04 | Mortal Sins

SATURDAY MORNING OF THE FOLLOWING WEEK, Jen could be found nestled in her usual corner of Spill the Beans, absorbed in a poetry book. A tiny, white porcelain cup sat on the otherwise empty table in front of her. She had diverged from her usual order of regular coffee in favor of an espresso macchiato today.

It was a gloomy day out. The sky had a ghostly pallor and rain streaked the front windows of the tiny shop like tears, but the sound of its pattering on the roof was peaceful background noise. It was the perfect day to stay indoors with the company of a good book and decompress from her second week of work.

The little bell that signaled the opening of the front door jingled at least once every few minutes, but she had managed to tune it out. It could barely be heard over the rain and the noise of the espresso machines, anyhow, and since she wasn't here to people watch, Jen didn't bother lifting her eyes from the pages in front of her each time she heard the quiet tinkling of the bell.

Shortly after one such occurrence, however, she reached the end of a poem and felt the need to give her eyes a brief reprieve from the tiny print. She placed her bookmark in her current spot – she could never bring herself to dog-ear her pages, no matter how convenient it might be – before carefully closing the book and felt a startled jolt run through her when she looked up from it.

Standing near the counter was none other than Robert Caruso, who must have noticed her sitting there mere seconds before she saw him, for he was looking at her and the expression on his face was one of fresh surprise. In one of his hands was an umbrella; in the other, a cup of coffee. The same messenger-style bag that he usually carried at work was slung over his shoulder.

Unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, she detected a slight hesitancy to the way he walked as he came over to her table, like he wasn't entirely sure if she would prefer to be left unbothered. It was, after all, a weekend, and she herself certainly hadn't thought about how she might behave around him if they happened to run into each other outside of work.

But she set her book down and offered him a small smile. "I don't bite," she assured him once he was nearly to her, well within earshot.

The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile to match hers as he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. Now that he was close, she could see the way his hair was slightly damp from the rain, how it clung closer to his skin around his temples and forehead than it normally would. For a fraction of a second, she felt the bizarre impulse to reach over and brush it away for him, but then he lifted his hand to do just that and the thought fled from her mind as abruptly as it had arrived.

"I've never seen you here before," was all she could think to say at that moment.

But if he found the comment to be silly or rude, he didn't let it on. "I come fairly often," he said with a shrug. "I don't live too far from here. It's much easier to walk to work than deal with the L."

She nodded. "Me, too."

When she regarded him now, she thought first of the words he had written to her, which was surprisingly many for how briefly they had known each other. Their correspondence of letters had been going on for nearly two weeks. Some were longer; some were quite short. Some were mostly small talk; others provided her with a more substantial glimpse into his mind.

The cup of black coffee that he carefully set onto the table brought to mind something he'd told her in one of his letters – that despite coming from a country known for its espresso, he had an embarrassing affinity for the cheap convenience store stuff.

Jen had been scribbling down the Italian terms he shared with her into a tiny, unused, leatherbound journal she found hiding in her drawers at home so that she could attempt to dedicate them to memory. She didn't entirely know why the two of them had even continued to write to each other after the initial pair of letters, but there was something pleasant about having conversations that way. It gave her the ability to think for hours about what she might like to say to him rather than having to conjure something up on the spot. He seemed much more of a natural at carrying conversation than she was, much more charismatic, and she didn't want to make a fool of herself.

This correspondence of theirs planted an unfamiliar feeling in her heart. She felt as though she had someone on her side, that she was on someone's mind for once– but no, there was no use in busying her head with such thoughts. She tried to shove the notion aside in case he didn't attach nearly as much significance to the letters as she did. They might not have been much more than an afterthought to him. Still, she enjoyed the luxury of having someone new to talk to.

But this – this exchange already felt different from any of the others even though they had only said a few words. Being face to face with him outside of work sent a foreign, electric sensation through her veins. This felt more personal—he wasn't under the same polite obligation to speak to her here as he might feel when they encountered one another at work.

The feeling intensified when he, with an almost sheepish expression on his face, reached over into his bag and procured a copy of The Sun Also Rises.

An unexpected, delighted laugh came out of her, a sound almost unrecognizable to her own ears. "You're reading it? After I said it was terrible?"

"You technically didn't say it was terrible," he reminded her. "You just implied that it was. And yes, you made me curious. I don't dislike it, but I don't think I necessarily like it, either."

"Why's that?" she questioned, intrigued to get a second opinion on it.

