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The buzzer rings in your apartment and you hit the button to buzz Lydia, your pizza delivery lady from Sal's Pizzeria, into the building and then hit the intercom. "That was fast! Sal's slow today Liddy?" You release the door buzzer.
"Actually, it's me..." A man's voice answers back. "Rafael Barba. You left your phone at the station, I've just stopped by to drop it off."
Panic grips you when you take a look at your apartment. "Oh, okay come on up." You release the intercom. "Shit."
"Mommy!" Your daughter chastises you for saying a no-no word.
"Sorry sweetheart. I need your help honey, can you pick up your toys and put them in the toy box quick like a bunny?" You run into your bedroom to change from your shorts and tank top to the nearest thing you can grab. Dark jeans and a black v-neck sweater. You freshen up your lipstick and run a hurried hand through your hair and spritz yourself with perfume. You run back into the living room and see your daughter has not touched her toys. You grab as much as you can before the knock on the door comes. You give your hair a final finger-comb and open the door and step back to let him in your kitchen as you try to catch your breath and try to look casual.
"Hello Mr. Barba, what brings you here?" You hope you aren't huffing and puffing too hard.
Mr. Barba looks at you for a moment and takes in your breathless form and ponders your question. Why is he here? That's a very good question, and one he himself has been considering. After you left the precinct, he went into Olivia's office to review some files, and he had tried to nonchalantly feel out your situation, commenting on what a pistol your daughter was, and Liv agreeing, and telling him that she was sure your daughter had the entire squad eating out of her hand. Barba conceded he could see that, telling Liv how your little one had him drawing Frannie, Amanda's dog, with her and Liv smirking at him and commenting how that was probably really hard for him to take, winking at him before going back to her paperwork. He had wondered aloud to her about how a child could complicate things. Olivia had looked at him for a long moment, crossed her arms and leaned her elbows on her desk, bringing herself closer to him, and spoke kindly but candidly that if he were to wait for circumstances to be perfect, that he would find himself alone, and that was not what she wanted for him, not what he deserved. A good man like him deserved all the happiness in the world. When she told him "not everyone can wait for you, Barba", the truth of those words and the weight they carried cracked his chest open and squeezed at his heart like a fist.
The silence between them stretched as Olivia let her words hit him where he lived, until they heard a chirping coming from the toys in Liv's office. They had discovered your phone in the pile of toys, apparently left behind when you scooped up your brokenhearted daughter. Liv handed him the phone and told him an act of kindness would be a good place to start in feeling out your situation, slapping the phone into his open hand and walking him to the elevators, kicking him out of her precinct.
Mr. Barba hands the phone to you. "You left your phone in Lieutenant Benson's office."
"Oh. Right. Right. You did say say that didn't you?" You roll your eyes at yourself. "Thank you so much for bringing this. I hope it wasn't too far out of your way."
"Not at all."
Your daughter, wondering what is taking so long bounces into the kitchen. "Mooooommmmiiiieee - hurry up!!" She calls and when she comes around the kitchen island and sees Mr. Barba she breaks into a smile. "Misser Barba!" She chirps loudly, bouncing on her tip toes.
Mr. Barba cannot help but smile at her excited greeting. "Hi there!"
She grabs his index and ring finger and pulls. "Come color with me. We're gonna watch Frozen." Her little feet slip on the kitchen floor as she tries to pull Rafael to the living room, grunting in effort, and you and Rafael both laugh.
"Sweetheart, Mr. Barba has more important things to do than color with us. He's a very busy man." She stamps a foot just like she did in your office. "What did I say about stomping that foot?"
"But mommy when Uncle Sonny watched Frozen with us you told him Misser Barba needed to see the love experts so he could get a clue. Misser Barba has to stay." Your daughter informs, referring to the little trolls in her movie that offer love advice.
Sonny loved your daughter and was a frequent guest at your home, and on one visit while you three watched Frozen for the hundredth time, you had told Sonny that you found Mr. Barba so very smart, and fascinating, and rather easy on your eyes, but doubted anything would ever come of it, as he was either not picking up on your hints or was just not interested. Sonny raised his eyebrows at you, and questioned what hints you were allegedly leaving, since you rarely even spoke when you were around Mr. Barba. You agreed, knowing he was right, but you found Mr. Barba and his fast paced thinking, his razor sharp wit and his impeccable taste more than a little intimidating, and your voice failed you many times in his presence, you might as well have been a potted fern when you were around the man.
Oh. My. God. Oh. My. God. Out of the corner of your eye you see Mr. Barba's free hand go to his mouth to cover his smile.
You take half a moment to compose yourself and start to usher him towards the door. "Sweetheart, Mr. Barba is very busy. He doesn't have time to watch Frozen. Some other time, okay?"
Mr. Barba thinks about the stack of files on his desk, the evidence he needed to go over, the depositions to be notated, the photos to review and the time that has been slipping away from him in just the short time he had been here in your kitchen, and you are absolutely right. He is too busy. Then, he thinks about his conversation with Olivia. "I'm not busy." He reads the doubt on your face. "I'm really not too busy. Sal's makes great pizza."
