After a few minutes, I come out of the dressing room with an outfit that Serena seems to like very much. Even though the hand-knit tan sweater is the biggest size they have, my muscles are still visible underneath, making it a snug, warm fit. Over it, I get a big coat in a darker brown with a flared collar, and I finish the ensemble with a simple crimson beanie and a new set of aviator sunglasses. I get a new set of jeans and boots, too, just in case I wasn’t fitting in with the outdoorsy style enough.
I like it mostly because it keeps my appearance a little less than obvious, but the smile from Serena and the big thumbs-up from the attendant tell me it’s stylish enough that I won’t stick out like a sore thumb anymore.
One big fat receipt later, we step out onto the street again like new people. I have to admit, it feels good to be wearing a new set of clothes. Serena can’t stop looking up at me, either, which gives me a quiet sense of pride.
“See something you like?”
“A lot,” she says, a silly grin on her face, but then she narrows her eyes, reaching up and touching my beard. “Just one more thing to freshen up, and you’ll be a new man.”
Another hour later, we step out of a hipster-y barber shop, and I’ve got a new haircut and trimmed beard. You’d never guess I spent the past two years locked away in prison. I started to protest the haircut since I’ll be wearing the beanie anyway, but Serena insisted.
I can’t argue with the results, either.
“So, I’ve never been this far north,” I say as it starts to get closer to the time to get an evening bite to eat. “What does a perfectly normal, definitely-not-fugitive couple get to eat in upstate New York?”
“Good question,” she giggles, playfully slapping me on the chest, “but maybe don’t google ‘what do fugitives eat,’ ok?” We laugh and wander around a little more, but it isn’t long before we spot a place that looks good to both of us. When price isn’t an issue, those kinds of things get a lot easier.
We step through the doors of a local brewpub, a building with exposed brick and a cozy interior, complete with a roaring fireplace toward the back of the building and wooden tables all around. There’s a good mood in the place I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s what Americans call good vibes.
A little while later, both of us are sitting side-by-side at a corner table, backs to the walls so I can see the whole place, and the waiter brings us the beer and cheese soup we ordered, complete with breadsticks and some rich, dark beers.
“Carbs on carbs on carbs,” Serena says as I wet my lips and take the bread basket to start loading my plate. “You really know how to spoil a girl, huh? Good to know prison didn’t change that.”
“After prison food,” I say after a long drink of the outstanding beer, “you learn to love the little pleasures in life like good food.”
“You won’t hear me complaining,” she says with a smile, and she takes a drink of her beer and blushes after setting it down. “Wow, little stronger than I was expecting.”
“It’s not Italian, but I think I can appreciate American drinking,” I say, and we dig into our food. It’s hearty and hot, exactly what you’d want on a fall day that’s just starting to get cool enough for sweaters and boots. The cheese is rich, the beer helps us relax, and the atmosphere of other young people chatting and enjoying themselves makes us feel... comfortable. It’s not something I’m used to, I realize.
Just being somewhere with Serena is a special pleasure I missed dearly.
“You look thoughtful,” Serena says as she sets down her beer, going through it a little faster than I am. It’s making her cheeks rosy, and the whole picture of her looking a little tipsy in that sweater against the brick wall makes my heart feel all the warmer.
“I just forgot how much luxury there is in the world,” I say, looking around at the place with a smile on my face. “I know this place doesn’t look like much, but it’s these little things you forget when you’re locked away.”
“Like beer and cheese soup?” she asks with a playful smile on her face that I return.
“Yes, like beer and cheese soup,” I say. “Really though. Little things. Walls and floors that aren’t gray concrete. The feel of a warm fire. Clothes that aren’t the same thing every day.” I look back to her. “Spending time with you.”
I kick her gently under the table, and she crosses her leg with mine, resting her chin on her hands and beaming at me.
“Those letters really did keep me going in there,” I say to her, leaning forward. “I would have lost sight of the real world and all its pleasures. They were like... little breaths of fresh air before going back down under again. I can’t believe how much I took for granted out here.”
