Chapter 2 - The Only Place He Could Breathe
Vincent returned Wednesday.
Then Friday.
Then Saturday.
By the following week, Mia stopped bringing him a menu.
“Steak. Medium rare. Vegetables. Black coffee.”
Vincent loosened his jacket.
“And?”
Mia sighed.
“Chocolate cake.”
“Thank you.”
“I hate that I know your order.”
“You seem deeply traumatized.”
“I’ll recover.”
Vincent smiled.
Their conversations became strangely normal.
Mia complained about Bellamy’s ancient coffee machine.
Vincent complained that she overfilled his cup.
She told him she was saving to open a café.
He asked questions.
Real questions.
“What kind?”
“Small.”
“That isn't a business model.”
“It’s my business model.”
Vincent looked skeptical.
Mia sat briefly across from him during her break.
“Coffee, pastries, sandwiches. Nothing fancy.”
“Location?”
“Somewhere people can actually afford to eat.”
“Employees?”
“Eventually.”
“Startup capital?”
Mia narrowed her eyes.
“Why do you suddenly sound like a banker?”
Vincent stopped.
He had nearly slipped.
“Just curious.”
“Well, Mr. Curious, I’ve saved twelve thousand dollars.”
“That isn't enough.”
“I know.”
“You’ll need at least—”
“Stop.”
“What?”
“I didn't ask you to solve it.”
Vincent looked genuinely confused.
“Why wouldn't you want help?”
“Because I want to build it myself.”
“What if someone could make it easier?”
“Easy isn't always better.”
Vincent stared at her.
Most people spent their entire lives searching for someone who could make things easier.
Mia was different.
“What do you do?” she asked suddenly.
Vincent's expression changed.
“Business.”
“That means absolutely nothing.”
“Investments.”
“Still nothing.”
“Hotels.”
“Better.”
Mia sipped water.
“You like it?”
Vincent considered the question.
“Nobody has asked me that before.”
“Then your friends are boring.”
Vincent almost laughed.
“Something like that.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Like your life?”
Vincent looked toward the window.
“I’m good at it.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Vincent returned his eyes to her.
“You ask dangerous questions.”
“And you avoid easy ones.”
Mia stood.
“My break is over.”
She reached for the empty coffee pot.
“Think about it.”
He did.
For three days.
---
On Sunday night, Vincent arrived later than usual.
Mia immediately noticed something was wrong.
He sat down without removing his jacket.
“No coffee?” she asked.
“Coffee.”
She poured it.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She studied him.
“What happened?”
“Work.”
“Bad?”
“Yes.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
That answer caught him off guard.
“You’re not going to push?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you said no.”
Mia turned away.
Vincent caught her wrist lightly.
She looked down at his hand.
He immediately released her.
“Sorry.”
Mia waited.
Vincent exhaled.
“Someone I trusted lied to me.”
She pulled out the opposite chair.
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“How long did you trust him?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s your professional analysis?”
“I charge extra for professional analysis.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
Mia leaned forward.
“Did he apologize?”
“He tried.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
“Then what are you actually upset about?”
Vincent frowned.
“He betrayed me.”
“No. You're angry about that.”
She pointed toward him.
“This is different.”
“This?”
“The part where you look like you haven't slept.”
Vincent said nothing.
Mia understood.
“You're wondering if everyone else is lying too.”
His eyes lifted.
There it was again.
That uncomfortable feeling that she could see too much.
“You should stop doing that,” he said.
“What?”
“Understanding things I haven't told you.”
Mia smiled.
“Then start telling me things.”
---
Vincent began arriving earlier.
Sometimes Mia sat with him for ten minutes.
Sometimes only two.
He learned she had been working six nights a week for nearly three years.
She learned he hated cinnamon.
He learned she secretly gave leftover pastries to a homeless veteran who slept near the subway station.
She learned he slept about four hours a night.
“You’re going to die at fifty,” she told him.
“I’m thirty-eight.”
“Then you've got twelve years.”
“Comforting.”
One night, Mia looked across the table.
“Why don't you ever bring anyone?”
Vincent's expression changed.
“Anyone?”
“Friend. Girlfriend. Coworker.”
“No girlfriend.”
“Friend?”
Silence.
Mia slowly nodded.
“That's what I thought.”
“I have friends.”
“Name one.”
Vincent opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Mia burst out laughing.
“That's terrible.”
“I'm beginning to regret coming here.”
“No, you're not.”
She stood.
“You love the cake too much.”
Vincent watched her walk away.
She was right.
But it wasn't the cake.
Bellamy’s had become the only place in the city where Vincent could breathe.
Then, on the twenty-first night after he first entered the restaurant, his secret ended.
May you like
And it ended with three black vehicles stopping outside.
---
