#mbfbw

For this part: Sambadrome:  parade area built for the Rio or São Paulo Carnival in Brazil. The venue is also known as Passarela or simply the Sambódromo in Portuguese. Feijoada:  a stew of beans with pork. Served with  white rice and oranges, as well as couve, a side dish of stir-fried, chopped collard greens, and a crumbly topping called farofa, made of manioc flour. Tutu:  consists of bean puree thickened with manioc flour or corn flour. Cracklings:  pieces of pork rind that have been fried until brown and crispy, and most of the fat has been rendered out. Manioc: commonly called cassava, manioc, yuca, macaxeira, mandioca, kappa kizhangu and aipim, is an edible starchy root. Often called yuca in Spanish America and in the United States, it is not related to yucca. Can be steamed, boiled, baked, or fried before being eaten on its own, mashed, or added to other dishes. Its starch is called tapioca.

Thank you @shellbilee​ for making sure I didn’t write anything weird. 

🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉

It was raining.

I remember it clearly, because my hair was all frizzy in the reflection of the restaurant’s huge mirror by the entrance. There, as I hung my coat, I wondered if my life would ever change.

Being the middle child of a Brazilian couple established in the UK, and the last to be born in Brazil, I moved here when I was three years old.

Ever since, my parents have done their very best to make sure our culture is not lost, and insist on doing everything ‘the Brazilian way’. That included outings, making sure we studied Portuguese, our parties - including a very noisy carnival celebration with the broadcast straight from the sambadrome - family gatherings, social life, food.

So, when they opened the restaurant, of course it would have to be a family business, and of course all our time outside school would be spent holed in there. 

My sister lucked out, marrying (obviously) a Brazilian guy to my father’s content, his best friend’s son, as if they had been promised. But they loved each other, and I loved my three nephews, even if one of them was still on his way.

My younger brother, spending last summer holidays in our grandma’s house, in Brazil, met this girl he kept in touch with and from the look of things, they were pretty solid. He had a spring in his step as he worked in the kitchen - his feijoada was better than my mom’s - whistling when he wasn’t shouting at his sous-chef.

Which left me, in my early thirties, educated and skilled, to run the books for my dad in the restaurant. I knew I had talent for more and I could make more money, but talking to my dad once, as my graduation approached, made things quite clear to me.

“Our professor has contacts and said that I could find a job easily with my skills set!” I told my parents at dinner, my hands going wild with excitement. “And…” 

“What do you need a new job for?” my father asked, interrupting me. “ You’ve never complained about your job at the restaurant. Is your allowance not enough?”

His voice boomed louder with each phrase. He got up then, grumbling all the way into the kitchen to grab his nightcap.

I looked at my mom, who was looking at the threshold where my father had disappeared into. Her face was unreadable.

I lowered my head, trying hard to control the burning in my eyes as I held back my tears.

“Why must you bring up a subject like that during dinner? You know how he gets.” My mother sighed as my first tear fell. “I’ll talk to him.”

She got up then. My head shot up, my heart swelling with hope.

“Do you think he’ll come around?” I asked after a quick sniffle, with a shadow of a smile on my lips.

“Oh, you should know better than him. You do the bookkeeping.” She answered, waving a hand dismissively and turned to head to the kitchen.

“Mama, what do you mean?” I asked, honestly puzzled by her answer.

“Well, you’d know if increasing your allowance would be a problem for the business, wouldn’t you?” She shrugged and turned, disappearing into the kitchen.

I looked at my brother, who was intensely concentrated on his last spoonfuls of soup. He lifted his eyes to mine when the yelling started.

“They’ll come around eventually. Give them time.” he said as he grimaced. Apparently, he believed his words as much as I did.

That’s how I ended up staying, helping my father where I could.

And that day, with my mom sick with the flu at home, I was a waitress during opening hours and worked on the books after hours.

I was by the window, serving two plates of tutu, when I saw him.

Tall, towering over the people walking next to him, broad-shouldered, filling out the navy blue overcoat in such a nice way, I didn’t feel bad ogling as I noticed I wasn’t the only one.

He and his entourage sat by the far wall, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have gotten close to them. People definitely recognized him, and a good ten minutes of his time were spent on photographs and autographs.

Only after my dad got in there and told people to leave the man alone is that they were given menus, and my dad took their order himself as an apology for taking too long to intervene. The man told him he was used to it and that it was no problem.

