Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. And I’m fine. That was great. Top-notch, truly. You could actually teach a class on door leans, you’re so good at them.” She unlocks her phone and starts typing furiously, brows furrowed and thumbs moving at breakneck speed over the keyboard. Occasionally, she mumbles a few words, like biceps, ankles, and hot, but I can’t make out what she’s writing. It’s adorable, the way she’s so focused.

Eventually, she stops, pulling in a deep breath with a small smile on her lips.

“We’re nearly there. All set?” I ask.

“I think so. I’m so sorry. I just got super focused on getting these thoughts down, and I lost track of time.” She winces while looking out at the road ahead of us.

I was totally prepared to keep driving around if she needed more time. “No sweat, Chuck. Looked like you were having a solid hyperfocus moment.”

She hums a response. “Was that awkward for you to do? The leaning?” Her eyes stay on me as I contemplate my answer.

“A little at first because I was just waiting for you to open the door while I stood there, but once we were inside, no. I definitely prefer leaning on a doorway when you’re doing it with me.” I smirk, and when I sneak a glance at her, her cheeks are flushed the same rosy color they had been when I told her how good she smelled. As if we’re both remembering the same moment, she brings a hand to her neck. “Roses,” I accidentally whisper. Maybe she didn’t hear me.

After a few seconds of silence, I count myself in the clear. “What?”

Shit. She heard me.

I clear my throat, a sudden heat climbing its way to my own cheeks now. “Your, uh, smell. You always smell like roses.”

“Oh.” She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth, and I keep my eyes locked on the road for the remainder of our drive, which is about twenty-three seconds since I’m pulling into the driveway. “We’re here?” I nod a response. “Wow, this is beautiful.”

I look around, taking in the orange trees on one side, the old farmhouse ahead of us, and the mountains to the left. Yep. It’s amazing here, but the best view is at the back of the house. I can’t wait for Charlie to see it.

“Apologies in advance for my grandmother’s inappropriate jokes,” I say before getting out. She shoots me a confused look as I round the front of the car and open her door. “You’ll see. Now, come on, strawberry shortcake. We have work to do.” I bop her on the nose and take her hand, leading us both into the house, the smell of coffee floating out to greet us. “Vózinha?” Charlie tugs me back as she starts to slip her shoes off. “Oh, if you want to take your shoes off, I’ll get you some slippers. They don’t take their shoes off here.” I roll my eyes, then scan the cubbies by the front door for slippers in case she does want them.

“Oh. Okay then.” She slides her hand out of mine as she puts her shoe back on, and it’s then that I realize we’ve been holding hands. I didn’t register when the decision to take her hand happened, but I do notice that I miss the contact once it’s no longer there.

I walk into the kitchen first and find my grandmother has an absolute feast laid out for us. Fruits, several different kinds of cheese, so much bread, and a ton of sliced meat. Then there are the cake, biscuits, and sweet preserves to be eaten with the cheese. She went all out.

“Bença, Vó.” I reach for her, hugging her, then kissing her cheek loudly as she slaps my cheek in that way of hers. “This is my friend, Charlie. Chuck, this is my grandmother, Ana Maria.” I step back as the gorgeous redhead comes into view, her eyes a bit wide, and her lips parted. She’s nervous.

“Prazer,” Charlie says in a surprisingly proper Brazilian accent. Impressive as fuck, as always.

Charlie is frozen still, so Vó approaches her. The two women are nearly the same height, and when my grandmother reaches her hands up, her bright blue eyes widen further before softening. Seeing Charlie’s face between Vó’s wrinkled hands does something to my insides, a languid warmth leisurely making its way from my stomach to my chest.

“Linda. Muito linda,” she says, smiling widely at Charlie, who smiles back, placing her hands over the older woman’s. That warmth in my chest morphs into white-hot heat in a blink as I witness a moment I know I won’t ever be able to relive again. The air shifts. The ground moves. The light seems to shine only on them, and in an instant, it’s over. “Let’s eat,” Vó announces, and the three of us take a seat at the table.

27/

bolo de laranja

charlie

I expected to feel overwhelmed by being somewhere new, meeting someone I know nothing about because, while I had intended to use the drive to ask Rafael about his grandmother and what I should expect, I ended up spending it writing down every thought and feeling that came over me from the moment I opened my door to find Rafael leaning on it, to the moment he told me I smelled good. I swear, I can still feel the press of his nose on my neck, like he branded me there. I worry that the mark is visible, and yet I want it there, so I’ll never forget that feeling.

No doubt I’ll be up until the early morning hours writing. So many ideas have started forming, the more I understood what it meant to experience someone standing like that, looking the way he looked, with anticipation and maybe a dash of nerves in his eyes. All of it transformed the second he pushed me against the kitchen doorway. Our bodies moved fluidly. I had never fully understood the appeal of a man who simply knows how to be sexy on a whim. It was as if every movement was intentional and rehearsed, but it felt like they were just for me.

Now we sit here, with more food than we could possibly eat in front of us, after his grandmother just called me beautiful while looking at me in a way that should have made me squirm. But her eyes are so kind, so full of love, that it was impossible to do anything but smile. It felt like some sort of understanding passed between us in that moment. In that silence. As if we already knew one another. It’s impossible to explain it as anything other than just a pure and whole connection. Any of the apprehension and nervousness I’d felt had melted away.

“Charlie,” Vó says, though it sounds more like Sharlie. I like it. She points to the food laid out before us, wordlessly asking me to serve myself first. I don’t know where to start, though. Everything looks amazing, but I don’t want to offend this lovely person by not eating something.

“This is bolo de fubá; it’s a cornmeal cake. It’s sort of like cornbread but sweeter. This cheese is a little soft and salty and pairs really well with the goiabada, which is a guava marmalade,” Rafael continues, making his way around the table. “You’ve had pão de queijo, and this is a tapioca biscuit.” As he finishes, he smiles at me, and I smile back in thanks. His face falls suddenly, and he stands. “I forgot to tell her you don’t like hot coffee. Shit. Shoot. Desculpa, Vó.”

I reach for his arm and wrap my fingers around his wrist. “Raf, it’s fine. I’m good.” He freezes, staring at me unblinkingly before sitting back down. I serve myself all of the things he just described, because they all sound amazing, as his grandmother pours the coffee into small cups for the three of us.

I take a bite of everything as Rafael and his grandmother chat about something that happened yesterday. He had told me they only speak Portuguese with her, but she’s speaking English, and I assume that’s due to my presence. I did attempt to learn a few words in Portuguese, but still, the guilt that they’re having to change this for me doesn’t sit well. I take a sip of the hot coffee without thinking and gasp, forcing the liquid to run down the wrong pipe. I cough, and Rafael’s hand rests on my upper back, concern painted across his face.

“I’m fine. Sorry. I’m fine. Just surprised.” I clear my throat and take another sip of the coffee, closing my eyes. “God, this is good. Mmm.”