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Loves:
Rafia (obx) | Fiona Palomo | Off Campus (series and the cast) | Lana del rey | aesthetics drew starkey | romcoms | books
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MASTERLIST OF ALL MY WORKS AND VISUALS
Ao3 | Wattpad
Other than that, this blog is a safe space for everyone. I love talking to people about my interests, and I hope my blog quenches your thirst for hyperfixations. Big love <3
People getting upset at Cleo for blowing up the Twinkie, making up theories about how she’s gonna betray the pogues and what not, are starting to annoy me😭
Ik they’ve shown us a snippet of that scene which confirms she’s just doing it as a distraction, but before that, people instantly distrusting her showed to me just how little effort the writers put into her integration with the group.
S3 was the perfect opportunity for them to develop Cleo, making her more of a wild card rather than have her be a fully fledged member of the pogues. From what we know in s2, she’s moved through various gangs and jumps between them very quickly. She moved on from Terrence and Stubs, then weaseled her way into Eberhimi’s crew, then betrayed them straight away, escaping along with John B & Co.
Then in s3, it would’ve been sooooo much more interesting if they played with her wrestling against her tendency to join the team with the best chances, rather than stick it out with the pogues. It could’ve also given some substance to her relationship with Pope. Where now, she’s grappling with the fact she’s fallen for someone whilst having conflicting desires of betraying him and cashing in.
I think I just don’t like most people’s interpretation of Cleo. They either simply take her at face value and make her this badass cutthroat tomboy character, or just talk about her in relation to Pope and how perfect she is for him. Granted, they’re the only two aspects the writers play with…
But I like the idea of her being this nomad, never getting too close to anyone because she knows she can’t stay long. And that leading to trust issues and this perpetual guardedness. She’s good natured and tender but feels like she can’t be. All the pieces of dialogue they give her where she’s actually talking about herself and the little exposition we get of her past, point to these traits. But instead, what we see in s3 is someone who trusts too easily, who acts way too loyal and generous, and who accepts the ‘pogue’ label as soon as she can, which is antithetical to her personality in s2.
summary rafe’s job at the country club is nothing but a paycheck, until you, his boss’s daughter, slip into his life. you’ve always lived by the rules. rafe makes it hard to keep following them.
> masterlist
Rafe taps his phone alarm off after it rips him out of his sleep. The battery is almost empty. He drained it talking to you until three a.m.
You’d seen each other at the marina last night. He was fixing that boat with Pax when you stopped by, looking so beautiful that he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.
Afterwards, you were texting each other, but eventually he called you. Texting was too slow. And he’s never been very patient.
So he lay in his small bedroom in the dark with his phone against his cheek for hours, finding it so easy to talk to you. The conversation was light, but it was enough to know that you get along, that you have the same sense of humor, that you’re sweet, that he likes you.
At one point, you asked if he worked today, worried you were keeping him up ahead of an early morning. He didn’t tell you that while today is his day off, that means he’ll be fixing up the mess of a house he and his friends scraped their money together to buy.
He left that part out because he didn’t want to stop talking to you. But also because he felt a twist of shame that he lives the way he does.
And he hates that he felt that. This wouldn’t happen with a girl who grew up like he did.
The divide between you kept slipping into his mind, reminding him that whatever this is can’t go anywhere. This thing with you is just fun with an expiration date.
Eventually, he drags himself out of bed, his muscles aching from work yesterday, and trudges downstairs. Mase, Pax, and Danny are already at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and talking.
“I was about to go up there and kick you out of bed,” Mase says, not looking up from his bowl.
“Give him a break,” Pax adds with a grin. “I heard him talking late last night. Were you on the phone with your girl?”
Rafe groans tiredly, heading for the coffee pot.
“You got a girl?” Danny asks, eyebrows raised. “Since when?”
“She’s his boss’s daughter,” Pax says. “I met her last night. She’s hot. Didn’t seem like your typical stuck-up Kook.”
“Wait, what?” Mase blurts.
Rafe scoffs, grabbing the chipped mug from the counter.
“It’s nothing,” he says.
“Come on,” Pax teases. “You were laughing. It’s not nothing. It’s adorable.”
