Twenty minutes after setting off, the weary and slightly confused taxi driver pulled up outside the cabin as the snow fell faster, soft flakes dancing over his windscreen as fast as the wipers could push them away. When Tala scrabbled for the twenty-pound note tucked behind her phone's case, Raphael paid the driver and pulled her out of the car with a laugh and a shiver.
"Holy shit, it's cold!" he cried, his teeth chattering. One hand was curled around Tala's elbow as she tried to untie the keyring from her bra strap. It had been easy to get on, but not quite so easy to remove. The metal snagged the fabric and it was a difficult angle for her to see what she was doing.
"Shit," she muttered, huddling against him in the doorway. She was as stubborn as a mule, determined not to give up the effort but she was a lightweight and two beers seemed to have gone to her head. Or, rather, her fingers.
"Here." Raphael squinted at the keyring, deftly slipping his nail between the split ring to slide it off the strap, and he presented her with the key and a triumphant grin. "Magic hands," he said, wiggling his fingers at her. Tala's cheeks heated up, though the night sky hid her blush. She took the key from him and let them into the cabin, stumbling into the warmth that greeted her like an old friend.
"Bit warmer in here," she said, kicking off her shoes before she could track snow through the cabin. Raphael copied her, almost losing his balance when he tried to shake off his lace-ups, and she grabbed him by the wrist before he could fall and knock a painting off the wall. He laughed. She gave him a look.
"Something tells me you had more than four drinks," she said, though she was feeling a bit tipsy herself.
Tala was a lightweight. She had never been able to handle much alcohol. Her school friends had always teased her about it but she had never seen it as a bad thing: a night out as a lightweight was a cheap affair, when she got buzzed off a couple of pints the way her friends felt the effect after a great deal more. While they forked out on vodka to mix into their orange or Coke, she was perfectly happy with beer or cider.
Wine was her favourite. A single glass helped to loosen the knots in her head; after two, she often found herself soft and grinning. Only once had she ever thrown up after drinking too much, when she had allowed a loose cannon of an ex friend to mix her drinks at a party. Never since then had she allowed anyone but her most trusted friends serve her alcohol.
Raphael chuckled as he followed her to the kitchen. "I may not be very good at counting," he said. "Maybe the opposite of four."
"What's the opposite of four? Minus four?" She raised her eyebrows at him, a cheeky smile growing on her lips. Flicking on the light, she headed for the bread bin and took out a couple of slices, dropping them into the toaster.
"Um ... I think it's eight. Eight is the opposite of four." He held up his hand, smiling at her as though she was a piece of art that he couldn't tear his eyes from. His gaze was fixed on her, his hazel eyes spreading warmth through her body. "Don't quote me on that," he said. "I have ... shit, what do I have?"
Tala found her half-empty bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. "I don't know, Raph. What do you have?" She tilted the bottle at him. "What will you have?"
"I have dys- shit, I can't say it," he said with a laugh.
"Dyslexia?" she asked. He shook his head. "Dyspraxia?" Another shake.
"The number one."
Tala stopped pouring. "Dyslexia?" she said again, but he seemed adamant that that wasn't it.
"No, no. I can read," he said. "I can't do maths. I really suck at maths." He leant against the counter and took out his phone, his fingers stumbling over the keys before he triumphantly showed her the screen. Tala squinted at the words to force them into focus without her glasses.
"Dyscalculia?"
"Yes!" He waved his hands around his head. "Numbers aren't my friends. But I like words. I love words." When he rested his elbow on the side, it slipped and he caught himself with a laugh, and his eyes fell on the books that Tala kept stacked on the kitchen table. "You like words too."
"I love words," she said, sipping her wine. He didn't seem to want any and she wasn't sure he needed any – he was in the delicious stage of drunkenness when life felt as though it was floating by with a lazy smile.
"They're magical. Aren't they just magical?" He pushed a hand through his thick hair, a catchy twitch in his dimples. "My happy place involves a lot of books. And toast." He nodded at the toaster the moment it finished with a pop and Tala caught the slices, spreading butter over each, and she handed one to him.
