Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

“What?” Rafael chuckles, settling in and turning the volume down on the music.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.” I feel the heat rush to my cheeks. Sometimes, the words just slip out, and the more comfortable I become with someone, the fewer filters I seem to have between my brain and my mouth.

“Oh no, it’s fine. You just took me by surprise, Chuck.” He starts to back out of the spot he parked in, his hand coming to rest on the back of my seat, ignoring the screen showing us what’s behind the vehicle. Such a hot guy thing to do. Knowing he’s focused on what’s behind us, I let my eyes roam for a moment, and when they land on his face, he’s already looking at me. “For the record, I love surprises.” His right hand goes back to the steering wheel, and I’m still entranced with the way all of those muscles move. “To answer your question, I don’t want kids of my own. I would rather help families trying to adopt and support the foster system in other ways. Plus, I kind of like being the cool uncle, you know?” He shrugs, completely unfazed by my far too personal question. He doesn’t ask me to answer the same question, and I silently thank him. Despite my curiosity, now doesn’t seem like the right time for me to defend my stance on not ever wanting to be a mum. Pregnancy is a hard no for me.

“Hmm. You’re just so good with Julia. It seems to come so naturally to you.” I pause, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Everything seems to come naturally to you.”

There’s a beat of silence. “I think you know now that that’s not true. I just had to embrace my strengths because my weaknesses were always pointed out. And kids are easy, you know? They’re so pure and innocent. Plus, I get to hand them back and go home to snuggle my cat.” He smiles widely at that, and I can’t help but do the same.

“I thought your cat hated you,” I say with a laugh.

His smile turns into an exaggerated pout that manages to be sort of cute on him. “Thanks for the reminder. She’s probably going to be so pissed when she sees me come home tonight. I bet she’s just hoping I’ll leave and never come back. But guess what, Ginger Spice? I’m not a quitter! I’m just gonna keep loving that cute little fur ball until she loves me back!” His face is filled with determination, and I don’t even have to question whether or not he’s serious. I’m certain Rafael will not rest until this cat concedes.

24/

stop saying dick pic.

charlie

We’re just entering Santa Monica when Rafael shifts slightly in his seat, drawing my attention from the palm trees in front of us.

“Carrot cake?” I roll my eyes and turn to him in response, eliciting a smirk from the handsome man next to me. “If you’re hungry, I have some chicken ready to be tossed on the grill at home and my grandmother’s pavê in a cooler in the trunk. It’s a dessert with ladyfingers—like the cookies, not actual fingers—and custard with chocolate on top.”

“Oh. Um, I don’t want to be a bother, it’s?—”

“Chuck, if you tell me right now that you don’t want to come over because you need time alone or you simply don’t want to, I will drop you off at your building and not ask any other questions.” At a red light, he turns his head and looks at me as he says, “But you know I love to cook. I think you’d be very into this dessert, and I kind of want to ask for your help with something. So, if that sounds okay, please come have dinner with me?” The fact that it’s a question softens something inside me.

“All right. I’ll come.” He pumps a fist into the air before continuing with the flow of traffic, and I hate to admit how infectious his excitement is.

Once we get to his place, Rafael is quick to get things started for our meal. He moves around the kitchen effortlessly, gathering vegetables to grill along with the chicken. “Can I help with anything?” I’m not a big fan of feeling useless, but that’s usually how it feels watching someone else do everything.

“Actually, would you mind grabbing us drinks? I’ll take sparkling water with some ice. Grab whatever you’d like out of the fridge. I’m just gonna get these going. I’ll be right back.” Holding up the trays of meat and vegetables, he swings open the door with his hip and walks out.

Somehow, he always seems to know what to do to put me at ease, and I don’t even think he’s trying to. Something as simple as giving me a task and leaving me alone to do it. I look around his kitchen, thankful for the open shelves showcasing the glasses. I take two and open the fridge, eyeing the dessert he stashed away in there. It really does look delicious.

Once I’ve poured two glasses of sparkling water, I set them on the counter just in time for him to come back inside. He places a tray in the dishwasher, washes his hands, and turns back to me, clapping his hands.

“All right, so. About that thing I need your help with.” He brings his hands to his chin for a moment, then looks at the floor. “It’s kind of a personal project. Something I’m doing to pass along some family traditions, but no one in my family really knows about it. My grandmother and I have been putting together family recipes.” He turns around, opens a drawer, pulls out a soft brown leather-bound notebook, and then twists to face me once again. “Normally, she writes the recipes while we do this, but it’s getting harder for her to do that because of her arthritis. We get together once a week; we still have a few recipes left to add before this feels complete. I eventually need to get them typed up as well, and, well, that’s where you hopefully come in.”

He hands me the notebook, and I take it in both hands, running my finger along the embossed letters on the cover. Machado Family Recipes. “You’d like me to write the remaining recipes in here and then transfer them from this notebook into a digital file?” I look up and find Rafael toying with his watch, nervousness showing in his features for the first time. He nods and looks as if he’s about to say more, but I continue instead. “And you’d need me to be there when you work on these recipes since she’s struggling to write them down?”

His brows furrow, and he lowers his head so far that his chin touches his chest. “Yeah,” he whispers, then quickly clears his throat. “Yes. I go there every Tuesday, and I guess I could type the recipes as I go, but my hands are usually pretty busy, and I don’t trust dictating everything because if a mistake is made, I might not catch it right away, and the thought of multi-tasking all of this is already a little overwhelming, so I can’t even imagine how it would feel if I actually had to?—”

I reach out and place my hand on his forearm. The touch startles him enough to stop his run-on sentence, his eyes locking on where we’re now connected as he takes a deep breath. I imagine this is what it must feel like to touch something with an electric current running through it. Instead of shying away, I grip a little tighter, and his eyes rise to meet mine.

“I’ll be glad to help. Tuesdays are now for cooking with you and your grandmother. Done.” I let my hand drop to my side, place the notebook on the counter, and immediately cross my arms over my chest to hide the shakiness I’m afraid is bound to be noticed by this far too perceptive man.

“Just like that?” With wide eyes, Rafael stands before me perfectly still.

“Yep.” I step back and reach for my glass of water, washing away the sudden dryness in my throat. “Should we go check on dinner before everything’s charred and we have to order takeout?” I motion to the back door, and he follows the movement, standing straighter. I pick up his glass of water, he grabs tongs from a nearby drawer, and we walk out together.

I set the glasses down on the bar next to the barbecue, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, I speak. “Zach messaged me today.”

His jaw ticks, and I study the movement because this is romance novel gold. It’s an actual thing. His jaw did an actual tick—like he clenched his jaw around nothing. How interesting.

“What did he have to say?” He continues moving things around the grill, adding corn and zucchini.

“Not much, actually. He had a lot to show, though.” His eyebrows furrow as mine raise. “He seemed to think it’d be a good idea to send me a dick pic.” I shrug, then jump as the clatter of the tongs crashing onto the metal of the barbecue startles me.