“Shut up,” Rafe mutters, though there’s a smirk tugging at his mouth. Their friendship is built on cheap shots and stupid teasing. It’s always been a comfort.
“So, what, you’re going to get yourself fired ‘cause of her?” Mase asks.
Rafe meets his eyes. The tone in the room has suddenly shifted. Mase isn’t joking. His friends are family, and their worry for each other runs deep.
They’ve all messed around with Kook girls before, but Mase knows how much Rafe needs this job. This is the one girl he shouldn’t be talking to.
“Yeah,” Rafe mutters sarcastically. “That’s my plan.”
“I like her,” Pax says, shrugging.
“How long did you even talk to her?” Danny laughs.
“I didn’t technically talk to her,” Pax says. “But I’ve got great instincts.”
Rafe takes a long sip of coffee and drops into the free chair at the table.
“Just be careful, man,” Mase tells Rafe. “Girls like that can bring a shitstorm of problems.”
“Jesus, relax. I know that,” Rafe says sharply. “You’re acting like I’m tryin’ to marry her.”
“Why don’t you?” Pax teases. “You’d be set for life.”
Rafe scoffs. He’s got too much pride to ever ride on someone else’s money. He doesn’t need saving. He can support himself. And his friends know that.
“I’ll remember this next time you beg me to help you fix up another busted‑ass boat,” Rafe says.
“Hey, you know I appreciated that,” Pax says. “Glad to know I can count on one of my friends.”
He shoots joking glares at the others, even though there was no chance they could’ve helped. Danny was dead asleep after working construction all day, and Mase was working a late bartending shift.
“You should eat something,” Mase says to Rafe.
“Yeah, you look like you got run over,” Pax adds.
“Twice,” Danny says.
Rafe shakes his head in annoyance, but a part of him is also softened that they care so much.
He loves his friends. They’re his brothers. They’ve shown up for him every time, no matter what life has thrown at him.
And sitting in this beat‑up kitchen, exhausted and sore and surrounded by things that need fixing, he knows he’d be lost without them.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The morning air is cool as you walk along the path winding down from the estate manor.
Your favorite part of the club has always been the private beach. It’s usually empty this early in the day. You typically come down here for some quiet, but right now, you’re here because you know Rafe is working today, and you’re hoping to run into him.
Growing up around the club, you barely noticed the people who kept it running. It’s not like you thought you were better than them; you just stuck to what you knew and let the employees fade into the background.
Even in your social life, you’d only go where other Kooks partied, hearing about places like the Boneyard where everyone from around the island gathered, but only ever going over a few times and staying with who you knew when you did.
You could’ve met Rafe a long time ago. You might’ve even crossed paths before, but he wouldn’t have registered because you were too focused on being accepted, on not causing any trouble that might stain your family’s reputation.
And the shame of that pulls at you. You never believed in the social divide, but you realize you did play into it.
The private beach is a sheet of white sand, a boathouse tucked at the edge, a dock standing over the water, beach chairs and cabanas arranged neatly.
You’re almost at the shore when you spot him.
Rafe is half‑hidden behind the boathouse, tending to weeds. The sunlight glints off the sweat along his skin, making a red scrape across the back of his hand stand out.
Your chest tightens as you walk toward him, shoes digging in the sand, a nervous flutter mixed with the thrill of seeing him again.
“What happened to your hand?” you ask once you’re close enough.
He looks up with a sharp gaze. But then it loses all of its edge when he realizes it’s you.
He stands up from his spot by the weeds, brushing sand from the knees of his pants. He glances at his hand and flexes his fingers.
“Just a scratch,” he answers.
You step closer, concern in your eyes. Rafe swallows hard. He swears you get prettier every time he sees you, and having you suddenly this close undoes him.
He glances over your shoulder and gently pulls you to the boathouse wall by your hand, out of the line of sight. The club’s massive lawns are bare, but anyone could see you.
“You gotta be careful,” he says quietly.
He looks down at you, noticing the rise and fall of your chest with your breaths now that you’re inches away.
“But I’m allowed to be here,” you reply with a confused expression.
He blinks, realizing that when you met, you thought he was just trying to get you out of a restricted area. You have no idea that your father is strict about the staff staying out of sight, no idea of what it looks like when a guy like him is talking to a girl like you.
