Raphael unlocks the door of his studio apartment and we step inside. I walk behind him and take in everything.
As expected it is small, but well kept. There's a love seat in the middle facing an empty table where there should be a television. I look at the side and find the kitchen separated from the rest of large room by an island and two stools near it.
Further inside is a single bed, right beside the large window. Curtains are drawn but I can picture the sunlight streaming through them in the early morning over Raphael's sleeping figure. There are only couple of photos of him hanging on the beige colored walls, one with his friends including Mashika, and the other what I'm assuming his parents.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Raphael says, keeping the keys on the table.
I smile. "It's so nice and cozy."
Raphael surprised me by proposing to have our date at his place. I was apprehensive but he assured me he just wanted to cook a meal for me like he promised last time.
"Thank you. I moved here just this year," he replies, "before I lived in dorms. When I completed my Bachelor's I realized I needed some independence, so I got the cheapest place I could find. It's a little far from college and a little small, but it's all mine."
It is quite far from college, almost in the city. We have to take the bus to get here. But I guess having the comfort of your own place overlooks that.
"So let's get started with what I promised you." Raphael grins and heads over to the kitchen.
I follow him. "You look excited." I chuckle.
"Oh, I am excited." He takes aprons off the hanger and passes one over to me before wearing the other one. "You'll be the assistant today ma chérie."
"Gladly," I say, putting on the apron too.
I see him taking out pork, different meats, a bottle of wine, herbs, white beans, vegetables and whatnot from different corners of the kitchen and place them on the counter.
"You are very prepared," I comment.
"Of course," he replies, "a special guest calls for special preparations."
I bite down a smile, my cheeks tinting a little. I am very flattered that he put so much effort to please me.
When everything is set he rubs his hands and flashes me a grin. "Let's begin, shall we?"
"Floor is all yours, Chef DeRose," I tease, grinning back.
Raphael places the big pot on the stove and starts putting meats in it. He tells me he's making cassoulet, the dish he raved about while walking me to my dorm after our last date.
We chat as we chop vegetables and the meat simmers. Cooking with him is fun.
"You see Harper, cooking is an art," he says as he puts the chopped veggies and white beans in the pot along with water.
"So you are one of those people," I joke, handing him meat.
"I'll say proudly I am one of those people." He laughs and I join him too.
As he goes on adding more stuff like herbs, spices and chicken, he explains me about dish. The traditional french cassoulet can take about three to four days to prepare, but Raphael's going for a shortcut method.
When he's done adding wine in the pot, he pours two glasses for him and me too. We sip wine and work on the food. Raphael informs me for the dessert he has planned cheesecake. So once we put the cassoulet in oven, he start working on the cake.
I mostly stand on the sidelines and pass him things. It's fascinating to just watch him. He's really passionate about food.
"My roommate loves cheesecake," I tell him, "she'll lose it if I tell her Raphael DeRose made cheesecake for me."
"Then I'll pack some for Salma too."
My brows knit, surprised that he knows her name. We never got the chance to talk about her. I don't recall her telling him her name when he met her. Or maybe she did.
Raphael turns around, putting the hot pot from oven to the counter. The smell of caramelized spices and meats fill the air.
"She'll like that very much." I give him a smile as he looks at me. I then watch him add some more chicken stock in the pot. "This smells wonderful."
"Thanks. I'd pack some of this cassoulet too for your roommate, but it has pork."
"Yeah, Salma doesn't eat pork," I agree, "but it's not because she's very religious or something. I mean, the girl drinks. She just never had pork because of her cultural background, and she sees no reason to have it now." I explain.
To anyone who ever tried to logic Salma into eating pork, or on the opposite sermon her about being a 'good' Muslim, her simple reply to them was 'My life, my choices' with a big middle finger.
"Her life, her choices," Raphael says, again surprising me by quoting her, "though it's sad she's missing out on my wonderful dish."
I shrug, not overthinking stuff. "At least she'll have your cheesecake."
Almost two hours have passed since we started and now Raphael's dish is finally served on the plate. Though I can't say I didn't enjoy the process of making it. We both sit on the stool at the kitchen island with our plates and wine.
