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“Hmmm, why not?” He pulled her closer, pressing himself against her. “I always liked being cocky with you.”
She blushed and turned back to her painting.
“So a tree, huh?” he asked. “It’s nice.”
“It’s wrong,” she said, tilting her head to the side again as she studied it. “Don’t you think so?”
“Uh, it looks like a tree to me. What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s missing something. It doesn’t feel like the same tree, does it?”
“What tree?” he asked. “The white tree of Gondor? The fucking whomping willow? The one Eve stole the apple from?”
“The tree in Durante,” Haven said impatiently. “You didn’t even recognize it, so obviously it’s not right.”
“It’s a tree, tesoro. It has wood and leaves and acorns and shit. I’d say it’s perfect.”
“It doesn’t have acorns,” she said. “It’s a sycamore tree. Does it really look like an oak tree? They’re nothing alike.”
He sighed. How was he supposed to know? “Haven, baby, you could tell me it was the Joshua tree and I’d agree because I can’t tell the difference.”
She let out an exaggerated huff as she looked at him. “This coming from the same person who spent nearly an hour picking out a Christmas tree that time?”
“What can I say? I’m finicky. I don’t deny it. But not all of us have your memory. You see something and the picture of it is burned in your brain forever, but the only greenery I can identify is the kind I can smoke.”
“You mean this kind?” she asked, picking up her paintbrush. She dipped the tip into the container of green paint and quickly drew the outline of a marijuana leaf on the corner of the canvas.
He laughed. “Yes, that kind, but you probably shouldn’t have done that. You fucked up your painting.”
She shook her head with frustration, sticking her paintbrush in a container of murky water. “It doesn’t matter, Carmine. It was already fucked up.”
He gaped at her. “What did you just say?”
“I said that it was already—”
“Christ, tesoro, you can’t say that shit!” He cut her off before she could repeat herself. “Do you know what it does to me?”
She smiled, blushing, and her eyes darted directly to his crotch. Yeah, she knew exactly what it did to Carmine. Closing his eyes, he let out a groan.
“I’d apologize, but I can’t honestly say I’m sorry,” she admitted.
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t apologize then,” he muttered. “You should always mean what you say and say what you mean.”
“But you never say anything mean,” she added.
His brow furrowed. “That’s not a part of the saying.”
“It fits.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s bullshit. Sometimes you have to say something mean.”
She looked at Carmine incredulously. “There’s never a time when you have to say something mean.”
“Yes, there is.”
Her eyes narrowed. “When?”
“Plenty of times.”
