Redemption (Sempre 2)

“So, where are we heading?” he asked.

“The library,” she replied.

“The library isn’t on campus?” he asked. “This is an art school, isn’t it? Just art? Or do they have normal shit, too?”

She peeked at him curiously. What kind of question is that? “Just art, but I like to think it’s pretty normal.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I take it you don’t go to school here,” she said. “Otherwise, you’d know that.”

“No, I’m not a student.” He laughed to himself. “I walk by here all the time for work, though. I’m working down at the construction site on Sixth Avenue.”

She eyed him curiously. His clothes were crisp and clean, an expensive watch on his wrist. “You don’t look like a construction worker.”

He smiled. “No, I’m more of the supervising type. I don’t like getting my hands dirty if I don’t have to.”

Haven loosened up as they walked. He offered to carry her things and waited as she dropped off the books at the library before asking again if he could walk her home.

“Why?” she asked, standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the New York Public Library. People walked around them, casting glares for being in the way, but she wasn’t budging. Not until he answered.

“Didn’t you already ask me that?”

“Yes, but . . .” She paused. “You’re being nice. People just aren’t nice like that unless they want something.”

“I am,” he said. “I do want something, though.”

Haven’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“To get to know you.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you?”

He was being evasive, answering a question with a question. Haven stiffened. “You’re not the police, are you? You have to tell me if you are.”

He stared at her with surprise. “No, I don’t. Or, well, they don’t. Who told you that?”

“A friend.”

“Well, they’re wrong. The police can legally lie to you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean you’re one?”

He burst into laughter, so loud it seemed to bounce off the surrounding buildings, startling people walking past. “Most girls would be worried a guy is a serial killer or something.”

“You’re not, are you?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not the police, either. I told you—I’m in construction.”

Haven opened her mouth, considering conceding, when a phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out, his smile falling as he silenced it.

“Well, you’re in luck,” he said. “Duty calls. It was nice to meet you . . .”