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“Name one.”
He didn’t balk at a challenge, not even one that came from her. “When someone says something mean to you first.”
“Then you just walk away,” she said. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Well, what if you can’t walk away? What if they won’t let you?”
“And you think saying something mean is going to help you if that’s the case?”
She had Carmine there. “Well, what if you got something on you, like in your teeth. Shouldn’t I tell you?”
“Yes, but that’s not mean. That’s helpful.”
“What if it’s something permanent though, like your nose? What if you have a crooked, fucked-up nose?”
Her hand immediately went to her face, her fingers running down the ridge of her nose as she eyed Carmine hesitantly. He groaned, realizing it sounded like he was telling her that. He recalled how self-conscious she had been years before and felt like an asshole. Way to go, DeMarco. Insult her next time . . .
“Not you, tesoro,” he said. “I didn’t mean you. Your nose is fine. Fucking great, even. I’m just saying, you know, hypothetically . . .”
“Well, hypothetically, why would it be necessary to tell me? It wouldn’t be hurting you, so why hurt me?”
She had Carmine again. “Well, what if your painting sucked? Like this tree—what if it was honestly the worst tree ever painted?”
“It probably is.”
“But what if it was for a grade, and I had to tell you so you wouldn’t fail?”
“It is for a grade.”
He looked at her with disbelief before glancing back at the canvas. “You painted a marijuana leaf on schoolwork?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
Her nonchalance stunned him. “There’s something wrong with you.”
She laughed. She fucking laughed. If she were ever going to prove Carmine right, it was then. There was seriously something wrong with her.
“I can start over,” she said. “Maybe I’ll paint something else.”
“You shouldn’t do that,” he said. “I like this one.”
“Why?” she asked, eyeing the painting peculiarly again. “It’s just a tree.”
“But it’s our tree,” he said. Hadn’t they just been through that? “We climbed that motherfucker together twice. Fell out of it once. That makes it special.”
The smile that curved her lips warmed Carmine from the inside. He loved that smile. It meant she was happy—that he had made her happy. There was no better feeling than that. After spending so many years doing nothing but disappointing everyone who came into contact with him, it was nice to do some good for once.
“Okay, then. Maybe I’ll paint over it.”
“Yeah, make some happy clouds to go with your happy little magical tree,” he joked.
They stood there for a moment, engulfed in a serious silence as she mused over her painting, before Carmine grabbed her and pulled her to him again. She spun around with a laugh, wrapping her arms around him in a hug, but froze after a second when her hands slid down his back, reaching his waistband.
“Oh God, please tell me that’s not . . .” She trailed off, pulling out of the hug. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Depends on what you think it is.”
She gripped his waistband, her eyes narrowing. “You brought a gun in here, Carmine? You can’t do that!”