Rafe’s only met your father a handful of times. The man barely comes down to the grounds, but when he does, his tone is polite, but cold, reminding Rafe exactly where he stands.
Normally, he wouldn’t give a fuck about rules, especially if they come from a guy like that. He’s never been the type to obey. But he needs this job. He was lucky to get it.
And he hates losing. He hates the idea of getting fired over something as stupid as being spotted talking to you.
“We can’t be seen together,” he says, his voice low.
“Would you really get in trouble for just talking to me?” you ask, eyes searching his face.
“I’ve seen people get their asses handed to them for less,” he murmurs.
You don’t want to be the reason he gets in trouble. And just as badly, you want to be near him without worrying who might see.
“Then let’s go somewhere they won’t see us,” you say. “Away from here.”
Rafe stares for a moment, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Tonight?” he asks.
You nod, remembering the hours‑long phone conversation two nights ago, the way his deep voice sounded. How easy he was to talk to. How he’s been circling your mind since. How he hasn’t stopped.
“Text me,” you say, then you leave as quickly as you came.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Rafe sent you a location pin. It’s somewhere deep on The Cut, somewhere you’ve never been. By the time you pull into the sandy parking lot, the sun is dipping low. You see Rafe kneeling on a truck, and you park beside him.
He tries not to notice how polished your car looks next to his rusted paint and dented bumper.
When you step out of your car, you beam at him, happy to see him out of his uniform. It’s a glimpse into the life he has outside his work, and you want so badly to see more of it.
He leads you down a path onto the beach. The sand is soft under your shoes. You feel your tension dissolve the farther you get from the side of the island that you came from.
Rafe finds a spot tucked between two dunes. You sit in the sand, close enough to smell the soap on his skin.
For a while, you simply talk as you gaze at each other and out at the water. The conversation is easy, just like the other night. Eventually, Rafe brings up what’s been needling at him.
“I still don’t know who you were hiding from,” he says.
Embarrassment pricks your skin as you think back to the morning you met. The truth feels even sillier now, but in that moment, running was all you felt like you could do.
“My parents,” you admit. “And this guy.”
He doesn’t speak. You can’t remember the last time someone listened to you like this, without pretending to listen just to get their turn to talk.
“They keep…” you begin, voice softening. “They keep pushing the idea of us being a thing.”
Rafe looks out at the water, jaw clenched. He almost laughs at the absurdity, the way rich people probably pair off their kids to keep their world intact all the time.
“You don’t want that?” he asks, realizing the thought of it makes his chest tight.
He’s spent years getting into fights with the rich guys from Figure 8. They’re all the same. And that’s the kind of guy you’re expected to be with. Jealousy stings him and he knows it shouldn’t.
“No,” you say. “He’s nice, but I don’t like him.”
Rafe exhales quietly.
“Do they know that?” he asks.
You feel exposed. You know it sounds like you have no spine. But it’s so much more complicated than that.
“If he ever tries anything, I’m telling him it’s not happening, but with my parents… playing along is just easier. They’re hard to say no to,” you say, words rushed. You try to make light of it, forcing a small laugh. “And now you’re judging me, aren’t you?”
A girl like you caring what he thinks is kind of a shock to Rafe’s system.
“No,” he says, his voice steady.
He can tell that you’re stuck. He’s stuck in his own way, too. And it’s jarring that he feels bad for someone from the wealthy side of the island, the side he’s spent his life hating.
You look down. It’s a relief saying it out loud, not being called a spoiled crybaby even though that’s what you feel like right now.
“It’s why I went so far away for school,” you admit. “I hate feeling so controlled. And I really hate the mentality around here.”
Rafe remembers how happy you sounded when you talked about college on the phone the other night. You clearly don’t buy into the hierarchy that dominates the island. That dominates his life. He’d like to run away, too. But college has never been in the cards for him.
He was so wrong about you. You’re not the shallow girl he expected you to be when you met. You’re just afraid. And you might have a lot, but you don’t have what he does: people that let him be himself. Right now, he feels like the lucky one between you.
You swallow before you force yourself to look at Rafe again. The light washes over the sunburn along the bridge of his nose, the freckles scattered on his skin.
