No Ordinary Love - G.Callen NCIS L.A

Chapter 6

"... three cases of those, and two of the mushrooms."

He was late for their weekly trip to the farmers' market. A case had kept them longer than expected, and he had actually been able to call her and tell her that he'd meet her there.
Callen couldn't get enough of her. No matter how he tried, when he was not with her, he was thinking about her, wishing she were with him. Not being used to this feeling, he was trying to keep it a bit at bay. Eventually, he was going to have to admit to himself that he was falling in love with her. Everything she was and did, from her big, hazel eyes, to her easy smile and her spontaneity, care and generosity, fascinated him. So, he was taking his time, observing her from a distance. She was making small talk with Artie, one of the farmers, pushing that lock of hair out of her face that was always in the way.

By the time he reached her, she was laughing about something Artie had said. Without thinking, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She looked up, her eyes shining with happiness at seeing him. "There you are. I was wondering how much longer you were going to take."

"I'm here." Reaching for her basket, he winked at Artie. "You kept her entertained?"

Artie grinned at the two of them. It wasn't the first time he saw them together, and, judging by the looks of it, it wouldn't be the last time. There was complacency, a belonging, around them that they hadn't figured out yet, but Artie could. He'd been around long enough to read people, and what he saw with them was going to take them a long way if they were going to take care of it. "I tried. But I'm sure she's happy that you're here."

Leaving Artie behind, they turned and went in search for all the other things Deja needed. They hadn't made it to the next stall yet, before Deja started to talk. "Did you start early this morning?"

Callen shook his head. "It was a few loose ends we needed to tie together, but it took longer than expected, because Sam kept stalling for some reason."

"Sam?"

Right, he hadn't mentioned names. "My partner."

"Ah." Deja stopped to look at some produce. "Alright. I was glad you could call, by the way."

He could swear she was actually blushing. "Me, too, to be honest. Way better than a text."

"Agreed." For only a moment, she locked eyes with him, then turned back to her shopping.

Their trip took up the same time it always did, with feeling and smelling, Deja discussing prices and qualities and having him taste right along with her. Secretly, he enjoyed these afternoons with her far more than he would've thought in the beginning. It was his tenth week, and he'd remembered names of farmers other than Artie, and they were recognizing him as well. It was relaxing, and mundane and domestic and he was looking more forward to it every week.

As they reached the end of the market, he turned to her. "Ice cream?"

"Actually, I'm in the mood for coffee," Deja confessed.

If his head had spun any faster, he'd given himself a whiplash. "I'm sorry?"

Taking his arm, she pulled him along. "I do drink coffee, you know. Every once in a million years, I crave a cup of coffee, the way my grandmother used to make it."

"The Spanish of the British one?"

"The British one."

He lifted an eyebrow. "And here I was thinking the English only drink tea."

"They do," she said. "But my grandmother was part Italian, and you know how Italians like their coffee."

That he did. "Strong and very little of it."

"Exactly." Deja took him to a small coffee shop around the corner of the market. He settled for tea and a piece of chocolate cake, while Deja opted for a double espresso. Five minutes later they were sitting at a table by the window, silently enjoying their beverages.

"How does a half Italian, half British grandmother fit into your family?" Callen asked, digging into his cake.

Deja rested her head on her hand and traced the rim of her tiny cup with the other. "She's my father's mother. Something about a young Italian girl coming to London for work in the late 1920's and falling in love with a real, proper British boy. From all the stories Nanna told me, they were madly in love and had her and her four brothers to prove it."

"Is she still alive?"

"You know the English; tough as nails. She'll be eighty-three in August."

"And your Spanish grandmother?"

"Still alive as well. She lives in Spain, although my mother keeps telling her to come and live with them in London. But I think that she loves her own space and having my uncles close by and everything. I can't blame her." She looked at him. "What about you? Do you have any family left?"

Of course he should've anticipated that question. And with any other person, he would've found a way around it. But with her, honestly seemed to be his only option. "Well, my mother and sister passed away, both a long time ago as you know, and I only figured out who and where my father was a few months ago. He lives in Russia, so it's not like I can jump in the car and go visit him, unfortunately." Part of him wished he could. There were still answers he wanted to get from his father; answers to questions he had been asking himself all his life.

"No uncles, no aunts? Cousins?"

He shook his head. There was a reason he'd been called a 'Tribe of one'. No family. "No, only me and my father."

Her eyes filled with empathy, but she didn't linger over it. "You should come and see my family, then, next time they're all here. You won't know what hit you."

They talked about her aunts and uncles, her parents who lived in London and came to visit once a year, the fact that she was an only child and had actually loved it. Then was his turn to talk about his upbringing; the foster homes, the things he'd done to get in trouble and how he finally got out of it.

By the time Deja finally looked at the clock, it was way later than she'd anticipated. "Grisha! We need to go!"

Callen quickly followed her out to her car, wondering how it was that time seemed to slip away from them every time they were together. Maybe it was a good thing.