“Better than Felicaio, though.”
“Never mind all that,” he says, stroking my face and kissing my lips, apparently not minding my morning breath.
My mom doesn’t know how to behave in the presence of two people who have spent the night making out. She keeps winking or smiling at the two of us, and when it becomes humanly impossible to deal with this level of embarrassment, I decide it is time to invite Caio on a second date.
“We need to get out of here,” I say, sounding urgent.
“Get out of here like grab all the money we have, hop on an interstate bus, and take an unforgettable road trip?” he answers, not showing much interest, still looking at his phone.
“Not a bad idea. But I was thinking of going to Dalva’s Café.”
His face lights up in a giant smile.
Dalva’s Café is the closest thing to a Starbucks franchise in my town. But it has more Frappuccino options (including a surprisingly good guava flavor), and it’s more affordable. The décor is cozy, full of old stuff (or vintage, as it were), with pleasant, soft lighting. I’m not a date connoisseur, but I think Dalva’s is the perfect place for one.
“I want to eat their Belgian waffle until I get so sick I pass out,” Caio says excitedly.
So romantic.
When we get there, the place is a little crowded, but we find ourselves a table in the back. The table is round and small, which makes our legs bump into each other all the time.
I’m far from complaining about that.
A nice server takes our orders, and we look at each other and enjoy thirty seconds of quiet before Caio starts laughing.
“It’s funny to be here with you right now. Like this, you know?” He squeezes my hand briefly, then lets it go. “Just a few days ago, during one of those awkward silences between us, I’d text Becky asking for tips on what to say to start a conversation with you.”
“At least you have Becky to reach out to. When I wanted to start a conversation with you, I had to google it!” I say, and he laughs.
“Seriously?”
“If you saw my search history, perhaps you wouldn’t be sitting here with me today,” I say, grabbing my phone from my pocket and showing him the screen, because I think it’ll be funny.
I go to Google and tap the search bar, and right underneath, my last few searches show up:
“How to start a conversation without sounding awkward”
“Scented candles how to make”
“How many pajamas does a person need?”
“Do pajamas need to be washed every day?”
“Is Pisces and Cancer a good match?”
And right there, in the middle of all my questions, I read, “How do I know if I’m in love?” and block the screen immediately. But I think Caio saw it before I did.
He’s looking at me with a calm smile, and I am a little ashamed. Because I was just trying to be funny, to show him the weird things that I look up when I’m bored. I wanted him to see I’m fun, not desperate.
I swallow hard and don’t say anything. The server comes back with our orders, and I’m relieved to have something to occupy my mouth with.
“Did you figure it out?”
“If I have to wash my pajamas every day?” I ask, trying to change the subject, which makes him laugh.
“No need to be ashamed. It’s just that … I wanted to know, too,” he says, handing me his phone. On his screen, I can see his search history, and I’m amazed by the possibility of getting into his head for a few seconds:
“How to make brigadeiro without it sticking to the bottom of the pan”
“Animated musicals”
“Are Pisces romantic?”
“Are Pisces hard to get?”
“Harry Styles no shirt”
“First date tips”
“How to know if he’s into you”
I take a deep breath, reading line by line, and then look at him with a relieved smile.
“I don’t know what Google told you, but I can confirm that I am, in fact, into you,” I say with a wink that probably makes me look creepy, because he starts laughing.
“Maybe it would have been easier to have asked you from the start, instead of hoping Google would give me all the answers,” he says.
“When did it start?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you could have asked me from the start. When was that? When did you stop and think that it was possible you were into me? And what did you see in me? Because honestly—”
“Lipé, stop,” Caio interrupts me. “I don’t remember the precise time. It probably started when I woke up and found out you’d left the book for me. Or the time you set aside a piece of cake for me and put the glass of milk close to my chair for breakfast. When you told me about your problems, and I realized that having a mom who accepts you is not the immediate solution to everything. When you listened to me crying and complaining about things that I have no idea how to solve. There was no beginning. It was all of those things that made me like you.”
When I come back to myself, I realize my mouth is open and there’s a piece of waffle in it that I simply forgot to chew while I was listening to Caio.
“That silly face also really helped,” he says, placing his hand on my chin and closing my mouth. “What about you? When did you start to like me?”
I pause for a moment, trying to determine the best answer. I could say it was the day we played mermaids together, but I should probably save that story for when we exchange our wedding vows.
“It’s been a long time, actually. It was before. Way before these last fourteen days.”
“I’m glad you didn’t wait any longer. Because I’m really scared of making a move. I’m a little—”
“Slow. Yeah. Becky told me,” I say, smiling.
“So are you telling me that the two of you have talked about this?” he says, gesturing with his finger at the two of us.
“Actually, she was one of the people who made this happen,” I say. “Have you already updated her on the rest of the story?”
“Just the basics, but she’s desperate for more details. She sent me about two hundred texts asking how the date went, if I’m happy, if you’re happy.”
“Let’s send her a pic!” I suggest, not knowing where the idea came from.
I hate taking pictures. I hate the idea of having an image of me frozen for all eternity. I hate having to get ready for the photo, because I never know which face to make, so I always end up with a strange grimace, so I won’t make my discomfort so obvious.
But I have no time to say all that because when I look up, Caio has already pulled his chair next to me and rested his head lightly on my shoulder. I look straight ahead, and the front camera of his phone is already on, and on-screen I see Caio, photogenic as ever, and me, clearly without a clue as to what I’m doing.
Caio doesn’t wait for me to get ready. He starts to press the button, taking one selfie after another. I try to look brave, then nice, and then neutral. But all the photos end up being taken in between poses, and my face looks awful in all of them.
“Can you take it easy with that button?” I protest.