Your eyes flutter to his hand, resting on the sand, the deep scratch still catching your attention.
“Does that hurt?” you ask, nodding towards his injury.
“Nah,” he says. You’re not sure you can believe him. He seems like the type to act like he’s fine when he’s not.
“How’d it happen?” you ask.
He flattens his lips before he speaks.
“We’re fixing up our house,” he says. “Me and my friends. We’re selling it when we’re done. I was ripping out cabinets and didn’t see a nail sticking out.”
You cock your head as you gaze at his hand, wincing in sympathy. He smirks to himself. The worried look on your face does something to him. He wouldn’t admit it, but he earned the injury because instead of focusing on his work, he was thinking about you.
“I’m good,” he half-chuckles.
You look up at him, unconvinced, but impressed. Over the two weeks you’ve known him, you’ve witnessed just how much he knows. How much he can do with his hands.
“You need to teach me how to fix something some day,” you muse, looking out at the sea. “It seems like you know everything.”
He smirks as he stares at you, the wind threading your hair. You have a sincerity that he hasn’t seen in a lot of people.
“What do you want to learn?” he murmurs.
“Anything,” you say.
“I don’t know,” he says. He takes your hand and brings it to his eyeline, studying you like he’s checking if you could handle it. Your pulse spikes at the contact, at his flirtatious excuse to touch you.
He gazes at your hand and if the difference between you wasn’t already so obvious, he sees it now. His hand is rough, overworked, calloused, while yours is soft, adorned with small rings representing your easy life.
And yet he feels a sense of protection dig into him. Based on what you’ve told him about how you follow what your family and friends expect from you, you’re desperate to belong.
He knows what not measuring up feels like. He doesn’t want that for you. He wants to be the one person you don’t have to change for.
This is the emotional intensity his friends are always giving him shit for. He’s the one with the shortest fuse in the group. The one who holds grudges. The one who falls hard when he meets a girl he likes. His feelings have always been raw and hot and all-consuming.
You curl your fingers into Rafe’s palm, remembering what he said at the marina a few nights ago, that teasing tone of his when you asked where he learned how to fix boats and golf carts and he challenged the idea of you doing anything like that, like it isn’t even possible.
“So, you don’t think I can do it?” you joke.
He shrugs, but doesn’t deny it. While the feeling of being underestimated is familiar to you, this is the first time that Rafe has caused it. And it stings.
“I’ll teach you whatever you want,” he answers. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
You gaze at his profile and the pang of your pride being wounded completely disappears. It’s not that he thinks you’re incapable. He’s not patronizing you. He cares about you.
“I’ll be careful,” you say quietly.
Rafe gazes at you.
“You better be,” he says.
You smirk. His eyes drop to your lips. You’ve really shaken everything in him. Desire burns in his chest and he draws closer, just by an inch.
And without a second thought, you lean in.
When your lips meet, the heat between you is electric. Rafe’s mouth is soft but firm, and sparks flare through every part of you as you taste him in a languid kiss.
The kiss deepens as he cups your face and you rest your hand on his hard chest.
His heart is hammering against your palm and you swear your pulses are racing at the same rhythm, with excitement and a curiosity you both refuse to ignore.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The bar is at the end of the marina. Rafe chose it knowing you wouldn’t see anybody you know here. But you probably wouldn’t see anybody you know on The Cut at all.
You step into the loud bar, music and conversation humming around you, your hand in his. When you met in the parking lot just a moment ago, you shared a kiss so slow that it was like you hadn’t seen each other in weeks, when you’d sat on the beach together just last night.
Most people here know him. Mase bartends most nights. He’s not here now, and Rafe kind of wishes he was so he could meet you and see that you’re not the out-of-touch princess he knows he assumes you are.
The boys already know how much Rafe’s been hanging out with you. They tease him about how glued he is to his phone, how when they go out he isn’t interested in anyone else.
He’s not one to play games. He’s forward, and you match him, showing that you like him just as much.
Still, there’s a tug of uncertainty that you’ll change your mind, that a look into his life like this one will drive you away. But when Rafe glances back at you, you only flash him a pretty smile and tilt your head towards an empty billiards table near the back of the bar.