"Well...as a lover of history, when I say that something is of its time, I don't usually mean it in a negative way," he explained, his tone light and the hint of a smile still playing at his lips. He seemed a bit amused that she had laughed at him. "But...I don't know, really. I suppose I expected there to be more that I could grasp onto and relate to, but it's not igniting that intrigue in me that you want from a novel. It's undoubtedly an interesting historical mindset to look at, sure, but when I judge it solely by its merits as a work of fiction it falls a bit flat for me."

The way he talked about books made her suspect that he might love them in a similar way that she did – even if it was a more subdued affection than hers – and it crossed her mind for a moment that he would be a wonderful addition to their book club. But she was highly unlikely to even admit to him that she was in one, much less invite him to it.

She narrowed her eyes at the book itself, at its yellowed pages and heavily creased cover. "If you don't like it that much, then why does it look so worn down?"

A true smile came to him now. "I'm not lying to you, Jen-" she had only heard him say her name a few times before, but it seemed to fall more freely from his lips now "-if that's what you're implying. I grabbed it at a used bookstore nearby-"

"Judson's?" she interrupted, brightening.

Seeing her excitement, he said, "I take it you go there a lot?"

She nodded, settling backwards into her seat—she hadn't even realized that she'd leaned forward enthusiastically. "I love it there. I think my greatest sin is that I can never resist a book."

The little bookstore, located just a couple of blocks from her apartment, was a treasure trove. They carried all types of books, spanning all the way from the great classics to the volumes on the most obscure little topics you could ever think to conjure up. The few employees who worked there were always friendly and it always felt like home, not to mention that rarely anything cost more than a couple of dollars. It was practically a gold mine for people like her who loved collecting books but didn't have much money to spend on them. It was most definitely the culprit behind why the several bookshelves she had were all overflowing.

"When I was a little girl," Jen remembered, smiling again as the thought returned to her. "My mom would have to come into my room at night and take my books away from me so that I'd go to sleep."

She hadn't meant to make Robert listen to her take a stroll down memory lane, particularly not in regard to anything where her mother was concerned, but the words came out of her as if she were talking to a friend who she had known much longer than she had known him. She was a little surprised at herself—she usually so carefully crafted her conversation so that she might avoid speaking of her parents at all costs. But the memory had popped out of her so thoughtlessly.

And he did not at all seem to mind her little tangent. On the contrary, he was evidently interested to hear more. "Did you grow up around here?"

Jen gave a small shake of the head. "I wish, but no. I didn't come here until college. I grew up in this tiny town called Woods Crossing that's only about an hour and a half from here, but it feels like the middle of nowhere. There's absolutely nothing to do unless you like hunting and fishing."

Robert lowered his cup – he'd taken a silent sip of his coffee while she was speaking – and laughed a little bit at her evident distaste. He pretended to sound surprised when he asked, "What, you don't like to shoot deer?"

"I'm going to choose to take it as a compliment that you're suggesting I'd do even remotely well with a gun, but no. What about you? Where'd you grow up?" she asked, perhaps a little too eagerly, but she couldn't help herself. She wanted to hear more about Italy and think less about the dreadful place that was Woods Crossing.

"A little coastal town called Arizia," he said, his accent revealing itself to her more now that he'd said a word in his native tongue. It wasn't a heavy one, but it was enough to make her enjoy listening to his voice. It was pleasant, unlike anything she was used to. "Only an hour or so south of Rome. It's really small, too, but we didn't run out of things to do."

For some reason, it made her happy to hear that he was from a small town, too. As different as the two of them were, that was one more thing she now knew they had in common. She watched him as he talked, listened to the way the cadence of his voice changed. He sounded like he was describing something out of a dream, but his eyes weren't distant like she'd expect them to be when he was recalling a fond memory. His voice might have been far away, but his gaze stayed rooted here in this present moment, unmoving from the person he was speaking to – her.

"There was a train station that could take us anywhere, so we didn't feel so trapped," he recalled. "And we'd walk or bike everywhere, so the time it took us to get places made the village feel larger than it actually was. The ocean was obviously right there, so we'd go have picnics by the water with our families – or, when we were older, sneak out in the night to go walk on the beach without our parents breathing down our necks."

It was the first hint he'd given her that he was, at any age, ever up to any mischief. For some reason, she had imagined him as always being a boy who was reserved and on his best behavior. She didn't know why she found it to be so unexpected, for she already knew that there was much sarcasm and wit beneath the surface of him, but something about it almost made her giggle. Fortunately, she restrained herself.

"You said 'we.' Do you have siblings?"

He nodded. "A little sister. You?"

Jen shook her head. "Only child."

