Bella. What is it?”
I stop walking and begin to pick my thumbnail once again. “You still haven’t answered my question from earlier.”
“Which question was that?”
“About why I’m here. Do you feel comfortable just talking to me and asking me here was a way to have closure?”
Rafael threads his hand around mine, halting my nervous habit, and giving my fingers a gentle squeeze. It’s a nonverbal message to look into his eyes. “Ava, I do feel comfortable talking to you. You have a way about you and I feel a connection I can’t put words to.”
We stand there speaking unspoken volumes into each other’s eyes. Without hesitation, he gives me a small smile that lights up the oceans I love to stare into, then pulls me into his arms. At first, my hands are pinned against his chest. When I realize this embrace is going to linger, I relax, slide my hands free to wrap over his back. I can feel and hear him exhale.
His lips press softly to the top of my head. My eyes roll closed and I focus on one thing, the beats of our hearts. Mine is racing, his is slow and steady. They fall into a rhythm together that’s nearly a call and response. The sounds I heard from the kitchen of the world around us, begin to creep in creating a melody to our bassline, then his words follow.
“I didn’t expect you, Ava, yet here you are. You have a way of thinking about others in a way I’m not used to. When I’m in public, often it’s what I can do for or say to others, which I don’t mind, but I don’t ever have to be that way when I’m with you.” I can sense him searching for his words. I hold him tighter. As his breathing deepens, he continues, “Bella, remember the holiday I told you about? When I leave here, I’m going to an island for ten days. I’m getting away from everyone and everything to recharge.”
“That sounds like a dream,” I speak against his chest.
“It will be…if you come with me.”
His grip around me tightens. I think he’s afraid I will pull away. He’s right. “You want me to do what?”
“I know it’s a crazy request. I want more time with you. I want to talk until the sun comes up. I want to know everything about you. Is that something you want?”
I could lie, but why? I force him to let me go just enough so I can look up into his eyes and he into mine. We have this moment where it feels like we’re trying to speak without words once again. He gives me a slight smile beneath the stubble that’s growing on his cheeks. I know my eyes do it first and I smile back. “It is. Very much.”
“Then I ask you, don’t think. I feel as if I ask you this many times. Allow me to ask you once more. Please, Bella, come with me?”
Chapter seven