She nods thoughtfully, swirling her beer around. “I’ve thought about that too. There’s so much I don’t even think about in my day to day life.”
“One thing I could never take for granted, though,” I say in a low, husky tone, and I lean forward to kiss her on the lips which she meets with a soft, surprised moan, made all the warmer by the beer.
When we break apart, I pull out a few bills and set them on the table. I nod over to the couches by the fireplace as another group gets up to leave. “I’ve got the bill. Want to get a few more drinks?”
Serena hesitates a moment, biting her lip and squirming in her chair. I know that look: she’s not used to spending that much, not for a long time. But I put a hand on her smaller ones and give her a reassuring smile, and that old excitement comes back to her eyes. “Oh, sure, why not?”
Serena goes to ‘save’ the seat while I go and get more drinks: a beer for me and a mixed drink for her, one of the fancy cocktails she picked out from the menu with cinnamon and whisky. When I walk back over to her, I can see she’s already curled herself up by the fire, looking at me with the firelight dancing off her hair.
She looks radiant. Every time I see her, I’m reminded of how lucky I am to have her with me, and it reminds me what I’m fighting for. It’s not just me anymore. A lot of young men forget that. I’m not so foolish.
I sit down, making the couch groan in protest under my bulk as I wrap my big arm around her and hug her to me while we clink our glasses together softly in the fire’s warmth. We’re almost too close to the fire that it burns, keeping just barely out of harm’s way, still enjoying ourselves together. It’s just like our everyday life, but so much richer.
“I think I could get used to a place like this,” I say, running my hand up and down her arm as she sips her drink through the tiny straws they gave her.
“Are we turning into upstate hipsters now?” she giggles, wiggling her hips into me.
“Not quite,” I chuckle, “but I have to admit, I missed the quiet life.”
“Was your hometown quiet?” she asks.
“Kind of. Taranto isn’t a quiet place. But my home was on the outskirts of town, and it’s a lot more peaceful out there. Not nearly as rich as you are here, but there’s something to be said for the... rustic charm,” I say, smiling down at her before planting a kiss on her lips. I feel my manhood growing between my legs, and even though I can’t act on it here, it makes me feel even closer to Serena.
“I could get into that,” she says.
“You might like it around here more, I think,” I say, “but I’d like to take you there sometime. Here, though,” I say, pointing to the tables around the place, “I can tell some friend of the owners must be a carpenter. These are good tables. Chairs, too. They make some of these things in factories to look like they’re handmade, but any real carpenter can tell the difference.”
She nestles her head into my shoulder and gives a contented sigh. “I suppose I could see us up here. My shop could do alright in a place like this, and everyone needs carpenters.”
“True,” I say, squeezing her thigh, “I could go just about anywhere you think you’d like to set your business up. Not that the Bronx is too terrible.”
“It’s alright,” she says, wistfully looking into th
e fire, “just... a lot of baggage, you know?”
“I do know,” I say, staring into the fire with her. We’re quiet for a few moments, but she looks back up at me and smiles.
“I’d rather make new memories with you.”
I bring my face down to hers, and we lock lips, a deep, long kiss. I don’t care that we’re in public. I love the feel of her melting into me as our tongues explore each other briefly, and we break apart. I’m about to kiss her again when the sound of music reaches our ears, and I turn my head to see a band playing live music up on stage. It’s folksy, and to my surprise, the singer is Italian, singing in my mother tongue. I have to admit, they’re not bad, and I smile at them.
Serena nudges me.
“Hey, it’s kinda like the old world music you and your friends used to listen to.”
I blink and give her a confused look, laughing.
“Wait, do you think this is what that sounded like?”
“Shut up, it is!” Serena says, giggling yet blushing, self-conscious.
I laugh and hug her close to me, peppering her in kisses as I set my finished drink on the table and start to stand up. “Okay, now I have to bring you back home and show you the real music. But at least I can remind you how we dance back home.”