Coming back to the counter, my dad put the order in my hand as I watched the group talk animatedly, my eyes mostly on him.

His eyes locked with mine.

“Did you hear what I just said?” my dad elevated his voice slightly, bringing the attention of many patrons to us and mine to him. “Get this to your brother. Prioritize it. Complimentary cracklings and fried manioc. I’m heading home to check on your mother.” he added, stern.

“Yes, father.” I lowered my head, and made my way to the kitchen.

He wasn’t the one to pay and the lunch rush got me too busy to have served them anyway.

I heard the waitresses talking, before we closed, that he was some super film star, but I was too tired to join the conversation and I still had to work the day’s numbers.

When I arrived home, I was glad to see my mom up and watching tv with my father sleeping, resting his head on her lap. I smiled at the scene and waved at her, making my way up the stairs to my room.

It felt like I had just closed my eyes when my alarm went off. 

My dad decided to stay home and make sure my mom wouldn’t overexert herself, which left me to “manage” the restaurant.

Things were pretty smooth until I was called. That never happened when my dad was there, so my brother and I exchanged a look.

Two gentlemen sat at the table in question, the one that had his back to me already middle-aged, his hair greyer than black. The one who sat facing me was completely bald, and had tiny, deep set eyes behind his round glasses. I didn’t recognize him.

“How can I help you gentlemen? Oh, Professor Mathison!” I said to the one who I couldn’t see before. “How nice to see you again!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my surprise.

“I’m happy to see you, too!” he replied “When I saw the name of the restaurant, I thought that maybe it could be your family’s. This is my partner, Kevin.”

We exchanged pleasantries and they invited me to sit with them to chat for a bit until the evening crowd was down to two tables when they said their goodbyes.

“So, what was so important that held you back for most of the night?” my brother asked me, concerned.

“It wasn’t a problem.” I said, still smiling and shaking my head at the frown on his brow. “That was my former professor in the Uni.”

“And you sat to reminisce?” he asked me with a bit of a scoff.

“No, they actually had a proposal.” I replied, averting my eyes to the look I was sure I’d see in his.

“Oh, dad won’t like that one bit. The day he chooses to leave things in your hands, you go and stab him in the back?” his accusatory tone irked me quite a bit.

“Excuse me? Stab him in the back? What the hell are you talking about, and who the hell you think you’re talking to Junior?” he straightened upon hearing the nickname I only used with him when he was being an ass.

“I’m sorry. But dad won’t like it anyway. What was this proposal all about?” he replied, his voice this time much milder, but still carrying a little discontent.

“They want me to work at their law firm. They need someone trustworthy to audit the companies they work for, so they know if they’re clean or if there’s money laundering, in case of lawsuits or investigations.” I explained, unable to hide my excitement.

“And you can do that?” his tone suggested genuine surprise.

“Yes. That’s why I studied as much as I did. This is everything I wanted.” I told him earnestly.

“And I bet you’ll make a lot more money.” he added, trying to hide the sarcasm but not quite managing.

It hurt me that he couldn’t be as happy for me as I was. But I understood. The things he wanted for his life didn’t matter to me, had and would never matter to me.

“Money is not what this is about. You know that. You all should know that.” my eyes burned with the tears I was holding back.

Mercifully, someone called me back to the dining hall.

“What is it Angela?” I asked the waitress.

“We have finished cleaning the hall and there’s one last order to be delivered, but Daniel has already left.” she told me with a grimace.

“I’ll deal with it. Does my brother have it?”

“Yes, Jean is already working on it. Good thing the man called when he did, because they were already starting to clean up the kitchen.” she added and said good night.

I said my goodbyes to her and the other waiting staff, to the cooks that were leaving, and waited by the kitchen for the order.

“What about the books?” my brother asked me.

“I’ll work on it tomorrow. I’ve left everything ready upstairs to do it as soon as I arrive tomorrow.” I answered, waving my hand dismissing his concern.

“You be careful!” he added.

“Yes, dad!” I replied. “It’s paid for, so I won’t be carrying cash around. Nothing to worry about. Deliver, drive home, shower, sleep.” I clapped after I finished just for effect.

“Yeah, that’s a great plan.” he said, handing me the bag with the order. “Goodnight, I’ll lock up. Be safe.”