He bowed to her before he took it, his hands pressed together. "Praise you, toast fairy," he said, and he took a bite. A groan escaped him and he closed his eyes. "Oh my God, why is toast so good? Toast is so good."
Tala hummed her agreement. It was easy to forget the divine pleasure of a simple slice of buttered toast, especially when Aditya had taken the fun out of it. Low-calorie bread in the cupboard and low-fat margarine in the fridge, though he wasn't a fan of either. Tala found herself frowning at the memory. The gift of distance was beginning to make her wonder why she had stayed with him so long. In hindsight, there was a part of her that wished she had been the one to call it off. She wished she had never said yes.
"This is fantastic," she said, relishing in the thick, doughy loaf of farmhouse white that she had liberally loaded with deliciously salty butter. "Oh my God. I missed this."
"Where did it go?" Raphael frowned, looking down at the piece in his hand.
"Nowhere near my ex," she said with a laugh. Laughing helped. She laughed in the face of her failed relationship. The alcohol helped. "He didn't like carbs."
"Fuck him," he said, taking a purposely aggressive bite of his toast. "Carbs for the win. I have carbs for every fucking meal and I'm one happy bunny."
"Fuck him," Tala said. "A toast!"
Raphael burst into laughter, his eyes creasing when he raised his slice to hers. "To toast!"
"To toast," she said. Her grin grew. Toast was good. It made her smile. Perhaps that was Raphael. "Do you want wine?"
He pursed his lips. "What's the rhyme? How does the rhyme go?"
"I ... I don't know."
He furrowed his brow, pressing one finger between his eyebrows. "Wine before beer, you're in the clear. Beer before wine, you'll be fine," he said, and his frown deepened. "Whoops. I think I got it wrong. But wine rhymes with fine ... and beer rhymes with clear."
Tala couldn't help but laugh. She held her glass in front of her lips but the longer she watched him try to figure it out, the harder it was to hold her composure and when a laugh burst out of her, a drop of her wine sloshed out of the glass. Raphael watched it splash onto the kitchen tiles, his eyes lingering on the solitary drop.
He pointed at it, his finger unmoving when he lifted his eyes to Tala and with the most severe tone he said, "That's a health and safety hazard. You need a wet floor sign."
Tala scuffed the drop with her sock, soaking up the splash of wine. "There. All gone."
He gasped. "Now your sock's wet. You can't have wet socks in winter. You'll catch your death!"
Her confidence was growing. So was the happiness in her heart, filling her chest with gentle elation. Finishing her toast, she poured Raphael a glass of wine and pushed it across the counter to him, and she took her sock. "Better?"
"Much." He nodded and sipped the wine. He licked a crumb off his finger. "Tala..."
"What?"
"Oh. Nothing. I just like the sound of your name. Tala."
Her cheeks went pink. He smiled when he saw her blush.
"How does it end?"
It was Tala's turn to frown. "Um. La?"
He cracked a wider beam. His eyes glistened in the soft kitchen light. "The last bit," he said. "Your last name? Tala...?"
"Oh. Flores," she said. "Tala Flores."
"Wow. Wow. Your name is almost as pretty as you." He held her gaze when he said that. There was nothing predatory in his stare, nothing to set her on edge. It sounded like a genuine compliment and her heart soared. It had been a long time since a man had said anything like that to her.
"Is that a line?" she asked. Raphael shrugged.
"It's the truth," he said. "You're very pretty, Tala Flores. What does it mean?"
"Tala means star," she said, "and Flores means flower."
"Star flower," he murmured. "It suits you. Bright as a star, pretty as a flower."
Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. She dropped her eyes to her wine, swallowing a large mouthful. "Thanks," she said, taking a deep breath as she told herself to relax and enjoy the night. It wouldn't be hard to enjoy his company. He was infectious, in the best way. "How about you? What's your surname?"