“You feel like losing at pool tonight?” you ask.
“Are you any good?” he asks.
“No,” you reply with a shrug. He smirks and you love it when he looks at you like that, like he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with you.
You order drinks and an hour at the pool table. He doesn’t even give you a chance to pull out your wallet, grimacing and shaking his head at you when you offer to cover it.
You stand by the corner of the table, watching Rafe rack up the balls. His forearms flex as he leans forward and it’s unreal how he can be doing anything and still look so good.
“Don’t let me win,” you tell him as he hands you a cue.
“What, you don’t want special treatment?” he murmurs with a playful smirk.
You grew up surrounded by entitled people who expect to be treated like they’re better than others, and you’ve always wanted to be different. The way he’s smiling is proof that you succeeded.
“Are you going to break or not?” you tease.
Rafe steps past you and catches your soft perfume, undoubtedly expensive, and it’s a harsh reminder that he can’t give you more, that he can’t take you somewhere nicer because you can’t be seen together, and because he can’t afford it.
You watch him lean down to break, the muscles in his arm tightening as his cue connects with a sharp crack. The balls scatter across the green felt. One drops into the corner pocket.
“Stripes,” he claims in a murmur, studying the table to line up his next shot. You watch him, admiring his focus.
“How was your day?” you ask, knowing he had just finished up his shift before meeting you. You’d had a beach day with your friends, with Rafe on your mind the entire time.
He lines up the cue, jaw tightening. He’s not one to complain. Not one to whine. But what happened today is still gnawing at him.
“Got through it,” Rafe says, eyes fixed on the shot. “Yours?”
You tilt your head, staring at his sharp profile.
“Did something happen?” you ask.
“Nothin’ important.”
There’s tension in his face. It twists in your chest. You worry he thinks you’d tell on him for complaining about his job, that you’d side with the people who treat him like he’s less. But you wouldn’t. You’d never defend them. You’d defend him.
“What, do you think I’d tell my dad about it?” you ask, a soft challenge in your tone. “You can tell me.”
Rafe glances up at you after missing his shot.
“People can be assholes,” he says, straightening to stand. “It’s your shot.”
He doesn’t like that look on your face, unsatisfied, waiting. He exhales, jaw tight. Fine. He’ll tell you.
“Some guy said something to me about how they’ll hire anyone,” he relents, then lets out a humorless laugh. “Even fuckin’ snapped his fingers at me.”
He still remembers the way the man had snapped to get Rafe’s attention this afternoon. He complained about the temperature of his drink as Rafe passed through one of the patios, carrying a heavy box of lawn supplies. When Rafe told him serving drinks isn’t his job, the man laughed and said something about the hiring standards to his buddy.
Rafe walked away, knowing he couldn’t afford to lose his temper. He doesn’t care about what some idiot says. What truly pissed him off was the reminder of the divide between his world and yours, the one that reminds him that he’s seen as less than, that while you don’t see him like that, maybe one day, you will.
“Are you serious?” you mutter, brows furrowing. “And you can’t even defend yourself, can you?”
He hates admitting that he’s at the mercy of the same people who look down on him. He forces the words out.
“I need this job.”
You don’t say anything for a moment, staring up at him. Compassion stirs in you, for his circumstances, for his endurance. And you can relate in a tiny way, because you know all about keeping your mouth shut when you don’t want to.
“It’s easier to let them think they won,” you say. You know it’s not the same. You have privilege that he doesn’t. But you understand the instinct to stay quiet just to survive.
You move to take your shot, miss, and let out a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
“No,” you whine. “Could I actually get a little bit of special treatment?”
You look up at him, offering him a smile. And he can tell now, for certain, that you look at him without the filter of reputation or money.
“Not a chance,” he replies, and you playfully nudge him with a laugh.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Rafe’s arm is around your waist as you leave the bar together. You’re glad he won the game. It proved he wasn’t holding back just to flatter you. You don’t want that. You want sincerity in every way.
The marina is dark and quiet. You both reach the parking lot, your cars parked side by side, and lean against your passenger door. The metal is cool against your back as Rafe stands across from you, inches away. The air between you is charged, heavy like always.
“You good to drive?” he asks, eyes dropping to your lips.
