Chapter 15: Date with the boys

Rejena

After three hours of writing, I get up and stretch before I head to the shower to wash off this morning as I had walked straight to the typewriter after coming back from the hike with Dallon. I take my time to wash off the sweat and the river water, taking extra care to wash my hair. Once I am done, I decide to put a bit of effort into my looks. I take my time to style my hair in perfect waves, then apply a light eye-shadow that makes my eyes pop slightly more.

I slipped into my green summer dress, the lace cool against my skin, light as a breath. The green is the shade of new leaves and summer fields, soft and alive all at once. Tiny, embroidered vines curled along the hem and sleeves, little leaves stitched in delicate patterns that danced when I moved. It felt less like putting on clothing and more like stepping into something wild and beautiful, like wearing a piece of the season itself.

My shoes are silver sandals that wrap up my legs, giving me the feeling of being a goddess. If Demeter was real, she would be very proud of my outfit.

I feel nervous as I knock on Dalon’s door, but after knocking for the third time, I realize that he might still be sleeping. Instead of allowing myself to feel the disappointment, I suck up my pride and then make my way into town, ready to face this small world on my own for a little while. As much as I have been enjoying my time with Dalon, I did come here to find myself and he came here to lose himself. It was time that I do what I came here for.

I head straight for Mila’s café, loving the fact that I already made at least one friend in this town aside from Dalon and Mila’s husband. “Salve, Mila.” I say when I walk into the café. Mila greets me with a wave and tells me to grab a table. I sit down and within minutes there is a coffee in front of me. I smile gratefully at the server that brought me the coffee and then sip patiently on the hot liquid as I wait for Mila.

“You alone today? The boy not looking after you?” She asks and I chuckle. She takes the seat across from me, making herself comfortable, like we have known each other for years and this is a normal occurrence.

“He is tired after our hike this morning. He is passed out.” I explain to her.

“So, he can race, but can’t walk?” She asks and I nearly choked on my coffee. She knows who he is. “No looking surprised. I am Italiano. We have two religions, Catholic church and Ferrari. We watch the race here every Sunday. If not here, we watch at marito.” She says, as if it is silly to think that they wouldn’t know exactly who he is.

“Can I ask then, why do you pretend not to know him?” I ask her, curious if she saw what I saw.

“He wanted to hide. Marita, the owner of guesthouse, she saw it when he wouldn’t leave his room unless to run. We keep to ourselves.” She explains," and it makes sense. They might love racing, but at the end of the day, they also just see the drivers as people. “You also know he race, why you not tell him you know?” She asks.

“Because he doesn’t want me to know.” I tell her and she nods, as if that makes sense.

“He is lost. He needs to find who he is again. He needs to remember why he loves racing.” She says, and I couldn’t agree with her more.

“I wish I could help him with that, but I am not sure how to do that.” I tell her, but she clicks her tongue and waves her hand.

“You are doing exactly what you should be doing. You are showing him that it is okay to just be himself. All you can do, is be there.” She says, but I worry that it might not be enough. “Anyway, I need to get food ready. Tonight is boys’ night and men need food.” She says, and she gets up, making her way to the kitchen.

“You know, I can help with making the food.” I tell her, wanting to help her in some way like she had helped me. “I might not be the best cook, but I can make a mean spaghetti and garlic bread.” I tell her.

“You want to cook for old men?” She asks, and I nod, excitement filling my chest. I love cooking. I would love to show her just how good I am at it.

“Alright, I give you ingredients, you make the food.” She says, and I want to jump out of my skin. She is trusting me to cook for her people and that means the world to me. I look around the kitchen and see just how busy they are.

“Would you mind if I take the ingredients to the guesthouse and make the food there?” I ask her, worried that I will just be in the way here.

“You do what you want, as long as you have the food ready on three hours or the men will get grumpy.” She mumbles and I can’t help but smile. Fernando walks into the kitchen as if he could hear us talking about him.

“Signora, nice to see you again.” He says, grabbing my hand and spinning me in a circle before placing a kiss on my hand and then heading for his wife. He catches her around the waist and then dips her, kissing her loudly on the lips. The whole kitchen laughs and applauses, but no one acts like it is gross or uncommon for them to act like this. “What is for dinner?” He asks, but not like my toxic ex before Collen used to ask me. There is no impatience in his voice, no hard edge. Just curiosity.

“Jena will make dinner.” She says, and he turns back to me, an eyebrow lifted.

“You will cook for us?” He asks and I nod nervously. “Then you join us for poker?” He asks, hope lighting up his eyes. I look to Mila for advice, but she only laughs and shakes her head. “Bring the boy with you?” He asks, already assuming my answer is yes.

“Sì, we will be there.” I tell him, hoping that Dalon will join, but if not, I get to play poker for the first time with a group of old men.

After I get all the ingredients from Mila, I quickly head back to the guesthouse. Dalon’s door is till closed, so I head into my small kitchen and then get to work, a glass of wine in one hand, music in my hears as I didn’t want to play it too loud and wake Dalon. I dance around my kitchen and room as I make the food. At some point, I get lost in the music, food and wine, singing to the music and completely forgetting why I needed to be quiet.

