Forgive and Forget

Having worked the morning to noon-shift at the cafe the day after Liverpool’s heartbreaking overtime loss against Chelsea in the Champions League semi-finals, a loss that was preceded by a rather unnecessary draw against them two weeks earlier, Elina found herself sitting perched on the edge of the large oak table in the kitchen in Fernando’s house.

Sipping a glass of white wine as he cooked a late lunch or early dinner for them.

It was the first time she saw him properly cooking and if she was honest she wasn’t completely convinced that he knew what he was doing. But he kept insisting to leave him to it, so taking a sip from her tall-stemmed glass her blue eyes followed him closely as he moved about the beautifully decorated kitchen.

“I can feel you staring,” he commented, laughter coating his words as he kept his own gaze forwards, on whatever it was that he was cooking. He had yet to reveal to her what it was that he was making, preferring to keep it a surprise as he knew she really didn't like surprises.

“Tell me what you’re making and I’ll stop,” she bargained with an amused smile as she stretched out her arm behind her and leaning on it as her legs were dangling off the edge of the table.

“Not going to happen,” he shook his head slightly as he added something more to one of the pans before him and stirring the contents lightly, he moved away from the stove and leaned back against the oak-countertop and picked up his own wineglass.

“I hate you,” she rolled her eyes at him. He really didn't understand how much she hated surprises, she liked planning and executing surprises for other people, but she never like when she was the only one in the dark. It wasn’t that she had bad experiences with it; it was just that... that she had bad experiences when it came to surprises. She usually put it down to a string of friends and boyfriends that really didn't inspire trust in her trying to pull the wool over her eyes.

“You don't,” he smirked at her. “And when you taste this I promise you’ll love me,” he added, a moment of awkwardness following before they both snapped out of it. They were grown-ups; they couldn’t let something as silly as feelings get to them, not if they were planning on continuing hanging out together.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” she forced herself to say as she picked up her glass and took another sip before crossing her legs and resting her elbow slightly on her knee.

The otherwise comfortable atmosphere was broken by a ringing phone and recognising it as his cell, Fernando excused himself and pulled it out of the pocket of his jeans, announcing that it was one of the trainers in the club and that he had to take it.

Understanding, she nodded and watched as he answered the call, switching from their easy banter in Spanish to a much more calculated English. Having been taught the language since third grade and having travelled in English-speaking countries as often as she had, she felt comfortable speaking it in almost every situation, but she knew that man before her had had troubles when he first arrived in the city. He hadn't been very well versed in English and the club, despite the many Spaniards playing there, wasn’t all that great at Spanish. She’d heard from both him and others that he’d had to force himself to learn quickly but she could still notice that he wasn’t completely comfortable speaking it, especially not around a lot of people.

To her, and anyone else who knew him, it was obvious with the way he spoke English in interviews that he wasn’t comfortable, that he couldn’t fully express his feelings and his thoughts in the foreign language.

Licking her lips slightly, she glanced out through the large windows overlooking the front yard and couldn’t help but be thankful for the tall hedges keeping the place out of view from the street. Obviously you could stand by the gates and look straight in, but that was so noticeable that few people attempted it.

Like she’d told her friend when she’d been out to visit, it was unnerving just how interested paparazzos were getting in the football players in the island country. Personally she blamed Cristiano Ronaldo and the British WAGs for it, but that did nothing to get them to stop thinking that she was Fernando were actually a couple.

That kiss he’d thrown her in that game a couple of weeks earlier, it hadn't gone unnoticed and when they appeared out together just a couple of days after – he stopped by the coffeehouse to return a scarf her brother had left in his car – they’d been photographed and suddenly they were in a very serious relationship, going public with it and all...

It was crazy, she hated it and her friends found it hilarious.

They were friends, friends went out and did things together, but apparently the tabloids didn't share that thought so whenever they were even in the same part of town, they were meeting up for some secret rendezvous.

