Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

“I would take offense to that, Dani.” Raf walks up behind me, setting a drink on the island countertop where I have been normally perched during our Tuesday visits, and wraps his arms around my middle. “But I’m not even mad because Charlie is always the most important person in the room to me.”

I melt. Andrea swoons. Daniela clutches her chest. Marcelo makes a loud gagging noise. And then we all laugh, easing the tension I had started to feel with Rafael’s sincere proclamation. He didn’t even have to think about it; he just came out and said it so naturally.

Shortly after introductions, Andrea and Vó asked to be left alone in the kitchen, so the rest of us headed outside with drinks and snacks. They ask me about London, whether I’m liking California, and how Raf and I met—though Gus admitted that they already knew, they just wanted my version of the story.

“And you work in finance, right? Rafa told us you’re very good at what you do.” Ivan smiles kindly at me. When I look at Rafael on the other side of the patio, he’s blushing.

“You’ve been talking about me?” I ask the question teasingly, grinning at Raf before answering his father. “I do work in finance. And he’s right. I am very good at it.”

“I like you,” Daniela points at me. “You’re badass.”

I shake my head. “Well, I might be good at my job, but I don’t like it very much.” The admission sends tingles over my skin.

Ivan clicks his tongue. “You should love whatever you do, Charlie girl. Life is both too long and too short for you not to do what makes you happy, you know?” There’s a sadness that comes over Ivan’s features then, but he covers it quickly. “And I have a feeling your current job isn’t the only thing you’re good at.” His eyes crinkle kindly at me.

“Pfft, this is nothing,” Raf says. “She also writes books. And she smiles when she writes them. It’s incredible, to watch her create an entire world full of people and places no one has ever seen before. Charlie’s stories are amazing.” He’s positively beaming with pride as he tells his family about me. My entire body is taught, and he must see it. His smile fades and he mutters a curse, mouthing the word sorry to me. But there’s nothing to be sorry for. I only tensed at the initial shock of his words. I know he’s proud of me. I can feel it. I can hear it in the way he’s excited to share pieces of me with his family, and they’re excited to know me. It’s… wonderful. He’s wonderful.

“Really? You’re a writer?” The youngest sister’s question rips me out of my spiral.

I breathe out a laugh. “Okay, yes, but let’s not go down that rabbit hole right now. I’d love to know more about you all. I’m fascinated by the fact that your backyard is an orange grove. And I’m going to need to see some Brazilian skills put on display on that football pitch.” I lift my chin in the direction of the nets set up on the grassy field.

“Ai,” Ivan clutches his chest. “You know it’s a grove and you call it football, not soccer.” He emphasizes the last word with an exaggerated American accent. Looking pointedly at Rafael, he continues, “Better not let this one go, filho.”

Raf’s eyes lower, a tight smile pulling at his cheeks. I wish he would look at me so I could see the emotion in his eyes. From here, with his head down, I can’t get a read on him.

“Get ready, Charlie,” Marcelo says on a laugh. “Now you’ll have Pai talking about oranges and The Beautiful Game for the rest of the day.” He winks at his dad and everyone laughs.

Ivan does talk about both oranges and football, and I try to remain engaged. But after an hour of conversation with so many people and my first official admission of being an author, I’m starting to feel my social battery start to drain.

“Daddy, can I show Charlie my quiet place?” Cece approaches her dad cautiously, careful not to get too close to the hot grill he’s cooking part of our meal on. Gabriel closes it, turning to give her his full attention.

“Only if she wants to, sweets. And if she says no, another grown-up needs to go with y?—”

“I know, Daddy. I know the rules.” She shakes her head, and based on the way her dad’s eyebrows rise, she probably just rolled her eyes at him, too. I look away, stifling a smile. I didn’t expect to like a five-year-old so much, but here we are.

I watch as her little shoulders rise on a deep inhale. She’s probably psyching herself up to ask me to go with her. It’s a big deal. For her to approach me, for her to share such a special place with me, so I decide not to cause her any further stress. When she turns around, however, with determination written all over her sweet face, I have to change my mind. Because this little girl isn’t in any kind of distress over this, she’s simply finding her courage.

“Hi, Charlie,” she says when she approaches me. Rafael is deep in conversation about a football match—the kind you play with your feet, not the American kind—with his dad, but he looks over as his niece approaches me.

“Hey, Cece.” I pretend that I didn’t just hear her whole conversation with her father.

“I want to go to my quiet place, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me. We won’t be long since it’ll be time to eat soon, and my dad has a rule that a grown-up has to come with me, so if you don’t come, I’ll have to ask someone else.” She states the facts and then waits for my answer, all while looking over my shoulder. Cece hasn’t made eye contact with anyone but her dad since I got here, and no one has tried to force her into it during any interactions either. I’ve never experienced anything like this.

“I’d really like to come with you. Thank you for asking me.” I start to stand, setting the glass of prosecco Rafael had gotten me earlier on the table.

When I walk past him, he snakes an arm around my waist, squeezing gently as he kisses my temple. “Take your time,” he whispers.

“Let’s go, Charlie.” My little green-eyed friend skips away from me, crossing to the other side of the backyard toward the pond. When she gets close to the water, she stops and waits for me to catch up, then walks to a wooden bench where she sits and looks at the calm water.

“Vovô made this bench for me, and Titia painted it.” She pats the seat next to her like the bench is precious. I’m sure it is to her.

I know from listening to her interact with her family members for a little while that Vovô is her grandfather and Titia is Dani, her aunt. Vovó is Grandma, and Bisa is short for Bisavó, which means great-grandmother.

“You can sit here if you want.” Cece’s hands go to her lap as she looks our at the water.

I walk closer to her and take a seat on the simple but beautiful bench, which has tiny flowers painted along the back of it. The letters “ilia” are visible among the florals, so I can safely assume her name is what’s written there in the beautiful cursive.

“Thank you.” I don’t say anything else. This is a quiet place, after all. So, we sit in peaceful silence, enjoying the way the trees sway and the reflection of the sky on the water’s surface.