You watch him a long moment, taking taking in his handsome, kind face. Your eyes searching it. "Are you sure?" Before you can answer he sees the hopefulness fade from your face and become replaced with a manufactured smile and shake your head and kindly wave his offer away. "Oh, Mr. Barba, you really don't have to, that's okay. Thank you for bringing my phone, and for sitting and drawing with her today." You don't want him to feel like he has to stay if he doesn't want to or doesn't have the time just because your daughter wants him to. Plus after her telling him what you had said to Sonny, you were fine not to have him stay.
He steps closer to you, tightening the gap that was already small. "Perhaps I'm not the only one who needs some help to get a clue." He teases you and you swear you can feel the hair on your neck rise.
"Uncle Sonny says mommy has to leave a clue for you to find, Misser Barba." Your daughter informs him earnestly.
"Is that right?" He says, but his eyes never leave yours.
"Uh huh. He says mommy needs to stop acting like she forgots how to talk when she's 'round you, that your bark is worse than your bite." She tries pulling his hand again.
He has to duck his head completely to hide his smile at that, but you can't keep your laugh to yourself at all. Your Little Miss, so earnest and helpful. You remind yourself you really need to watch what you say around her, her little ears always keyed up to the sound of your voice. "Hey honey, go find your coloring books, okay?" She finally releases his fingers and runs to get her coloring books, her little feet padding down the hall as she runs on her toes.
"She's quite a character. You sure have your hands full." Mr. Barba laughs.
"Yes I do, and I wouldn't have it any other way." You agree. You straighten your posture and smooth your sweater, and clear your throat. "Mr. Barba, may I interest you in dinner and a movie? Frozen and Sal's Pizza?" You offer him a proper invite to dinner, your heart hoping for the "yes" that you were sure was coming, yet you were still nervous.
He leans in close to you, so close you swear you can feel his heat, you can smell his cologne and the intoxicating scent of him, his breath warming your cheek before it carries his voice into your ear, and when his whisper hits your skin, it lights you up and you swear you can feel the heat of your blush radiating off you, kicking your nerves into high gear. "Is this... this invitation... is this what you and Carisi refer to as a "clue" I am supposed to pick up?" The smile in his voice relaxes you.
Mr. Barba joking with you like this catches you completely off guard. Anytime you had encountered him it had always been such a serious matter and he was always so professional that his response throws you for a loop and you toss your head back, and cover your face with your hands, laughing with complete abandon. Never in a million years had you imagined today would turn out like this, and at this moment, you couldn't be more grateful that it had. When you move your hands he takes in your beaming face, your high color and your dancing eyes, and lets the beauty of your expression hit him in that moment. "Yes." you say, still settling from your laughing fit and slapping your hand on the kitchen island. "Yes, Mr. Barba, this is what we would call a clue."
"Nice to see I've still got it."
"As if that was ever in any doubt." You say brazenly, having been outed by your daughter and Mr. Barba telling you he was not too busy to stay for dinner tonight left you feeling brave enough to put yourself out there the tiniest bit.
If Mr. Barba had wondered earlier today in the precinct if you were flirting with him, he was sure of it now. All the reasons he had thought of earlier as to why he was too busy to stay, they are gone, and he's thinking about this lovely lady in front of him, her child in the living room, her shrill little voice yelling that "Misser Barba could hold the stuffed Olaf, but he had to give it back" and asking him which coloring book he wanted, and you reminding her to use her inside voice and find her Blu Ray of the movie and the buzzer going off announcing the arrival of your Sal's pie while you dump your purse out looking for your wallet, your daughter now bouncing up and down for pizza. Chaos, and that's what this was, was not usually his scene in his off hours. Quiet was his scene, soft music, books, alone time was what he enjoyed. But for some reason he cannot think of anywhere else he would rather be right now. He puts the Olaf on the counter and takes off his coat and rolls up his shirt sleeves and picks out his coloring book and your Little Miss runs into the living room with his choice and hers and gets out her crayons from the coffee table.
He sets his hand next to yours on the kitchen island, the side of his hand barely touches yours but he doesn't move it. The brushing together of your flesh sears into you, and you will feel his skin on yours hours after he moves his hand, your sense memory drinking in that small touch, your skin soaking up the feeling of his like a sponge. That lights a fire within you, your mind playing a thousand clips of his skin on yours in mere seconds, from embracing to caressing and long past that. He reads this all over you. The flush coming back to your face, the goosebumps that rise along your forearm, your breathing quickening just the slightest, the avoidance of his eyes. He reads it so clearly you might as well have said it out loud. He takes his thumb and index finger and cups your chin and turns your face to his, waiting for your eyes to hit his own and for you to read what he is sure is all over him as well. That you were not the only one roused by that little collision. That your mind was not the only one playing out all the possibilities of tonight. That he wanted to see where this would go, if it would go anywhere at all. That he will be careful with your heart, and the heart of your little girl, always, even if this leads nowhere. "Will you stay Mr. Barba?" Your voice pulls him from his thoughts, and once again, the moment that could have been slips from you both, as you could no longer stand the silence.
He stops reflecting, and stops thinking forward, and decides he will enjoy this moment, right now. "That depends." You cock your head to the side and wait for his answer. A smile begins to pull at the corners of his mouth as he replies. "Will you call me Rafael?"