“You too, goodnight.” and kissing his cheek, I left.

The night was chillier than I had anticipated and I had left my coat in the restaurant. I decided not to go back, otherwise the food would be cold by the time I delivered it, and turned on the heating as soon as I got into my car, rubbing my hands on my arms. The wool cardigan I was wearing wasn’t helping much.

London was already quieting as I drove through its wet streets. The light reflecting on the asphalt only added to the chill, and my hands on the steering wheel were painfully cold.

The trip to the address stapled on the brown paper bag was not a long one, which meant I was still not warm as I left the car to knock on the black door of the white house. It had to stay a few houses down the street in the only available spot, as the street was already littered with the residents’ cars parked for the night. All the houses on that street were white I noticed with a pfft.

Immediately after my knock, booming barks reverberated through the house and could have woken the Queen.

“Cow, cow, quiet!” came a command as loud as the bark had been.

That’s why the Queen lives in Windsor! I thought, smiling and shaking my head.

The door opened, and so did my mouth.

The man opposite me also looked surprised.

We stared, open-mouthed, at each other until it got weird.

“Your delivery!” I rushed the words out of my mouth, shoving the bag at him.

“You!” he exclaimed at the same time.

“Me?” I asked, and my face undoubtedly contorted into a puzzled frown.

“Thanks!” he replied, once more at the same time.

Still confused, I uncomfortably laughed. He did too, and I wanted to take a picture of that smile, making a mental note to never judge fangirls for the rest of my life.

I shivered involuntarily then, the cold overwhelming any warmth the butterflies in my stomach had generated.

His smile fell and he lifted a finger to tell me to wait, taking the bag from my outstretched arms. Our hands touched. His leaving a searing trail in their wake. 

He yelped at the contact.

“Your hands are freezing!” he said as he retreated, opening the door to what was probably his living room and putting the bag by a massive curious dog.

“Cow, leave!” he commanded.

He then opened a door to his right, probably a closet.

“Why did you name your dog Cow?” I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity.

He was still hidden in there and poked his head out, with a laugh.

“It’s not cow.” he said, diving back in there, and coming out with a coat draped on his forearm and gloves in his hand. “It’s Kal. K-A-L.” he spelled with a smile.

“Oh, what an odd name.” I wondered, under my breath.

“Here, put these on.” he said, and before I could protest was already holding the heavy coat open for me to slide my arms in. It was huge and engulfed me almost like a blanket. 

“Much better.” he whispered, as he tied a knot around my waist with its belt. “Put these on too, they’ll protect your icy hands.”

Words failed me as to why the gigantic man was so kind and pushy. Also, the smell of his cologne was intoxicating, it was hard to say anything as I inhaled deeply.

“Thank you.” I finally replied, and let go a long and deep sigh.

“Don’t mention it.” he said, smirking. “Just bring it back before spring.”

I stared at him for a second.

“It was a joke.” he said, the smile ever present.

“Oh.” I paused. “Is that a way to get me to come back?” I asked, a newfound boldness overtaking me. 

So many great things had happened so far, why not push my luck a little?

He puckered his lips, and looked up for a few seconds.

“What about dinner? Whenever you’re available?” his brows shot up to his hairline where his lovely messy curls waved in the icy breeze. He put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Nervous.

I frowned as I couldn’t fathom why such a man would be nervous about my reply. He must certainly have models lining up to dine with him.

“Thursday is my day off. I’d love to.” I answered smoothing my features, which led to him relaxing in turn.

“Smashing! I loved the food in your restaurant, but something tells me you’re fed up with Brazilian food.” he said, eyeing me from under his lashes, which was kinda comical with him being so tall.

“You’d be correct.” I replied, nodding. “What about Japanese? My friend owns this restaurant in Soho.”

“That would be perfect! At seven?” he asked, a contagious enthusiasm in his voice.

“Works for me.” I said, and there didn’t seem to be enough air in my lungs. I wanted to jump along the street like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain.

The moment stretched as we stared at each other for a few seconds once again. Smiling this time.

Now if the objective me were to examine this scene from the outside, she’d see two dorks smiling at each other like fools. But she wasn’t around at that moment.

He finally sighed and cleared his throat.

“Will you give me your number?” he said, and it felt like he wanted to add something but decided against it mid sentence.