"Marino," he said. "I think it means something to do with the sea or sailors? And Raphael means ... shit, I'm not sure." He took out his phone again, squinting at the bright screen. "Oh. It means God has healed. So maybe I'm a sailor healed by God?"
"Raphael Marino. Very Italian."
He poked his chest with his thumb. "That's me. Well, half of me. My dad's half." He drew a line down his chest with his finger, an imaginary divide that split him in two. "The other half is Scottish." He looked down at himself. "I'm not sure which half is which."
Tala smiled. She finished her wine in an attempt to slow her beating heart, but the rush of alcohol and the buzz in her stomach only served to send her pulse racing faster. "I like both halves," she said, reaching out to brush a crumb from his stubble. His cheek was warm beneath her touch.
He took her hand from his jaw, staring at the chipped nail polish and the dents of her knuckles. He ran his thumb over her nails and slowly entwined his fingers with hers. Then he let go.
"Sorry," he said. He picked up his wine glass and leant back when he took a sip.
"Why?"
"I..." He trailed off. "I don't want to be a tit."
"You're not being a tit."
"You only asked me over for toast," he said, "and now I want to kiss you. You don't want that."
She stepped closer. "Now you're being a tit," she said. She heard Maddie cheering her on in her mind. She felt her body shift towards Raphael, and she didn't try to stop it. There was something magnetic about him. "Why wouldn't I want that?"
He tilted his head to one side and his serious expression lightened. "Do you?" he asked. When she smiled up at him, he moved his hand to her cheek. "Can I?"
Tala nodded. When he leant towards her, she closed her eyes before their lips met and his hand moved to the small of her back. His mouth was soft. She tasted wine on his tongue when he parted her lips and her hands moved to his shoulder blades to drink him in. He was a good kisser. She hadn't kissed many men in her life. He was only the fourth, and maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he was the best.
He kissed her like he cared. It wasn't just a kiss to unlock the next level, as though she was a game that he could walk through and conquer. It was a kiss for the sake of a kiss, savouring each second that they were locked in a timeless embrace. Tala didn't want it to end, thankful for each moment that he held onto her. She didn't let go, holding him tighter and closer when she fell deeper into the softness of his touch.
It had to end at some point, the way all good things did. But when they pulled apart, it didn't take much more than a glance for Tala to pull him down to her once more. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her feet were flat on the ground. She was totally grounded. This was real. This was reality.
"You have a very soft tongue," Raphael said. She laughed against his lips and pushed away.
"You don't kiss much, huh?"
"No," he said. "I ruined it, didn't I?" He couldn't help but let out an awkward laugh. "Shit. Sorry. I don't know what I'm supposed to say. Let me try again."
He cupped her face in both hands and kissed her for a third time. She draped her arms around his waist, her hands resting over the dimple at the base of his spine, and she leant into the kiss. This one was even longer, knocking the breath out of her. When Raphael pulled away, she looked up at him as she waited for his revised words of wisdom.
"I'm gonna have to stand by my original statement," he said. "You really do have a very soft tongue. Wow. So soft. Is the rest of you so soft?"
She looked up at him. Now or never. Her heart rate settled. She made up her mind. She smiled. "Want to find out?"
The bedroom was almost dark, only lit by the soft moon that broke through the falling snow. It tumbled down fast from the black sky, effortlessly pushing past the trees that stretched up to the heavens. A gentle glow illuminated a strip of the bed as though it was dotted with landing lights to guide them where they needed to go.
When Tala pulled up the hem of her jumper, Raphael took over. His hands slipped beneath the soft fabric to rest on her hips and they moved up to her waist, around to her back and as he kissed her in the middle of the bedroom, he unhooked her bra in the dark.
"You're good at that," she murmured in his ear, one hand slipping down from his shoulder to his chest.
"I just got lucky," he said.
"Damn right," she murmured, and then she heard what he had said again. "Have you not done this before?"