“I had half a drink,” you reply. “How weak do you think I am?”
He smirks. Weak isn’t the word. It’s not like you’re fragile. But he still feels an urge to protect you.
Laughter drifts from the boardwalk. You glance over, heart skipping when you see someone holding up their phone, until you realize they’re just on a video call, not pointing the camera at you.
“What?” Rafe says, catching the worry on your face.
“I thought they were taking a picture of us,” you say with a chuckle, then look back up at him.
His jaw tenses. You’re embarrassed to be seen with him, and he’s been ignoring that fact, telling himself it doesn’t matter, but now that he sees it for himself, it does.
“Scared of what they’d think?” he asks.
You still. He thinks you’re worried about yourself right now. And while it would be annoying to be spotted together, for the gossip to spread, for your friends and family to look down on you, that’s not what’s on your mind.
You’re not worried about your reputation, even though it is a reason you keep your opinions in most of the time. It’s Rafe you’re worried about.
“Scared that you’d get fired,” you answer.
Rafe’s chest tightens. He’s spent years convincing himself he doesn’t need anyone’s concern, especially not from a girl who’s better off than him. But he sees genuine worry in your eyes.
His whole life, it’s been easier to take hits than kindness, easier to be the one protecting than the one being protected. His sisters depend on him and he looks out for his friends. He’s never liked letting anyone worry about him, but honestly, secretly, it feels good.
He brings his hand up, thumb and finger holding you gently.
“Right,” he says quietly. “Sorry.”
You nod, understanding his defensiveness. You remember what he said that night on the boat, that people think he needs to stay in his place. You feel an urgency to prove him wrong.
“You’re cute when you’re worried,” he murmurs, dropping his hand. You look away and roll your eyes, but the gesture is paired with a grin. “Had that same look on your face when you saw my hand.”
“It looked bad, okay?” you say, eyes dropping for a moment before you lift his hand. You trace the line of red on his skin. “Still does.”
He stares at you as you study his wound, and it hits him that he’s really doing this with you. That he’s really risking so much. That it may not be nearly as much as he has on the line, but you’re risking something, too.
“You aren’t freaked out about what people would say about you?” Rafe asks, voice low.
You gaze up at him. And you don’t want to lie to him. When you were young, you were taught to stay in line, to fake it. It stuck. But not with him. There’s none of that with him.
You do care about what people would say. And you hate that you do. But you care about him more.
“I like you more than any of that,” you reply.
The words turn his lips into a small, awestruck smile, softening his eyes.
“You sure we should do this?” he says. The words slipped out. It’s unlike him, showing even a hint of insecurity, but while he doesn’t know what this even is, it’s his way of giving you an out. Of checking you’re in as much as he is.
You gaze up at him. You’ve thought about it so much. This is exciting and it’s risky and it’s impossible to walk away from.
“I want to,” you say. “Do you?”
Rafe’s hand finds the small of your back and he pulls you in against him and he answers with a deep kiss. It’s a hard, resolute, wonderful yes.
(to be continued)
if you want to be alerted of when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘
This off campus cast drama is a good reminder that we don’t know ANYBODY’S personal political ideologies.
No amount of Instagram likes/posts will make me think that I do know this info because I don’t know these people and you would all do well to remember the same.
Would you be able to do one with Rafe at the country club and witnesses one of Sofia’s coworker flirting with her. Rafe is super jealous and obviously has to make it known to everyone that Sofia is his gf 😏
Sorry if it doesn’t make sense, I just need more country club rafia content 🤍
ooo. 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔… request!where a coworker’s innocent flirting leads to rafe’s public display of affection.
ooo. 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔… so sorry this took so long anon lol! but it’s here. it’s really short and it’s not my favorite (writers block’s kicking my ass again!) but hopefully you still enjoy?
over the few months that they’ve been dating each other; sofia’s become very perceptive about rafe.
it’s the little things that she notices about him; like how surprisingly affectionate he is — whether it’s his hand splayed over hers with his thumb caressing over the skin of her knuckles or it’s his outstretched hand resting against the small of her back; he was always seeking her out for contact.