“Oh, sure, duh.” I picked up my phone from my pocket and handed it to him. 

As soon as he handed it back to me, I sent him a winking smiley face with my name. I looked up then and told him my name.

“Oh, shit, yeah! Forgive my lack of manners. I’m Henry.” he said, making a face, as if it were obvious. It must have been to the fangirls.

“So, see you Thursday, at seven.” I said in lieu of a goodbye, and waved briefly.

“See you then.” he replied. “Drive safely.” he added, when I was about to descend the last step.

I half turned and looked at him, haloed by the light coming from his entryway.

It was all for nothing though, since my father was waiting for me, sitting on the bottom steps of the stairs.

I had quietly shut the door when his voice startled me.

“Lock that properly, please.”

“Pai! What the hell? You almost gave me a heart attack!” I shrieked, hand flying to my chest.

“Well, first of all, do not swear. And if you were not sneaking, you wouldn’t almost have heart attacks. Why did you take so long to deliver one order?” he asked calmly, getting up with a groan and turning all the lights on. “What on Earth are you wearing?” he continued, not so calmly. “Are those men's clothes? What have you been doing? Why did that take so long to deliver?”

I couldn’t reply to the torrent of accusations because my mom’s voice came roaring from up the stairs.

“What is happening down there? Why are you yelling?” she yelled in turn.

“Your daughter has been sneaking around and came back home wearing a man’s clothes. That’s what’s happening!” he bellowed back, even though by that time she had already come down and was standing right next to him, with an accusatory glower. 

Their mirrored expressions would have been funny if the situation wasn’t quite unfair and, though I tried to speak up while their tirade was going on, the only thing I achieved was to look like a fish out of water.

“Well? Explain yourself mocinha!” my mom demanded.

“You two are unbelievable. Yes, these are men’s clothes. Obviously!” I told them, shrugging out of the oversized coat and shaking it for effect. “I left home today without my coat. I left it at the restaurant yesterday. I didn’t think it was that cold today, so I left without it again. I was freezing when I got to the client’s house. He was kind to lend me these.” I explained, once more shaking the offending items, now in my hands, in my parents’ direction.

They both wore such skeptical looks, it was again almost comical. But I was tired and the adrenaline of being scolded for the first time in more than ten years drained whatever energy I had left.

“Well, if you’ve got nothing more to complain about, I need a shower and sleep. I bet you do, too.” I said, and without waiting for an answer, I brushed past them and headed for my room.

His clothes were still in my hands, I noticed after closing the door. Sighing, I folded them and put them on my dresser, where I was sure not to forget them in the morning.

I headed for the shower, and only in there, with two doors between me and the world, is that I allowed all of that to really get to me.

I went to bed crying that night, and my mood wasn’t much improved by my waking up one whole hour before I had to. 

So, I made the most of it, having breakfast in peace, without seeing anyone else’s face. I got ready and put his clothes in a bag. With a quiet good morning, not really looking at my father as I passed by him on my way to the door, I left home.

On my way to work, I dropped his clothes at my dad’s best friend’s dry cleaners. Adriano promised me they’d be ready by Wednesday afternoon, and tried to find out whose clothes those were and why the rush. His employee arrived right then, saving me from being very rude, and prompting an introduction. 

I couldn’t blame him for trying to set me up. My father must complain a lot that I’m still not married.

The guy, Marcio, wasn’t really all that bad. His golden-brown, deep set eyes, crinkled at the edges as he smiled and shook my hand. A thin straight nose, and a nicely, short bearded, squared jaw, his most prominent feature, complimented the whole. He was, by all accounts, very handsome. 

It wasn’t his fault that somebody else was already on my mind.

I said goodbye to them as soon as I could without offending them, arriving late for work.

“I know, I know.” I said to my dad when I saw the sour look.

“What were you doing?” he asked, with the same accusatory tone he used the night before.

“I took the kind stranger’s clothes to tio Adriano for cleaning before I returned them.” I replied matter-of-factly. “Just like you and mama taught me.”

I didn’t wait around to hear whatever he had to say, stopping only to tell my brother that I’d spend the day with the books and that I didn’t want to be disturbed.

There were so many things simmering in my head. I needed a break and nothing distracted me from reality like numbers did.

I was so engrossed in the wrong result the calculator kept showing me that I seethed at the three knocks on the door.