“Bruno, this is a restaurant!” she laughs as I pull her to her feet, but I don’t care.
“Good, we can show them too,” I say, and we start dancing to the lively tune in front of the fire. The band catches on and keeps the good vibes going, encouraging us to keep going as we move to the rhythm and Serena nearly falls over from laughing so much, the alcohol and the mood getting to her.
Works every time.
But soon, the song winds down, and I don’t want to attract too much attention to ourselves. I admit, it was a little irresponsible to start dancing with my girl in a crowded restaurant, but nobody’s going to recognize us here.
Besides, a life not taking risks for your loved ones isn’t a life worth living.
SERENA
I open my eyes to the sight of golden sunshine streaming in through the window, through the pale green privacy curtains Bruno always keeps pulled shut. They’re sheer enough to let the light in, but provide just enough coverage to be worth closing. I know for a fact there isn’t going to be anyone all the way out here watching us, but Bruno is still paranoid, understandably. He’s a dangerous man on the run, and I know there are so many different factions of equally or more dangerous men looking for him. Still, I wish he would relax a little here at the cabin.
I check my cell phone tucked under the pillow charging and see that it’s already after eleven. With a yawn, I hold my arms up over my head and stretch, reveling in the slight achiness of my body. I smile to myself, knowing exactly why I’m so sore today: last night we had some seriously acrobatic sex. Amazing acrobatic sex. Bruno bent and positioned my body in ways I didn’t even think I could manage.
I turn over in bed, instinctively reaching out for Bruno, but to my confusion, he’s not there. The spot beside me in bed is empty and cold, and my heart sinks. Despite my desire for Bruno to relax, in moments like this I can’t help but panic a little myself. I quickly sit up, holding the sheets to my neck to cover myself, and look around the room. His stuff still appears to be in the same places: his jacket hanging over the corner chair, his bag on the floor by the bathroom entrance. So he couldn’t have gone far. Unless he didn’t go willingly.
I swallow hard, feeling the hairs prick up on the back of my neck.
“Bruno?” I call out, my voice scratchy and rough as it always is first thing in the morning. There’s no reply, and my pulse quickens as I gingerly, quietly scoot out of bed and pull a robe around my body to go search for him. Just as I start to walk across the bedroom, there’s a soft thunk from the other side of the cabin and I freeze in place. Then I hear footsteps, rather heavy, like a man wearing boots. Someone is whistling cheerfully. I feel like I’m going to faint for a second, my heart is racing so quickly, but then it occurs to me that the intruder is whistling a familiar tune: Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night.” Bruno and I played that last night on the cabin’s ancient entertainment center (the thing had to have been bought in the eighties) while we cooked dinner together.
“Bruno?” I ask hopefully. The footsteps get louder as the intruder comes through the doorway and I let out a sigh of relief to see that it is, in fact, the man I love, and not some murderous hit man breaking in to kill me. Although, considering Bruno’s history, I suppose maybe I should reserve judgement on hit men from now on. He looks a good deal different from how he did when we first arrived here at the cabin a month or so ago, with his hair grown out and his beard full and bushy. He always looks so rugged and woodsy nowadays, and while it’s a much different version of him than I’m used to, I can’t say I don’t love the lumberjack look on him.
“You’re up,” Bruno says, smiling as he leans in to kiss me gently. “I thought after last night you would want to sleep in a little longer. Maybe I didn’t work you as hard as I could have,” he adds with a wink. My cheeks burn pink.
“It’s after eleven. This is sleeping in for me. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I woke up after nine. I think the sunlight woke me up. Or the birds singing outside,” I guess.
“This place really is idyllic,” he says. “Isn’t it better to wake up to the sound of birds instead of an alarm clock?”
“Oh, definitely. I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to that stupid beeping after this,” I agree. “What are you doing up so early, though?”