“This nine to five aint working. Why the hell do I work so hard. I can’t worry ‘bout my problems, I can’t take them when I’m gone.” I sing the lyrics, dancing on the beat.

I sway my hips and use the spatula as my mic. I take the bun out of my hair that I made when I started cooking, afraid that my hair might end up in the food, and swing my hair right along with the rest of my body. It feels good, like I am letting that stuck up part of me take a back seat drive as the joyful, happy and childish part of me takes over.

Song after song, I let go more and more, getting sillier as the wine takes over and makes it easier to let go. When ‘Friday’ starts playing, I stat to get tempted to watch replays of last weekends race, but decide to just enjoy the song, singing it at the top of my lungs, no longer caring that Dalon might be sleeping. Honestly, I have completely forgotten for a moment that he is even in the room next door.

I check on the food, making sure that the sauce doesn’t burn and then give the spaghetti a taste test. Once the spaghetti is soft enough, I quickly drain the water and then makes sure the sauce tastes right. I moan at the flavors bursting in my mouth and jiggle my ass a bit as pure happiness fills my soul at the small taste. Perfect.

Suddenly, my headphones are pulled off my head and I grab the first thing that my hand lands on, ready to stab whoever walked in unannounced. Dalon quickly jumps out of the way of the knife that I have pointed at him, shock written all over his face.

“Shit man. You want to get killed?” I ask him, my heart pounding in my chest. I nearly stabbed the man I have been watching for years as he tried to make a name for himself. The world would’ve hated me if I had killed him, even if it was by accident.

“I did not expect you to grab the bloody knife!” He shouts, clearly still in shock. “Can you put the fucking knife down?” He asks and I realize I am still pointing the knife at him.

“Sorry, I am from South Africa, not the safest place.” I tell him, hoping that is explanation enough why my first instinct was to go for the knife. “Why didn’t you knock?” I ask him, but then realize what a stupid question that is as I didn’t hear him walk up right behind me, something I would’ve heard had I not been playing music loud enough to not even hear my own thoughts.

“I did, but you didn’t answer, just kept singing. By the way, your singing is horrible.” That is a lie. I can actually sing really well. Sure, I wasn’t really trying to sing. I was screaming out the lyrics more if the sudden scratchiness in my throat is anything to go by.

“Sorry, I was a bit load.” I tell him, feeling the blush staining my cheeks.

“What are you making? It smells really well.” He says, no longer feeling threatened with the knife now placed back down.

“I am making spaghetti. I have a date tonight.” I tell him, and his face go from interested to disappointed.

“Who the hell did you get a date? I was only asleep for a few hours. Can’t a man leave you alone for a short while without you luring in the next victim?” He says, clearly upset, but trying to keep a carefree attitude.

“If it makes you feel any better, you were also invited to join us.” I tell him and then look at the time to see that I have got twenty minutes before I need to be back at Mila’s with the food. “Shit, we need to get going. Quickly help me to pack the food.” I tell him, moving as fact as I can to wrap the garlic bread that is still warm and fresh out of the oven. Once all the food is packed, I take a look at Dalon and realize that he is dressed very similar to the night before, but the pants is replaced by jeans and a light green shirt that makes his eyes stand out. His hair is in their perfect curls, his dark lashes making his eyes stand out, almost like he has mascara on.

“So unfair.” I say without meaning to let is come out.

“What is unfair?” He asks, leaving the food on the counter and walking towards me. I take a step back as he gets closer, but he keeps getting closer. I step back until my back hits a wall and my heart starts to pound in my chest so hard that I am afraid that it might start breaking my ribs. “What is unfair, Rejena?” He asks softly, placing on e hand on the wall next to me, the other he slips behind my neck and into my hair, softly tilting my head back so that I am forced to look up at him. “Are you going to make me ask again?” He asks and honestly, I forgot what he asked in the first place.

“Ask what?” I ask, my brain struggling to catch up with what the hell is happening.

“What is so unfair, Rejena?” He asks and I instinctively place my hands on his chest. I am not sure if I want to push him away or pull him closer. I want him to kiss me. I want him to tell me that he is feeling exactly what I am feeling. For a moment, I don’t even care that he won’t be honest with me. I just want him. I don’t care how wrong I am for him or how stupid it would be to fall for him. There is no stopping what I feel for this man. There are no brakes, no slowing down. I am going downhill very fast, and this crash is bound to be spectacular.

“Your eyelashes. It is unfair that you don’t even have to put in effort for it to make your eyes pop.” I tell him, but I am breathless.

“Why can’t I just walk away from you, Rejena?” He asks suddenly, and the idea of him walking away from me, of never seeing him again makes my heart crack in my chest. This is all we will ever be. This moment, here and now is all we will have. Once this weekend is over, he will be off to Miami and I will be nothing but a memory to him. Screw it, if I am only going to be a memory, I am going to make sure that is one he will never forget.

I don’t know who moves first, but the next moment, his mouth is on mine, his leg between my legs, pressing my back up against the wall and my front up against his body. His hand tightens in my hair, and it is the sweetest torture I have ever felt. Now that I have felt him, tasted him, how the hell will I ever be able to move on?