midnight rain [f. colapinto]

f o r t y - e i g h t

Evita wished she could hide in her room for the rest of the evening, but eventually, her stomach was growling too much for her to ignore. She was too exhausted to cook, so she decided she would pick up takeout.

As she left her room, she tripped over something in front of her door. Evita picked up a bottle of lotion. A note was taped to it:

I know you have a lot going on right now, but don't forget to take care of yourself too. :) -F

Tears sprang to Evita's eyes once more. She looked down at her hands, which were dry and cracked from her excess use of hand sanitizer. Her nail beds were red from the constant picking. Franco noticed. He noticed and he still wanted to help her.

Evita grabbed her jacket and started to put her shoes on.

"Where are you off to?" asked Franco. He was cooking something that smelled delicious.

"Getting dinner," said Evita, her voice raw from crying.

"I made extra, if you want some of this instead," he offered.

"What is it?"

"Cacio e pepe with chicken," said Franco.

Evita smiled. It was one of her favorite dishes when she was younger. How had he remembered after all this time?

"That sounds great," she said softly.

"Sit down," ordered Franco. "I'll finish cooking."

Evita waited patiently at the table. She noticed a bouquet of sunflowers in a vase at the end of the table. Franco must have gotten them from the store as well. Her heart soared at the effort he was putting in to convince her to forgive him. It was starting to become incredibly tempting.

Franco set a plate of pasta and a small side salad in front of Evita. She smiled gratefully at him as he took the seat across from her. They ate quietly for a few minutes. This was the first time they were eating together at the same time, so Evita wasn't sure if she should say something. Even if she did, she wasn't sure if the words would come out the way she wanted them to.

Franco was the first to break the silence. "I'm really sorry, Evita."

"I should be the one who's sorry," said Evita. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"It's okay. Really," said Franco. "I know you've been stressed about school right now and I shouldn't have stepped on any toes. I also shouldn't have asked about the pottery. It was really dumb."

Evita cracked a smile, looking down at her dinner to avoid his gaze. "Maybe a little. But it's fine. Thank you for the lotion, by the way. And making dinner."

"It's no problem at all," said Franco. "Can I say something?"

Evita nodded for him to go ahead.

"Clearly there's some sort of disconnect between us," began Franco. "And I think we need to figure out what's going on. I know you don't want to talk about the past, so I won't explain, but we can talk about now."

"What is there to talk about?" asked Evita.

Franco shot her a look. "I think you know, Ev. We can't be alone in a room together without one of us starting an argument. And I hate that. So I think before Austin, we should try to fix it."

Evita leaned back in her chair, sizing him up. "And how do you think we should do this?"

"I have an idea," said Franco. "We both have our faults. You're super uptight and way too organized. I am nowhere near organized enough and I'm definitely too spontaneous. And I have a proposition for how we can change."

Evita ignored the blatant insult he had thrown at her, too curious to dwell on it for too long.

"How so?" she asked.

"One, we can try to spend more time together. I know we're both really busy, but we could try to have dinner together a few times a week. And on the weekend, we can try out activities to help the other improve. Like for you, I think a dance lesson would be really great."

"A dance lesson?" questioned Evita, one eyebrow raised.

Franco's eyes lit up. "Yeah! There's a salsa studio not far from here. I think it'll help you learn to let loose a little."

Evita wasn't sure what to think of that. She was not a dancer. Though she was Latin, and it was expected of her to have some sense of rhythm, the girl had none. "What about you? If I'm going to mortify myself dancing, how are you learning to be more reserved?"

Franco blushed. "I was hoping you would know," he said sheepishly.

Evita thought about it for a second. She ran her fingers over the bandage of her hand. "That's it!" she cried. Franco jumped. "We can go to a pottery studio. It's great practice for becoming more patient."

Franco grinned at her. "That sounds perfect."

"Does this weekend work for you?" asked Evita. Her schedule would be crammed with study sessions, but the idea of returning to a pottery wheel was too enticing to shove aside. She didn't think she could wait until after her midterms.

"Sure," said Franco. "I think this will be fun."

"I hope so," said Evita.

The two shook hands, sealing their deal, before going back to eating their dinner in silence. As Evita finished her pasta, she thought about what this agreement would mean for her relationship with Franco.

She would be forced to spend more time with him and his insufferableness, but their public image was on the line. If they could get over their differences, mostly her own, perhaps they could be just professional enough for the press to leave them alone. She didn't have to force herself to like him, just stay civil when they were in each other's presence. Then Evita could finally do her job in peace.