Raphael paused for a moment. "Yes," he said, "but honestly? I'm a little rusty," he said. His hands lingered on her back. They were warm and soft. She didn't want him to let go of her. "I have experience. I'm not experienced."
She felt as though he had taken the words right out of her mouth, quelling her fears in showing her that they were the same. Two years with Aditya hadn't shown her much variety, acting out the same façade each time they had slept together, and he was only the second man she had ever slept with.
Virginity had never bothered her. She hadn't felt as though it was a burden that she had dragged around for twenty-four years, especially after she had lost it and immediately begun to wonder what all the fuss had been about. Her first time had been far from satisfactory, an awkward fumble with her third boyfriend that had ended long before she had needed it to. After a disappointing first experience, it was hard to understand the appeal of sex when she knew her body better than any man. Even after two years of showing Aditya what she liked, he had never quite got a grip on what got her going. He never had enough time to treat her the way she treated herself.
Now she had all the time in the world, and if she was going to sleep with a virtual stranger, she wanted to at least make it worth the inevitable shame she predicted she would feel when the buzz wore off and the sun rose its weary head. Tonight wasn't the night for a flippant fumble and an anti-climax. It was a clear night. She wanted to see stars.
Raphael pulled her jumper off over her head and slipped the straps of her bra off her shoulders. It fell to the floor. She shivered, half-naked and exposed. The moonlight softened the silver slivers that painted her hips and her breasts. Raphael's hand traced over the peach fuzz below her bellybutton to cup her breast in his palm as he kissed her.
His fingers reached her neck. He was in no rush. Neither was she. The night was still young. There was nothing to wake up for. The last thing she wanted to do was to rush what she hoped would be the night she needed. She needed him to hold her, to caress her body and kiss her skin, and she wanted to do the same to him. She wanted to feel him in her hands, to push her fingers through his hair and feel his heart beating beneath her palm.
"You," he murmured, "are beautiful."
She pulled the tinsel from around his neck. It pooled on the floor in a spiral beside her bra. When she unbuttoned his shirt, she felt his racing pulse. He was excited, or nervous. Or both. She felt both emotions coursing through her veins. Arousal propelled her excitement, her head spinning with every outcome of the night, but she tried to keep herself rooted in the moment.
As much as she wanted him to lie with her, on her, in her, she wanted to savour the tantalising foreplay of undressing him with hot breath and shaking hands. Her skin was tingling, afire with anticipation with each button that she undid until she reached the final one, untucking his shirt from his jeans to push it off.
He was fitter than she had expected. Not quite a six pack, but his stomach was hard. When her hands moved further down to unbutton his jeans, she found that he was too. That only spurred her on further.
When they edged closer to the bed, Tala tripped over her bra and fell back on the mattress with a gasp and a laugh that Raphael shared, chuckling when he dropped down beside her. He lay on his side, his jeans open, and his hand rested on her waist. She lifted her hips, tugging off her jeans, and rolled onto her side to face him.
"No rush," she said. He nodded.
"Do you want to do this?"
She nodded. "I do," she said. "Just ... slowly." Her fingers traced patterns over his bare chest before she flattened her hand over his sternum and moved it up to his neck. She could feel his pulse in the cleft at the base of his jaw. She could hear her own in her ears, a steady throb that slowed as her confidence grew.
After years of envisaging her future, casting her mind's eye to the years ahead, she forced herself to take a step back and live in the moment. This time, she had no idea what would happen next year or even next week, but it didn't scare her. She knew what she wanted now, and she wasn't afraid to chase after it: she had no idea if she would still want it in the morning but she struggled to care when right now, Raphael was right in front of her with his mesmerising eyes and his stunning smile and his breath-taking kiss.
He wanted her, and she wanted him too.
+ - + - +
i hope you liked this! i'm so excited for the rest of this story. i'll be honest, i am winging it a bit - after the high key planning of turning point, this is very much "plantsing" - i know the ending and some of the key points along the way but the rest is pretty much what i decide on the spot!