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Carmine reopened his eyes as the silence was abruptly shattered by a wave of murmurs. The judge banged his gavel for silence as Carmine stood, slipping out of the courtroom before they could continue.
32
Gavin became a regular fixture outside the art building on the west side of Manhattan. It was rare that he wasn’t standing there when Haven got out of her painting class, casually leaning against the wall as if there were nowhere else he needed to be.
Haven spoke to him on the days she saw him, and he would occasionally walk with her to the library on his way to the construction site a few blocks away, but he didn’t push his luck by asking for anything more.
It was comfortable and easy, and she grew used to their strange arrangement after a while, enjoying their short conversations before they went their separate ways. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was a connection, a blossoming friendship she found herself looking forward to those three days a week he infiltrated her life.
Haven smiled to herself one Friday afternoon when they were strolling down the sidewalk, the crowd moving briskly around them, but they were in no hurry to get anywhere. Gavin filled the time by telling a joke he had heard at work, a vulgar one Haven didn’t quite understand, but she laughed at what she figured were all the right places. “You know, you kind of remind me of someone I used to know.”
“Really?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “A boyfriend, maybe?”
“No, not at all. He was just a friend. He liked to tell jokes.”
Gavin’s expression fell. “Am I being friend-zoned already?”
Haven looked at him. “I don’t know what that means.”
He waved her off. “This friend of yours . . . was he anywhere near as handsome as me?”
She laughed. “Not quite, but few are.”
“Shit, is that a compliment?” He stopped walking, dramatically blinking his eyes. “Are you flirting with me?”
Haven rolled her eyes and refused to respond, continuing to walk. He had no choice but to move again to catch up with her.
“Seriously, was that a compliment?” he asked. “I can’t tell when you’re being sarcastic.”
“I’m never sarcastic.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Wait, was that sarcasm?”
Haven shook her head. “It was a compliment. I meant it.”
“Wow, I’m shocked,” he replied, grinning widely. “I honestly thought you were still entertaining the idea of a restraining order. Good to know I’ve worn you down enough that you like me a little bit.”
She laughed. “I never said I liked you. I just said you were handsome. That says nothing about your personality.”
“Now I know that was sarcasm,” he declared.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
He clutched his chest. “I’m hurt.”
Haven nudged him playfully with her elbow. “You’ll get over it.”
* * *
A sheet of notebook paper was taped to the glass of the locked art studio door that Friday, class cancelled scribbled on it with pencil. No explanation—just no class.
“Awesome!” Kelsey dramatically fist pumped in celebration. “No class!”
Haven frowned. She always looked forward to painting. “Wonder why?”
“Who cares?” Kelsey asked. “I have extra time to hit the computer lab and work on my design project now. Maybe I won’t be stuck in the house all weekend after all.”
“I guess that means I have time to . . .” Haven trailed off, unable to think of something to do. “go to the library.”