or it’s how he looks at her; full of awe and adulation. there’s always a noticeable softness that brims in his pupils that’s accompanied by a soft adoring smile. and his gaze never strays from her too long. he wanders away only briefly, before he’s averting his eyes back on her to assure that she was still in his view.
like now, despite the fact that he was accompanied by kelce and topper who were all standing around one of the tables drinking and talking, rafe’s attention was thwarted solely on her. she was behind the bar’s counter, tending to one of the customers, preparing his second refilled glass of the whiskey sour that he ordered, when she looked up and met rafe’s gaze from across the room.
sofia’s cheeks immediately blanched as she suddenly felt overwhelmed and shy from his attention. she blushed deeply underneath the smothering heed of his scrutiny, watching as he brought his glass up to his parted lips.
he attempts to hide his impish smirk behind his glass as he tips it back and takes a sip, but she could see the bitten look of amusement stretched across his face even from where she was standing. she harrumphs softly, reluctantly pulling her gaze away from rafe’s coquettish stare to continue helping her customer.
“here you go, sir.” she says, tucking the freshly sliced orange wedge on the side of the glass before lining it on top of a paper napkin. the customer murmurs a halfhearted thanks before picking up his glass and sauntering off to return to his table. sofia’s eyes follow behind the customer as he makes his egress as she glances towards rafe’s table again.
but unlike all of the previous times where she looked up and caught his gaze, his attention was now focused on his friends who he had resumed his conversation with.
“hey, sofia.” someone’s voice as they approached and greeted her in salutation retracts her eyes away from rafe. sofia turns around and smiles softly when she sees her coworker, conner, standing behind her.
through the years of working here, the only person that’s managed to make it tolerable was conner. he too had to endure being subjected to serving overpriced drinks to kooks instead of attending college. their shared experience and similarities had made him more of a friend to her than a colleague.
“hey, conner.”
“how’s it been out here today?” he asks, nudging his chin outwardly towards the crowd of customers.
sofia shrugs, leaning her body against the counter. “surprisingly, not too bad. but it’s still kind of early. in about another hour or so when they’re all five or six drinks in, it’ll go back to people snapping their fingers at us to get our attention or them calling me ‘girl’ instead of my name that’s literally on my name tag,” she laments, in which conner nods his head knowingly.
she’s become accustomed to their superiority, now being able to roll their prudish comments off with a tight lipped smile instead of running to the nearest supply closet and crying like she used to when she first started.
it took a while for her to acquire that kind of strength and resilience. it was usually conner who intervened whenever someone got mad at her for inadvertently getting their order wrong or if they talked to her in a tone that resembled anything less than respectful. she was appreciative of him and his friendship, because she knows without him she probably wouldn’t have survived here for as long as she has.
“you’d think with all the money they have they could learn to buy themselves some manners,” conner accosts, shaking his head as his eyes wandered out towards the patio full of people. “anyway, how was your weekend off?”
(at his inquiry, sofia reminiscences on the eventful weekend that she spent with rafe. on friday, they’d gone out to eat at a lavish italian restaurant to commemorate their six month anniversary. it’d been a complete surprise to sofia to find out that not only had rafe remembered the occasion, but had taken the initiative to plan something for them by himself and unbeknownst to her knowledge.
she was surprised by the new red dress and the note scribed in rafe’s barely tangible handwriting, laid across the bed telling her to get dressed. she primped herself up, shrouded in excitement of the unknown. when she walked down the staircase, she was met with the sight of rafe standing by the front entrance dressed soigné in his tuxedo, looking as boyishly handsome as ever. he stared at her in a mesmerizing awe, taking a few steps to meet her halfway with his extended hand and roguish smile.
and albeit it has been six months of them being together, the night had been full of shy smiles being exchanged almost as if it were their first date. saturday was her abuela’s birthday, so they spent most of the day at her grandparent’s house.
despite her father’s trepidations about their relationship, her grandmother had developed a strong liking towards rafe. he found himself stuffed with her homemade tamales and his cheeks had pinkened from her constantly pinching them as she cooed adoringly at him, calling him guapo.
she doesn’t think she’s ever seen rafe smile as much as he did that day.
sunday had been a day reserved just for them.
they were sequestered in the house all day, swathed in a cocoon of blankets as they laid in bed. it was a mundane day, with nothing actually being done, but the domestication of it all had been sofia’s favorite.)
