[The man's bushy hair is speckled with silver; his face and ears dark and sunburnt darker. He is chattering on in lilting Portuguese, unheeding of the sprig of sweet pea tucked behind his ear, more engrossed in tending a pot of black beans and ham hocks bubbling pleasantly on the stove.

His daughter, presumably Julia, from the photos, looks perfectly put together, hair glossy and eyebrows shaped and probably a good ten years older than the photos of the young family scattered near the shrine. She has a corsage of hydrangea and red spider lily on her wrist; the petals flutter as she idly scrolls through her phone. You tune in mid-conversation.

"Japanese, please, Daddy. It can't possibly be that hard for you by now."

His nose crinkles, but he switches languages, his Japanese accented and a little broken. "Your mother like when I speak my good language to her, y'know. To win her over, I only have say," (and here his voice goes deep and smooth, his expression going all corny romance) "o amor da minha vida...você me completa..."

Julia shoves back at him, rolling her eyes. "Please don't. You're embarrassing." His shoulders tense for a beat, then she smiles, catching his hand and leaning in. "How much more time is left 'til this is done?"

"So cold, Amorzinha. If you cooked with me more, by now you would know..." He wipes away a mock tear, demeanor back to carefree.

"Come onnnn, Daddy!" He raises his hands in apology as she huffs, then turns to get himself another beer. That's about when she catches sight of you, eyes narrowing to slits.

Head back out of the fridge, the man only blinks over at you, expression blank. "...Hey lady. You lost?"]