“Fuck me!” I muttered, getting up. “What is it? I said I did not want to be disturbed.” I snapped, as I flung the door wide and was met with my brother’s very concerned face.

“It’s closing time. You didn’t eat all day. I wanted to bring you some food, but dad told me to ‘give you your space’. I’m worried about you. What was the shouting yesterday about?” he asked and walked into my office, pulling a chair to sit facing me.

“It doesn’t…” I started, falling onto my chair and holding back my tears.

“Of course it matters. It matters a great deal. To me. Spill it.” he ordered, pulling a box of tissues from behind my printer and offering them to me.

“I met someone.” I said, and blew my nose.

“Whoa! I was not expecting that!” he whispered, but he might as well have shouted, such was the look on his face.

As he spoke he pulled his chair away as if I had electrocuted him.

“Well, yeah.” I shrugged.

“Who is he? Is he a gringo?” his very straight face as he said that made me chuckle.

“You sound like dad.” I said, sniffling and raising an eyebrow.

“Is he though?” He refused to be distracted.

“Yes.” I admitted.

“Is he the one you delivered to last night?” he asked.

I simply nodded.

“What happened? You met the guy and it was heart eyes at first sight?” he asked, exasperated.

I opened my mouth to answer, but he beat me to it.

“You know what? Never mind.” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I fried some chicken with catupiry pastel for you. A few minutes ago. If you come now, it’ll still be warm.” he offered, raising his eyebrows, knowing I wouldn’t resist.

“You ass! You don’t fight fair! Bribing me with pastel! How dare you?” I feigned being offended but put the calculations aside and shut my computer down. “When did you make the dough? And I didn’t get an invoice for the cachaça so find it and get it to my office asap!” 

“Vish! What an ungrateful sister I have!” he complained.

“I’m not ungrateful. I just don’t want us to lose the restaurant because of your poor organizational skills.” I said dryly.

I heard his gasp and smiled but didn’t look back at him. The smell of the fried deliciousness reached my nostrils and I sat on one of the stools by the counter. Jean, the sous chef was on his way out and brought the goodies to me.

“Here you go!” he said, putting the plate in front of me.

“You didn’t have to, my brother would have brought me…” I started.

“Don’t worry about that.” he spoke quietly. “It’s a pleasure to feed a hardworking member of this family.” he said louder, so that my brother could hear.

“I’m going to kill you!” came my brother’s shout from the kitchen.

Jean snickered and waved his goodbye at me.

I waved back, watching him exit just as my brother came out of the kitchen with a dish rag in his hands, ready for war.

“Oh, that…”

“Great, hard working, best friend of yours. Yeah.” I added to whatever he was going to say, and took a bite of the not so crispy, but still delicious dough, a moan of appreciation escaping my lips.

“Yeah, it would have been better fifteen minutes ago.” he said, making a face at the soggy parts.

“It’s still delicious! What did you add to the chicken seasoning?” I asked around a mouthful.

“Thyme and turmeric. But don’t tell dad. He ate it and didn’t notice.” he hurried to add.

“Gotcha.” I said with a smirk, and busied myself with the greasy deliciousness in my hands.

“Tomorrow I’m making coxinha.” he said and waggled his eyebrows at me.

I moaned thinking about it.

“Are you making the hot sauce too?” I asked him after I finished chewing.

“Oh yeah. I chose tomorrow exactly because the peppers are ready to be picked.” he proudly declared.

“So,” he started after a moment of slightly awkward silence, spinning the chair around and crossing his arms on its back. “This gringo of yours…”

“He’s not mine! Will you leave it alone!” I interrupted him. “He’s nice, he was very thoughtful with the coat because it was cold...”

“Yeah, dad told me all about it!” he laughed, exaggerating the ‘all’. “Actually, there was no other subject to be discussed in this restaurant today.”

I groaned.

“Don’t be like that! You never, ever, brought any guys home. Men’s clothing in dad’s domain was bound to cause some sort of reaction, don’t you think?” he asked me with raised eyebrows.

“Wonder why I never brought any guys home.” I sighed, and ate the last bite of the pastel.

“Yeah, mom came here to have lunch today. She thought your gringo would come by to talk to dad.” he said, serious.

“Oh, no!” I groaned again, still chewing, pushed the plate away, and hid my face on my arms on the table.