My mouth waters just seeing the temptation in front of me. Other than the couple of glasses of wine, I only had breakfast this morning, and it's evening now. My stomach grumbles. Without waiting I put the spoonful of it in my mouth.
"Aah, it's hot," I hiss. My mouth burns.
"Careful there, ma chérie. Let it cool down first." Raphael chuckles. "I'm flattered that you can't wait to try it."
"It looks and smells so delicious," I moan.
"I know a girl like you won't be able to resist the charm of my food."
"Girl like me?" I ask, smiling, even though on the inside my insecurities surge. Girl like me because I look like I eat a lot. Because I am fat, I have to love food.
Raphael grins. "I knew it from the first look that you'll show appreciation for the real food. This dish is heavy. Some of the other girls I made it for wrinkled their noses at so much grease and fat." He laughs. "Well, it's their loss."
"Oh," I mutter. Somehow his compliment doesn't feel like a compliment. Maybe I'm being too sensitive. Of course, he didn't mean to offend me.
"Damn it, I said something wrong, didn't I?" Raphael's smile drops. He's studying me.
I shake my head. "I'm just used to people making fun of me. With how I look, it's easy for people to comment on my eating habits." I sigh. "It's stupid. I'm just being dramatic, I guess."
I look down to my plate. The dish doesn't look as appetizing as before now that I'm counting calories and fat.
"I should've been careful before opening my mouth." Raphael frowns. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know." I place my hand over his and give a small smile. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me. You're not that kind of person." Adrien is that kind of person.
"Harper," he says, exhaling a long breath, "you're not being dramatic. I can understand. If you're subjected to same bad experience again and again, you become sensitive.
"Same thing happened to me when people mocked me for my accent. I was bullied for it in my school when I first came in this country. My English wasn't smooth either so the kids poked fun at me.
"I became conscious about how I spoke. I tried to change myself and succeeded. In the process I lost myself too.
"If I want I can drop the accent in a second. But I won't, because my way of speaking is a part of who I am. I learned that as I grew older. Life's too short to please others. Besides, I won't sound sexy as hell if I stopped with my fancy 'R'."
"Yeah." I chuckle, agreeing with him. "Girls fawn over your sexy french accent."
"See," he says like proving a point.
I nod. "I'm sorry that you were bullied. Being picked on or ostracized for something trivial like that is horrible."
In high school I had been the butt of joke for my classmates too. It wasn't vicious like what Adrien does to me, but few passing remarks were enough to bring me down.
"You see Harper, the thing that made me different from others is now my strength. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Similarly, your body is not something you should be ashamed of.
"You might be slightly rounder than some girls but it doesn't look bad on you. It suits you. It makes you...you. Like I said last time, you're beautiful. Don't forget that.
"Again, it's your body, you can do with it whatever you want. You can lose or gain weight, it's none of my business. But I personally think you are perfect just as you are. You're not anywhere near being unhealthily overweight. You're just curvy. No need to fix something that doesn't require fixing."
"Thanks," I squeak out, blinking back the moistness in my eyes. Through the blurry vision I see him smiling. "No, seriously, thank you. I think I really needed to hear that."
"You're welcome, Harper Young." He purposefully wraps my name in his thick accent, making me chuckle. He's amazing.
Our eyes meet and the moment is set. He leans in and so do I. Our lips connect. It's slow and gentle.
Adrien's image flashes in my mind as I kiss Raphael. I move my lips harder, no longer gentle, to erase that devil from my mind, but my mind dig deeper to his memory and our kiss at the party. I hear Raphael moan but I don't even know what I'm doing.
A loud beep comes from the kitchen and we pull away, gasping. Raphael looks at me with stars in his blue eyes and I feel like the worst person ever.
"I think the cheesecake is ready. I should get it out," he says and I nod silently. After another second of staring, he gets up and go to the kitchen.
For the rest of our date I don't kiss Raphael again, even when he gives me subtle signs. I can't. I can't because it feels so wrong. I can't because I am pathetic.
So pathetic to dream about my bully while kissing such a great guy.
I am pathetic.
*******