“it was good. what about yours?” she pushes herself off of the counter and begins to assist conner in restocking the items beneath the shelves.
“yeah, mine was good too. you remember that guy who came in last weekend, the one who said he owned all those art galleries?”
sofia nods, “yeah.”
“well, he came back on saturday and we got to talking for like half an hour about art. i told him that i was an artist and he asked to see some of my work. so i showed him and he liked it. like genuinely liked it, sof. he told me that he has a show coming up for upcoming artists and he gave me a spot in the show.”
“seriously?” she gasped, her mouth gapes and stretches in a smile as she throws her arms around his neck and pulled him in a hug. “that’s amazing, conner! congratulations.”
he chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around her and he reciprocated the embrace. “thanks.” she knows how much this opportunity meant for him.
after having to put a temporary pause on his dreams to help his provide additional income to help his mother, she knew that he felt like he was getting nowhere in achieving his dreams. (a feeling she was all too familiar with.) but hearing him finally getting a chance at not only continuing his work, but being able to show others his feat as well was something that he deserved.
“when is it?” she asked as they retract from the hug, “because you already know that i’m coming,”
he nods, chuckling softly, “next friday at eight thirty. it’s being thrown at that gallery downtown.”
“i’ll be there.” she avows with a soft smile.
“thanks. i uh, i was actually hoping—wondering, really, if you’d want to come as my date?” he asks, looking at her sheepishly as he waited for her response. sofia blinked, taken aback by his sudden inquiry. his expression sages at her reluctance, the confidence he once carried was now substituted with chagrin. “or not! sorry, it was stupid of me to ask.”
“no, it was really sweet of you to ask,” she reassured him, though the embarrassment of her rejection doesn’t dispel off of his features. “but i have a boy—”
“hey,” rafe’s sudden approach interrupts their conversation; causing both sofia and conner’s attentions to alert. rafe greets sofia with a soft smile, absentmindedly setting his empty glass on top of the counter.
conner’s eyes momentarily averts away from sofia and instead focuses on rafe. he placates his tight lipped customer service smile as he reaches for rafe’s empty glass. “afternoon, mr. cameron did you want another refill?”
“nah, i’m good. conner.” he says, with something akin to hubris lilting heavily in his voice as he peered up from where he was reading conner’s name tag. conner nods, though the confused expression deepens at rafe’s sudden abrasive tone. “so, i couldn’t help but overhear you guys talking about some art show you’re going to.”
conner nods, though bewildered by rafe’s placated interest in their eavesdropped conversation. “oh, uh, yeah. i was just telling sofia about the owner that invited me to show off a few of my pieces.”
“oh?” rafe nods, tilting his head as his kept his gaze cemented on conner. “yeah that sounds cool. you think i could get an invite too?”
“you like art?” conner inquires incredulously, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pursed in disbelief as if the idea was absurd.
“me? nah. not really but my girlfriend does,” rafe says, his eyes finally avert to the right of him where sofia stood. conner follows rafe’s gaze, his eyes widen as the realization suddenly dawns upon him. “and no one’s taking her on any dates except for me,”
“rafe, baby its okay,” sofia gives conner an apologetic smile, “we would love to come to your show if it’s still okay with you?”
he nods, giving sofia a small smile. “yeah. yeah. i’ll make sure to reserve two tickets for you.” his eyes briefly wander over to rafe again before he eventually saunters off leaving sofia and rafe alone.
sofia walks around the counter, now standing athwart from rafe as she gave him a pointed look. “you didn’t have to do that. he didn’t know that we were dating,”
rafe shrugs, reaching for her hand as he tugs her closer towards him. his hands grip at her waist, squeezing her with a soft affection as he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers in a deep kiss. she yelps in surprise at his sudden onslaught but easily finds herself melting and succumbing to his embrace — indulging in his vigorous kisses.
rafe retracts from the kiss, smirking impishly against her mouth. “well now him and everyone else here knows that you’re my girl,” sofia’s cheeks flush at his territorial proclamation. looking around, she sees a few looks of surprises written across everyone’s faces at the fact that rafe cameron had just kissed the bartender so openly like this.