“What? They’ll expect to meet him!” he declared, as if it was something I should be expecting.

“Benjamin! I met him YESTERDAY.” I emphasized, trying to get it into his thick skull. “I would like there to be something between him and I before I have to submit him to the Brazilian Inquisition!”

“Okay, okay! Haha, Brazilian Inquisition!” he chuckled.

“You’re such a child!” I grumbled.

“And you adore me.” he sneered.

We closed for the night and getting home I went straight to my room, glad that my parents were too busy with the television.

Right before I closed my eyes to sleep, my phone, charging on the nightstand, brightened my room with a notification.

I checked the message that read:

I’m sorry that it is so late. I just wanted to wish you a good night, hoping that you’re toasty warm and that you have sweet dreams.

I smiled and was about to type something back when another one came in.

I’m truly sorry, I hope these don’t wake you up. I don’t really want to have dinner on Thursday.

My heart dropped to my stomach, and I quickly started typing a reply. The lump forming in my throat hurt. 

Before I could hit send, two other texts came in, one quickly after the other.

I’m sorry, I hit send before checking what I typed and auto correct messed it all up.  What I meant is that I would very much like it if we could have lunch tomorrow. I understand it if it’s too last minute, or if you can’t get out of work. I just wanted to see you.

While I waited to check if he’d send anything else, I deleted everything I had typed.

You did not wake me up, and I am toasty warm. I’ll figure something out. I’d really like to see you too. Just tell me when and where. Sweet dreams to you too!

I hit send and grinning like an idiot, fell asleep trying to come up with an excuse good enough for my dad to swallow and not give me grief about leaving the restaurant during lunch rush.

I jumped out of bed the next morning. 

I was nervous. I put an extra effort into my look and my mom could not see me looking like that that early. She’d know something was up and I still hadn’t thought of a good enough excuse for my escapade. I’d never hear the end of it.

I stopped at my favorite bakery, and ordered my favorite cream and cheese pastries with blueberries, and a chamomile tea to try and calm down a bit.

I checked my messages and at six o’clock sharp he sent me the address and a good morning, telling me he was looking forward to seeing me there at twelve thirty pm.

I was glad I was locked in my office by then, my goofy face would have told anyone in a two-hundred-mile radius what I felt. I managed to rein in my excitement and got to work, after setting an alarm so I wouldn’t get lost in work and miss lunchtime.

Startled, I turned it off after what felt like five minutes. I put my phone away and took a deep breath to quiet my racing heart and went into the bathroom to check if I still looked decent. Happy with what I saw in the mirror, I reapplied my lipstick, and made my way down the stairs, wincing as I heard my dad’s voice.

“Where are you going?” he asked in a very concerned tone.

“I-uh, I have a doctor’s appointment.” I said, nodding emphatically.

“At lunchtime?” he insisted, eyeing me suspiciously.

“It was the only time my gynecologist would be able to see me.” I shrugged.

“Oh!” he said and winced. “Go, go. Don’t miss your appointment then.” he sighed deeply and walked away grumbling and shaking his head.

I let go a breath and hurried into the Uber that had arrived just as my mother parked on the other side of the street.

I laughed out loud at my impromptu excuse, my hands cold and damp. 

Thinking escaping my family was the hardest distracted me from being nervous about the meal ahead of me. My stomach probably stayed back at the restaurant and not knowing what awaited me, not even what kind of restaurant it was, put me on edge.

The drive was not long, and I checked my GPS because the address couldn’t be right. It was a residential area and I was standing in front of a normal looking house.

Since I had stepped out of the car in my befuddlement, the Uber driver had driven off and left me there with no one to ask if the coordinates were correct.

When I was about to dial his number, looking frantically left and right, Henry appeared around the corner, strolling unhurriedly, with his hands in the pockets of his coat. His beanie-covered head seemed to sway gently and his eyes were trained on the ground ahead of him.

I huffed a sigh of relief and tried to look less desperate before he saw me, but he didn’t give me much time, looking up almost immediately and stretching his lips in a grin that made everything around me look grey.

His hurried steps toward me and the unwavering joy that emanated from him in waves made me feel like the smile on my face would be etched there forever. 

“Hi!” he said, waving, still a few meters away. 

“Hi.” was my feeble reply. 

He finally came close enough and kissed both my cheeks. 

