A dark denim jacket catches my attention. The person wearing it is on a bench, hunched over and staring at the ground in front of him.
My sister’s words still play in my head, but it’s my gut that makes me change direction because Constantine looks…lost.
“Hey,” I say, approaching.
“Oh hi.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes like when he’s pulling something out of the oven or impatiently waiting for me to taste something he made.
“Enjoying the weather?”
He shivers at the same time as he says yeah, and then he chuckles. “It’s freakin’ cold.”
“It wouldn’t be if you had a coat on.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll make sure to buy one soon.”
The way he says it makes the stone rolling in the pit of my stomach sink a little. Does he think he won’t need one because he’s not staying in Stillwater?
He never specifically said he was here to stay. Then again, he also didn’t say this was a temporary gig for him.
“Hey, do you want to come to my place for a coffee?” The words are out of my mouth before I have time to overthink them. It’s only coffee.
“Sure.”
I’m not looking to discover his life plans. He’ll tell me when he wants to. And I’m definitely not wondering about what could happen if I had the chance to let my touch linger a little longer because that’s not happening.
Hella’s voice is in my head calling me a big, fat Greek liar, but I ignore it.
“Advance warning. My house is practically a building site, but since you’re responsible for the advance on the work in my living room, I figure you should see it.”
He laughs. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve the credit, but I’ll take it.”
My house has been feeling more like a home recently. Maybe because I’m there a lot more than I used to be.
The kitchen is complete. It was what sold me on the house, and apart from new paint on the walls to cover up the old green, it didn’t need any updates.
I pull out my French press and fill the kettle with water. The kettle was a gift from my sister when she traveled aroundEurope before opening her restaurant. To this day, I still don’t understand why everyone doesn’t have one in their kitchen.
While the coffee brews, I show Constantine the house and tell him a little bit about my plans.
“I love your house. It’s going to look amazing when it’s finished,” he says.
I pour the coffee into two mugs and give one to Constantine.
He’s still wearing his jacket, so on our way to the living room, I turn up the heat.
“This is delicious coffee, Julius.”
“Thanks. It’s my own mix. A little stronger than what I have at Bittersweet, but I love it.”
We drink the coffee in silence for a bit, and I notice Constantine becoming pensive. His gaze is on a photo I have on the wall where a TV would likely be.
It’s Hella somewhere in Europe, smiling with her eyes closed as she tastes some food. The black-and-white photo was taken by her boyfriend at the time, and I love it because, to me, it represents freedom, love, abandon. After her travels, Hella came back and opened the restaurant. She found a home where home always was because she’d been set free when she needed to go.
I stare at Constantine, craving to know more about him. “You said you don’t know what you did to deserve credit. You showed up, Constantine. You are here.”
He smiles, his eyes still on the photo. “Sometimes I wonder if it was a good idea.”
“You regret it?”