It certainly didn't help that her emotions were all over the place and that her nerves were fried because she’d been greeted by photographers more than once when she was out shopping, be it alone, or with her friends, Fernando being nowhere close by.

Shaking her head slightly, she forced those thought away and looked back at the blonde man standing just a couple of feet away her.

“Everything alright?” she asked gently after he’d ended the call and put his phone back into his pocket.

“Yeah,” he nodded, giving her a genuine smile before turning at least some of his attention back to his food. “They just wanted to let me; us all really, know that we’ll have an extra video-session before practice tomorrow.”

Nodding understanding, she let out a slight noise to make it obvious she’d heard him.

Continuing to refuse to tell her what he was making, he put her to work by assigning her the setting of the table once she stood from where she’d been sitting and began peaking over his shoulder.

Surrendering with a sigh, she grabbed the plates from his hands and easily placed them out on the table and went to grab forks and knives from the drawer on the opposite side of the island like she’d done so numerous times before. Neither of them saying anything about it, knowing that drawing attention to it would only cause things to be uncomfortable once again, she placed the cutlery on the table and obediently sat down in one of the chairs as he finished up whatever it was that was cooking on the stove.

Watching him under silence as he picked up one of the pots and drained what she knew to be spaghetti and then transferred the pasta to the other pan, she couldn’t help but notice the way her stomach grumbled slightly. She’d skipped lunch per his request and she was getting hungry.

Smiling sheepishly as he looked back at her, she waited as he carried the remaining pan towards the table and sat it down to the right of where she was sitting.

“What is it?” she asked curiously, she had to hand it to him, it smelled delicious.

“Family recipe,” he revealed as he grabbed his own glass before taking a seat across from her. “Spaghetti with chicken and olives.”

“And some secret ingredient that you're not going to tell me, right?” she arched her brow slightly.

“Obviously,” he noted simply, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“I see how it is,” she nodded slightly. “I got some of those myself.”

“Not even Natalia got to find out what it is until she finally got my brother down the aisle,” he laughed softly. “It’s a family secret; mom is very particular about those.”

“Hm,” she nodded, refusing to acknowledge the part of her that liked that sound of being a part of his family.

“Dig in,” he smiled at her, and who was she to refuse him.



“You should cut your hair,” Elina commented the fourth time in under ten minutes that Fernando ran his fingers through his growing hair in an attempt to get it away from his forehead.

Frowning, he looked at her surprised before reaching up and tugging slightly on the strands that were no longer as blonde as they had been back when the season started. “I like it like this.”

“No you don't,” she argued with a smile. “But you're a football player and even if you claim to not be superstitious, you naturally are and now you can’t cut your hair till the season is over,” she said knowingly, daring him to disagree.

“I'm not cutting my hair,” he stated simply as he looked across the table at her.

“I'm not saying you have to, I just suggested that you should,” she pointed out before going back to eating. She had to admit, he was a good cook, a lot better than she would ever have guessed.

Watching her for a moment, for some reason feeling like he’d done something wrong, he licked his lips and weighed what to say now. “Okay, so maybe you're right about both things,” he reluctantly admitted. “But it doesn’t matter; the only one I allow to cut my hair is down in Madrid.”

“I cut hair,” she threw out there before she even knew what she was saying.

“Yeah, I'm not letting you do it,” he laughed slightly.

“You don't think I can do it?” she arched her brow daringly.

“No,” he stated frankly with a shake of his head. “Not happening,” he added as he could feel those blue eyes on him. He hated how one look and those baby blues of hers could make him want to crawl over to her on his knees if he had to. “Fine,” he surrendered once more, “but you’ll pay for it if I have to go somewhere else to fix it later.”

“Loving the confidence you have in me,” she said dryly.

“I just don't trust anyone with my hair,” he said honestly. I didn't mind cutting his hair; he really didn't, as long as he had complete faith in the person who was going to do it. He might trust her with many things, his life and heart being two things, but his hair...totally different matter.

“I gave my friend a trim just before I got here,” she surprised him by saying as she reached for her glass and took a short sip.