“How are you?” he asked, while his eyes roamed over my features.

“I’m fine. You?” I breathed, a little dazzled by his nearness.

“Better now.” he breathed back.

We stared at each other for a few seconds, until I felt that if either of us didn’t say something I’d have to kiss him.

“Hm, where are we eating?” I muttered, and he chuckled, breaking the tension.

“Follow me.” he said, but his hand on the small of my back kept me slightly in front of him.

We entered a brick house, apparently residential, but as we turned a corner, after leaving our coats in the entryway hanger, an open floor dining area was revealed. 

Henry spoke quickly to a hostess while I took in the movie-like decor, the thick fresco relief wallpaper and the pearly, satiny table cloth sparkling in the low light, as did the cutlery. She led us past all that, to a cozy back porch, surrounded by windows and bathed in the little sunlight that winter afternoon allowed. A nice table for two was set in the middle of the room, and on the corner there was a huge log fireplace, which gave the room a nice aroma. 

The centerpiece had a floating white gardenia in a small clear vase and a succulent next to it. It was simple and it was beautiful.

“I hope you’ll like it. They have the best of Spanish cuisine I’ve ever eaten outside Spain, and it’s quite discreet, as you could see. Not many tables, never a rush.” he said as we sat. “I thought you’d appreciate the homely atmosphere.”

“It’s so nice!” I exclaimed, my voice strained because my head was tipped back examining the carved beams on the ceiling. “It’s lovely. I had never seen a restaurant like this, except the ones that offer you the whole dinner in the dark thing.” I said, marveling at the garden outside, that even on that chilly, windy day, looked inviting. I wondered if they placed tables outside in summer.

“Yeah, that’s something I’m not so sure I’d like to try, but that I’d try nonetheless.” he chuckled and so did I. “It could be the follow up to our second date?”

He raised an eyebrow, cocked his head to the side, and changed the intonation at the end of his statement, making it half a question.

I studied his face and the slight blushing was so cute. His eyes shifted downward.

“So Thursday is still up?” I asked, making his eyes snap back to mine.

“Very much so. If you want to.” he answered, pausing for a moment before adding the caveat.

My lips curled up into a large smile and I nodded twice. I couldn't trust my voice. It would have wavered, uncertain, shaking under his steel blue gaze, burning from beneath his lashes.

We were served a pitcher of cava sangria and ordered.

We talked for a long time as the delicious dishes were served. He asked me a ton of questions as if he couldn’t wait to get to know me better. I don’t think I had ever talked so much about myself before, but his easy going nature made me feel less self-conscious about monopolizing the topics.

By the time dessert came around, we were discussing the merits and demerits of our favorite books, and I made the mistake of looking at my watch. It had felt like we had been talking for a long time because we had been there for nearly three whole hours.

He noticed my change of mood.

“Must you go now?” he guessed, and drank the last of his sangria.

“Unfortunately. I’m needed at the restaurant, and if I’m away too long, I won’t hear the end of it.” I confessed. 

I remembered my phone existed, daring to check it. I had 20 missed calls and my text notifications were so high that the counter on the app showed only a number and a plus sign.

I grimaced, and brought my eyes back to his. He watched me with a curious expression on his features.

“I took the liberty of calling you a cab.” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” I replied with a smile.

He beat me to the part I was most anxious about.

“This is my treat.” he spoke, reaching for my hand on the table and smiling sympathetically at my clear anxiousness. “I believe the cab won’t be long.” 

There was a hint of sadness in his voice, and my heart echoed it.

“Thursday is my treat then.” I said, and raised the other hand to stop the protest I saw on his eyes. “I’m looking forward to it already.”

“So am I.” he said, his voice breathy.

I got up then, and so did he, walking with me to the foyer. He held my coat for me, his hands lingering on my arms and he looked deep into my eyes. He kissed my left cheek then, and it felt like his lips lingered on my skin for ages.

Stunned with the unexpected show of affection, right there where anyone could have seen, I lowered my face as soon as our eyes met.

“See you Thursday.” he said, moving imperceptibly closer, and if not for the hammering of my heart leaving me on high alert, I wouldn’t have noticed.

A horn broke us apart. The cabbie already outside, impatient. 

With a murmured bye I headed out and into the cab. Before the car moved, I took one last look at the door and there he was looking at me with a look I couldn’t really place.