Bruno looks away, a small gesture that most people wouldn’t catch, but I know him better than anything. He’s big on eye contact, always holding my gaze when we speak. So whenever he averts his eyes I know something is up. I notice that he does look a little weary, a little sleep-deprived. But then he just shrugs.
“I was just setting up a couple more cameras around the premises,” he admits, taking off his coat and hanging it over the chair with his thicker jacket.
“Oh,” I say simply. Then I can’t help but step up to him and take his face in my hands, looking up into his gorgeous face. “Bruno, don’t get me wrong, I know the stakes are really high for us right now. Especially for you. And I get that you want to be cautious, but… I don’t think you need to be this paranoid.”
I feel a tiny bit hypocritical lecturing him on this directly after I mistook him for an intruder coming in to murder me, but still. It needs to be said.
Bruno smiles warmly and turns to kiss each of my hands before pulling me in for a tight hug. His beard is scratchy against my forehead and I wrinkle my nose at the ticklish feeling.
“I will try my best to relax,” he promises. “I just want to be as sure as possible that we’re safe here. I could never forgive myself if you got hurt just because you’re with me.”
“I don’t even remember you buying extra cameras,” I laugh. “When did you do that? The last time we were in Ithaca—”
“You went to the frozen foods section and I just took a little meander through the electronics department,” he answers, a little sheepishly.
“Damn. You’re sneaky,” I remark, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugs. “Well, considering the profession I’ve worked for the better part of a decade, that really shouldn’t be much of a surprise.”
“Speaking of surprises,” I begin, “you did kinda scare me this morning when I woke up and you weren’t here. I know I just got finished telling you to relax, but I was a little worried. I think we could all do with fewer surprises around here, don’t you think?”
Bruno kisses my forehead, a mischievous light in his eyes. “Well, how about just one more surprise? It’s a good one, I swear.”
“Uh, okay. What is it?” I ask, taken aback.
“Get dressed and I’ll show you. It’s outside.”
I quickly put on jeans, a thick sweater, a coat, and my well-worn boots. Bruno puts his jacket on and leads me out of the house into the brisk
December air. The sun shines down, warming us even as the breeze makes me shiver. I’m not as accustomed to upstate New York winters, having only ever visited here during the warm summer months. The other day we actually had a flurry of snow, which was beautiful to watch from the warmth of the cabin.
“Where are you taking me?” I pipe up, crunching through the dead leaves on the ground.
“Just down the hill toward the pond.”
We walk for several minutes until we arrive at the squelchy, muddy bank of the pond and Bruno tells me to close my eyes. I oblige, standing there feeling a little bit foolish until he announces that I can look. I open my eyes and see him beaming at me, standing next to what looks to be a hand-built two-person canoe.
“What is that?” I ask, grinning.
“It’s a canoe, obviously,” he replies, gesturing to it. “Can’t you tell what it is?”
I detect just the slightest note of concern in his voice, like he’s second-guessing his ability to make an instantly recognizable boat-like structure, and I burst out laughing. “Yes, yes, I can tell it’s a boat. I just mean, where did it come from?”
“I built it myself. For you. Well, and for me. Two people can ride in it.”
“Again, when did you find the time to do this?” I inquire incredulously.
“Here and there. Mostly while you were cooking meals or taking naps. You know, for such an ambitious, detail-oriented woman, you are shockingly unobservant sometimes,” he chuckles.
“This is amazing, Bruno. Seriously, I can’t believe you just happen to know how to build a boat. Are you sure it’s sea-worthy? Well, pond-worthy?” I ask, biting my lip.
“I’m sure. I am a carpenter, after all. I’ve been itching to try a project like this for a long time. And if it makes you feel any better, I did read about a hundred articles on how to build the perfect boat. So I have the great experts of the internet to back me up,” he jokes. “So, how about it? Want to take this baby for a ride? Don’t worry, I only bought one set of oars because I’m going to do all the work.”
Bound to the Mafia (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 2) Page 18
