Page 33 of The Devil’s Feather

I slithered out of bed and went to brush my teeth and take my meds. The circles were back under my eyes, making them look darker than their usual vaguely hazel-ish blue. I washed my face and put on my bb cream and typical shadows and mascara. It helped to have a little armor. Mom had drilled it into my head that ladies didn’t leave the house without their faces on. I felt naked without it.

I patted some setting powder on my nose and called it good. My Elfquest-themed t-shirt was rumpled, but I doubted Rafael would care. I pulled on my favorite soft jeans—great for lounging and they made my butt look good.

My jaw dropped as I entered the kitchen. Rafael had laid out a huge spread of food in small dishes on the kitchen island: olives, various cheeses, breads, eggs, cured meats, and a myriad of fruit jams and other spreads I didn’t recognize. There was even honeycomb.

“Kahvaltı—breakfast—literally means ‘before coffee’, but I made you some. I also made bacon, just in case. Simit is similar to a bagel. You should try it.”

“Did you cook all this while I was in the bathroom?”

“I had it delivered from downstairs. They make a full Turkish breakfast on weekends.” Rafael put the Turkish coffee in its tiny cup in front of me. “Do not feel obligated to try everything. They never listen when I ask for modifications. I told them no cheese, and look! I got you some lactose-free cheese if you would rather have that. The baristas downstairs have eight hundred cousins between them, so leftovers will not go to waste.”

“Hot, shirtless guy making coffee and a fancy breakfast for me? I could get used to this.” I took a little of everything and climbed into the café chair. “And I can have a little lactose-full cheese, if I’m careful, as a treat.”

“Am I forgiven yet?” Rafael sat across from me. “I am truly sorry. It has been a while since I last needed to curb my tongue. I should have noticed how it was affecting you.”

I couldn’t stop the smile creeping across my face. Charming fucker. “Maybe. We talked about some really heavy shit yesterday. It’s a lot to process, and I’m sure it stirred up some stuff you don’t like to think about. I appreciate how you stopped and removed yourself instead of getting more upset.”

He refilled his tiny cup. “I suppose therapy has been helpful after all. There was a time when I could not have stopped. Poor Dr. Raimi. She was only the latest in a long string of failed therapy attempts, but I terrorized that woman. She learned the hard way that if you push an argument with me to ten, I will take it to one hundred.” He set his cup down.

“Is that a cautionary tale?” I should definitely be more worried. Instead, I nibbled at a salty cheese sprinkled with what looked like carraway seeds. That one might be a new favorite. I’d just take extra Lactaid and pray to the gods of intolerance. The simit bagel-thing was, in fact, delicious. Damn the power of a hot, shirtless man, coffee, and breakfast.

“Perhaps. I will do my best not to treat you that way, but I cannot promise to always be at my best.”

“That’s honest enough. I appreciate how straightforward you’ve been with me.”

“Eh, I have talked far too much. More than my yearly allotment. My throat is hoarse this morning.” He cleared it as if to prove his point. “Now, I want to know more of you. Dreams, fears, aspirations. Hangups about sex.” His brows raised.

I laughed in spite of myself. “Can I ask you a question first?” When he indicated I should continue, I gestured with the remaining simit in my hand. “How did you get the name Rafael? That doesn’t sound very Turkish.”

He breathed a huff of amusement through his hooked nose. “Not everyone in Türkiye is ethnically Turkish or Muslim. It is possible one of my parents was Armenian. Many changed their names to blend in. I know nothing about them other than what was on their death certificate; they died in a house fire. A neighbor told that woman my name and left me with her. Nazim is an odd surname for a Turk as well.” Rafael shrugged. “I could never track down any relatives, and I refuse to give those genealogy companies my data.”

So much tragedy. “Have you been back since you moved here?”

“Many times. Not so much lately. The government has grown uncomfortably authoritarian in the last few years. Similar to here, unfortunately. Different flavors, same underlying need for control. I miss the music scene and the food. And the café cats.” He pointed at me with his fork. “Talk about yourself, Ms. Parham, soon-to-be bestselling author.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should take the help where I can get it.”

“Muscle is not free.” Rafael rested his chin in his hand and waved at the empty plates, leaning into his accent. “You see how much I eat, yes? I was skinny until I moved to LA. Until I could afford to eat.”

I caught his hand. “You’ve really been through hell. I hear you; I just don’t want to be so beholden I can’t survive on my own. I’ve known too many women who’ve gone down very bad roads that way. It doesn’t really matter if your intentions are good or not.” I held up a hand to forestall the protest brewing in Rafael’s eyes. “That doesn’t mean I’m running away. I really like you—more than like, but I’m not ready to change my entire life overnight. You know us autists don’t handle change all that well.”

Dee’s admonition to “take all his money, for feminism” played in my mind.

Rafael ran his free hand over his hair. “I admit I am spoiled—accustomed to getting what I want when I want it and being the one pursued.”

“The height alone must have women throwing themselves at you all the time. Makes me feel a little insecure.”

“Do not be.” He stroked the back of my hand. “I am quite adept at scaring people off, and you are what I want.”

“Uh huh. Boobs or butts?”

“I beg your pardon?” Rafael had the gall to look mildly offended.

“You heard me.”

His nose wrinkled. “Brains, if you please. There is an endless supply of pretty, vapid people. Truly interesting people are rare.”

“And if they’re gorgeous and smart and interesting?”