No Ordinary Love - G.Callen NCIS L.A

Chapter 2

It was only a few days later that he found himself back at the café. For a moment, he hesitated, not really sure what brought him back. Maybe it was the calming interior, or the fact that he wanted more of that soup that reminded him of his mother, or maybe he wanted to see that friendly face again. She'd been on his mind, for whatever reason the universe wasn't giving him.

So, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and opened the door. She was talking to a couple; stacked plates in her hands, and that smile that wouldn't leave him alone on her face. When she spotted him, he thought for a moment her smile grew bigger. Maybe it was only his imagination.

He sank down in the same spot he had the other day, and had only just picked up the menu when she appeared next to him. "Hi," she breathed.

Without trying, the corners of his lips pulled up. "Hi."

"Since you didn't come back the next day, can I assume the tea helped? At least a little?"

He shrugged, not committing to anything, surprised she remembered. "I'm not sure yet. I'm going to take another one home to see if it's the tea or if it was just pure exhaustion."

She chuckled. "I'll make sure you'll have one, then. What can I get you for dinner?"

He felt a little ill at ease asking about the soup. "Same soup as Tuesday?"

She wasn't judging. In fact, her gaze was compassionate and kind. "The beetroot? Of course. No soda bread today, though. We made sour dough."

Like he would really know the difference. "Sounds good."

Ten minutes later, he was again digging into the soup and hot bread with butter. Strange, how a simple dish like a bowl of soup could make him feel a little calmer. This time, he wasn't attacked by long forgotten memories; he could just sit there and enjoy his meal. She'd glance in his direction every now and then to make sure that he was okay, and it eased the ever-present knot in his stomach.

Again, he left with a large cup of herbal tea, and he slept better that night than the previous two. Over the course of the next few weeks, he began to frequent the café. Trying different things to eat, even having a salad that came recommended, and he found he liked. At some point he even started to go by for breakfast. She wouldn't serve him coffee though. He tried, really tried, but she wouldn't have it. For some reason, he found her stubbornness matching Hetty's when she really wasn't going to give him his way. It felt oddly calming and comforting, because when Hetty was strict with him, he knew it was because she cared. She seemed to care too, on some level.

"Seriously? No coffee?" He lifted one eyebrow in surprise and mock annoyance.

Handing him a cup, she shook her head. "No coffee. You finally have some color in your face, and you'll probably have some coffee at work, wherever that is, so you'll have tea here. Trust me, it's better."

To be honest, he had for some reason cut back on the caffeine, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He'd found this little teashop just a few blocks from his apartment, and he'd bought tealeaves, a travel mug and a tea strainer. Even when he wasn't eating at the café, he was having a cup of chamomile and or lavender tea before he'd go to sleep.

He gave up. "Fine. What kind of tea are you going to feed me this time?"

She smiled. "Rosehip. Let me know what you think."

And so it went on for a few weeks. He'd come in for breakfast or dinner, always leave with a cup of tea he most of the time liked, and be back to try something new and different.

Then, one morning, he showed up, asked her for a whole-wheat blueberry muffin and tea and she handed him a brown paper bag. He frowned at it. "What's this?"

"This is lunch." It was a simple enough statement, but she had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

"Lunch? You don't..."

She cut him off before he could finish his thought. "I know I don't, but you've been coming here for breakfast and or dinner for almost three weeks in a row now, so I figured I could at least help and give you something healthy for during the day, too."

He wasn't convinced, but okay. "Do I get to know what's in it, now?"

"No. Leave it closed till lunchtime, and then tell me tonight what you think. It's a new recipe and I could use an unbiased opinion."

"From me?" He still wasn't buying it.

She sighed, handing him his travel mug. "Well, Lindy is my right hand, and we do all our recipes together, but sometimes we think something works and maybe it really doesn't. I wanted to try something new without her knowing, and since you've become a regular, I figured you can help me out."

It seemed innocent enough. She looked up at him with her big, pleading eyes, and he knew he lost the battle. "All right. But I can be really honest about this?"

"Brutally honest."

"Okay." He picked up the bag and his mug and winked at her. "Thank you."

"Thank you for being my guinea pig."

He was almost out the door when he thought of something. He went back to the bar, not wanting to shout it through the room. "Hold on. If you want me as your guinea pig, can I at least know who's trying this on me?"

For a moment, she looked surprised. Then she laughed. "We haven't even really introduced ourselves, have we?"

"We haven't."

She offered him her hand. "Deja Barrow."

"Deja as in déjà vu?"

She nodded. "Yeah, as in déjà vu. It's way too complicated for most Americans, but at least they try."

"You're not American?"

"Half Spanish, half English. I grew up here, though."

That explained the slight, almost undetectable accent she had. He hesitated with his own name for a slight second. Then again, he needed to introduce himself with his real name at some point. Might as well be now. "Grisha Callen." He swallowed the people call me G part.

"Grisha is not American either.

"It's Russian. Like you, I grew up here."

Deja nodded. "Well, Grisha, it's nice to finally really meet you." The name rolled of her tongue easily.

"Likewise, Deja," he agreed. Then nodded and held up his bag. "I'll let you know tonight."

He turned around and really walked out the door this time. Deja watched him go and wondered what was different about him from all the other guys she ever met. He had looked lost and ill at ease when he'd first come to the café, and there were days where she still felt something was off with him. There was a part of her that wondered about his story; there was a story there, no doubt about it. Maybe in time. For now she'd just spoil him the best way she knew how; with food and personal attention.