Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

Oh. Well, never mind then.

49/

which us?

charlie

At eleven o’clock on the dot, the buzzer goes off on the intercom that was updated throughout the building approximately a week after I ran into Rafael.

Huh.

I buzz him in, wishing he had just let himself up as he usually does while I gather my things. When he knocks, I’m ready. My black skirt flows out over my knees, the old leather boots that nearly meet the hem of the skirt already on. My emerald green long-sleeved top is tucked into the skirt to accentuate my waist. I’m ready.

Until I open the door.

Rafael is standing there with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, looking down at his feet, wearing a black button-up shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows and black pants.

And those bloody glasses.

His hair is styled in perfect curls and waves that touch the frames. But he’s looking down at his feet rather than at me. His eyes shift to my feet, then slowly rise, gliding over every part of my body until he reaches my eyes. This time, I’m the one waiting for him to look at me.

We haven’t said a word yet; we’re just staring at each other.

“Hi, Charlie.” He swallows, shifting one of his hands into his pocket. “You look beautiful.”

The fact that he hasn’t touched me, mixed with the emotion I can see in his eyes, has tears immediately building up, and I feel the heat of one trailing down my cheek. Before I can catch it, Rafael’s gentle touch is there, my tear trapped beneath his thumb.

He steps into my space and brings his forehead down to mine as the door shuts behind him. “Why?” He breathes out the question.

Why what, I wonder? Why am I crying? Why did I leave yesterday? Why does this feel like the beginning of the end?

I don’t have any of the answers, and he seems to know it.

“If this isn’t real… If this has to end, can it just not be today? Please? Not yet?” I feel his desperate questions on my lips as he inches closer. He must set the flowers down because I feel his other hand on my lower back, pressing us together until I can’t take any more.

My lips reach for his, and the kiss is a chaste press, but I swear I feel him tremble before we pull away. “Okay,” I whisper. “Not today.”

We both let out a long breath, and after I place the roses he brought me in a vase, we silently make our way out to his car.

If this isn’t real. If this has to end.

I may not be an expert at relationships, but I do believe myself to be as close as one can get to being a Rafael expert, and he’s emotional whenever we talk about me leaving or ending our agreement. And I’m starting to become emotional over it, too, because I don’t want this to be over. Yet? I don’t know. But I can’t think about this any longer.

By the time we’re settled in the car and on our way to his family home, I wonder if we can take it a day at a time. One normal day at a time. Then, we can see what happens.

“Can we just be… us?” My question must pull him out of whatever deep thoughts were running through his mind.

“Which us, Charlie? The us that bickers? The us where we avoid each other as much as possible because things are awkward? Or the us where I can touch you without asking permission and kiss you whenever I want?” His words are pained. The way he said my name—it’s different. It’s laced with hurt.

“Th-the third one. I want the third one.” And I do. I want that version of us. Maybe always. He lets out a sigh that almost sounds relieved.

“For now, right?” he clarifies, and there’s a small voice inside me that is begging me to just commit to being with him. But my brain won’t allow it, and the knowledge that I need to tie up loose ends with everything and everyone—well, Robert— in London nags at me.

“For now,” I whisper back, because I can’t say otherwise for certain.

He swallows twice, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens to the point that his knuckles whiten. “Okay,” he says.

Rafael reaches over and places a warm hand on my knee, and, just like he knew it would, the action soothes my nerves and makes me feel more at ease. I don’t chance looking up at him. I’m nearly certain that his eyes will be too sad. Too full of whatever he’s feeling, and I’d really like to not cry again today.