Redemption (Sempre 2)

“Sure,” she said. “I drove it here last night.”

Carmine shook his head, turning his focus back to the street. He pulled into the parking lot of the first coffee shop they saw, politely opening Haven’s door for her. She smiled sweetly and took his hand as they headed inside. Customers packed the small building, standing in groups and huddling around the tables.

“What do you like?” Haven asked as they got in line.

Carmine laughed dryly. “I can’t say I like anything. I don’t drink coffee.”

“Then why’d you ask me out for it?”

“I figured I had a better chance of you saying yes to something as simple as a drink than a whole meal,” he said, gazing at the menu board. “Christ, who pays five dollars for a drink that doesn’t have alcohol in it? For that price it better come with a complimentary blow job or something.”

“Carmine,” she gasped, his rant drawing the attention of people around them. He muttered an apology to her and noticed a man a few feet away glaring at them. He narrowed his eyes at him as he mouthed “Problem?” and the man looked away quickly. Carmine smirked, looking back at the menu as Haven spoke again. “Do you see anything you think you might like?”

“I don’t know what any of this is,” he said. “The Italian I can read, but that doesn’t tell me a damn thing about how it tastes. What do you drink?”

“Black coffee.”

“Seriously? All of this fancy caramel chai frappe cappu-fucking-ccino venti latte bullshit and you get plain coffee?” She nodded and he chuckled, pulling her hand up and pressing a kiss on the back of it. “That’s the Haven I remember, the one who likes the simple shit.”

The barista asked Carmine for their order and he muttered, “Two regular black coffees,” his expression daring her to try to correct his lingo. She simply nodded as she rang it up, and he groaned when he saw the price.

“I have some cash on me,” Haven said, reaching into her pocket. “I think.”

“Don’t even dare,” he said, shooting her an incredulous look. “I’d rob the place before I let you pay.”

She removed her hand as he grabbed his wallet, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. The woman gave Carmine his change, eyeing him warily, and he slipped a ten into the tip jar on the counter.

“That was generous,” Haven commented.

“Yeah, well, I kinda just threatened to rob the place, so I figured I probably shouldn’t stiff them on top of it.”

“You wouldn’t actually rob the place, though,” she said confidently.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he replied. “As long as I wasn’t ordered to, anyway.”

Carmine grabbed their drinks, leading her to a table in the corner away from everyone else. They sat and Carmine took a sip from his steaming cup, gagging from the taste. “This shit is bitter.”

She took a drink of hers. “Tastes fine to me.”

He dumped in as much sugar as he could fit, adding some creamer to make it a bit more tolerable, but he still had no desire to drink it. They chatted as Haven sipped her coffee, and he listened intently as she told him about her life in New York. She talked about going to school and creating art, about the people she had met and the friends she had made, before she explained about hearing the details of his father’s death on the news.

“This wasn’t the first time I wanted to come. When I was in Charlotte, I ran out in the middle of the night and took a cab to the bus station.” She laughed humorlessly at the memory. “I was out of my mind, hadn’t slept in a while. Your father stopped me. That’s what I was talking about at Celia’s.”

Carmine gaped at her. “You could’ve been arrested for suspicious behavior. The cops don’t fuck around, you know. Everyone’s worried about terrorism.”

She laughed it off. “I don’t look like a terrorist.”

“Well, neither do I, but looks don’t mean shit.”

“But you aren’t a terrorist,” she refuted. “So that proves my point.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. “It doesn’t prove shit. I terrorize people.”

“That’s not the same,” she said, narrowing her eyes as annoyance flashed across her face. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“No, you’re just being too easy on me,” he said. “You don’t even know . . .”

“Then tell me,” she said seriously.