Nodding slightly, he observed her, realising that there were no nerves present in her eyes like there had been the one and only time he’d allowed his teenaged sister to attempt to cut his hair many years prior.

The two of them continuing the easy conversation that had flowed between them before she commented on his hair as they finished eating, they took care of the dishes together. And placing her empty wineglass on the counter, Elina would have guessed that Fernando would have forgotten, or at least suppressed, her suggestion of cutting his hair. But he hadn't, and asked how she wanted to do it, even if she could see that he was nervously running his fingers through the hair she sometimes longed to run her own fingers through.

“I don't have to do this, you know,” she reminded him as she carried one of the chairs out into the hallway where it would be easiest to clean up the hair after they were done and where it was bright enough to not need extra lightning.

“I trust you,” he stated with a look that had her biting her lip before mumbling that he should to rinse his hair out and then simply towel dry it.

She hated the fact that she wasn’t able to let go of the reins, she was OCD and she needed to be in control all the time. It was one of her many faults and currently it was the thorn in her own side. She wanted to be able to outright say that she trusted him enough to give them a chance, but she couldn’t. Because she didn't.

Walking to where her bag was standing, she retrieved a small rectangular box she knew to contain three things, a comb, and two different professional scissors. It had been a gift years ago and with the proper maintenance she’d kept them in pristine condition and they were about as sharp as they had been when she first got them.

Fernando clearing his throat from a few feet away catching her attention, she spun around on her heel and choked slightly as she found him standing there, towel-drying his hair without a shirt on and jeans hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Clearing her throat uncomfortably, she motioned towards the chair and he say down without protest as she walked back over to him. Taking control over the towel, she gently dried his hair and asking him a handful of questions she draped the towel over his shoulders before retrieving the comb and one of the scissors from the box.

“Wait,” he stopped her before she had a chance to begin.

“What?” she leaned forwards slightly, glancing over his shoulder.

“Are you sure...?” he began asking; worry starting to creep into his voice.

“Don't worry,” she whispered close to his ear, feeling him stiffen slightly against her. She wasn’t playing fair, she knew it, but she couldn’t help it. A slight smile spreading across her lips she pressed a kiss to his cheek before quickly going to work on his soft hair, making the first cut before he could say anything more.

Watching the first strands of hair slowly fall to the floor, she couldn’t help but smile slightly. He was a beautiful man, but that hair had to go.



“It looks really good,” Fernando stated frankly, as he stood in front of the mirror in the downstairs bathroom some forty minutes later, touching his hair that was much shorter than before.

“You don't have to sound so surprised about it,” Elina replied dryly from where she was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, watching him.

“I'm not,” he replied quickly, glancing over at her. “Well, I am, but not because...” he trailed off realising that he could very well be digging himself a hole. “I just didn't know that you knew how to cut hair, that’s all.”

“How else do you think Simon’s kept that mop on his head so well-kept?” she asked rhetorically.

“You cut your brother’s hair?” that was even more surprising that the fact that she knew how to.

“I do,” she nodded once. “Occasionally I even trim my own split ends,” she revealed.

“How...” he began asking.

“My mother is a hairdresser/hairstylist,” she smiled up at him. “I may have opted out of becoming a trainee in high school, but she taught me enough to know what I'm doing,” she elaborated softly.

“She sure did,” he nodded, giving his own reflection another look before turning to face her, sinking down on the toilet seat. “You know how to colour hair?” he asked curiously.

“Yes, I do,” she nodded once. “Why?” she question. “You want me to colour your hair as well?”

“Well, you did cut out most of the high-lights I had done this summer,” he pointed out with a smile.

“I guess we’ll have to remedy that,” she smiled back at him. “Should I buy the stuff I need, or can you do that yourself?”

“I don't know a thing about that,” he stated honestly, causing her to laugh softly.

“I’ll buy it then,” she nodded slightly. “After the game on Sunday?”

“Sounds like a plan.”