Her thoughts were still lost somewhere in Italy. She envisioned a place where the weather was always beautiful, where you could sit outside and drink wine and laugh the night away. Where you could sit on a terrace each night to listen to the lull of the ocean waves and watch a golden sun calmly sink past the horizon. It was a fantasy, obviously, but she still couldn't help but glance out the window at the rain that came down heavier now, like the sky was weeping, and compare it to the paradise she saw in her mind.

Why would you ever want to leave a place like that? she thought, not realizing until a second later that it had actually come out of her lips in a somewhat distracted murmur.

But Robert didn't seem offended – thank God – and simply shrugged. "It was always just my dream to come here. Italy's a beautiful country, but I always felt like there was more to see." His fingers were circling around the rim of his cup in an absentminded manner. "But perhaps that is my greatest sin, wanderlust. Always chasing after something else instead of holding onto what I have."

Jen was taken aback, but not so much by his statement as by the fact that he had just put words to something that she was aware she did, too. "Do you...do you ever feel guilty for it?" she asked, much more candidly than she would have expected from herself. "For wanting something else?"

"No. Sometimes I feel like I should," he offered up with equal transparency. "You know, since they always tell you to do unto others, to be self-sacrificing and all of that. But I'm happier because of the selfish decisions I've made, so I can't bring myself to regret them. I don't know what that says about me."

Jen couldn't say the same for herself. She didn't know if she was happier now than she'd be if she hadn't gone chasing after her ambitions, if she had set easier goals for herself. She could have a career by now if she had just settled. And she wouldn't have entangled her parents in her mess. If it weren't for her, Mom wouldn't have–

She swallowed, banishing the guilt from her mind. Thinking about that now wasn't going to do her any good. Instead, she fixated on what Robert said. That despite the fact that he had survived his ambition and she was more of an Icarus, drowning in the sea because she had flown too near to the sun, she was not so alone in chasing a dream that might have sounded ridiculous to someone else. Jen suddenly felt rather seen and a blush rose to her cheeks.

She quietly cleared her throat. "I think loving bad coffee is a worse sin, anyway," she said lightly.

That got him to laugh again. "You might be right, but I'm not going to stop that any time soon, either."

His mind must have drifted off for a moment after that because his eyes were less focused on her than they were before.

"What are you thinking?" she asked curiously, instinctively.

"Hmm? Our letters," he stated without batting an eye, but Jen had to lift her cup to her lips to try to hide that she was blushing again. He continued on without noticing. "I mean, there's no great Italian word for wanderlust. I wish there was. There's voglia di viaggiare, the desire to travel, but that doesn't sound nearly as nice, does it?"

Her honest opinion was that anything probably sounded nice in Italian, but she didn't vocalize it. She plowed on without thinking. "You're lucky to have grown up there. I was supposed to study there for a little while in college, but-"

She cut herself off abruptly.

His eyebrows raised. "But what?"

She just quickly shook her head. "It's nothing," she swallowed, linking her fingers together and grasping her own hands tightly – a nervous mannerism that she couldn't shake off. And yet, for reasons she could not explain, she didn't stop there. "There was...my mom, she was in an accident. I needed to be with my family."

A startling sympathy washed over his features and her eyes widened in horror as she realized that she'd probably just made it sound like her mother was dead. "She's okay now," she amended quickly. "My mom, I mean."

That was only the tip of the iceberg. A small part of her was tempted to keep going while she was already being so uncharacteristically open, to vent all her frustrations and fears surrounding what had transpired then and every day since. But she had already said too much and the worriedness in his expression had dissipated, so she knew she ought to leave it there.

"You've still got your whole life ahead of you," he reminded her, gentle but not pitying. "Who's to say you might not make it there someday?"

"I hope so."

He studied her expression for a moment like he was trying to discern what it was she would want to hear. "For what it's worth," he offered. "Chicago's a pretty cool place to be, too."

At that, her smile returned to her. "It is. Much better than the middle of nowhere."

Robert glanced at his watch for the first time since he sat down across from her. "It's been fun, but I have lesson plans to do, so I better get going."

How long had they even been sitting there? She'd lost track of time, not anticipating that they would get as absorbed in conversation as they did.

"Of course, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hold you up," she apologized as he reached for his belongings.

"You hardly need to apologize for being good company, Jen. I'll see you Monday."

"See you Monday," she echoed.

After her eyes followed him out the door, they went right back to her book, but not for long. Robert could not have been gone for longer than a minute before Celie appeared out of nowhere, having rushed over from her post behind the counter.

"You didn't tell me you had a date."

Jen spluttered on air – how had she entirely forgotten that her best friend was there to watch that whole conversation with Robert? – and felt her cheeks redden like apples. "Oh my God, no! He's just my coworker!"

That did not elicit the response that she had hoped for. Celie's grin only widened, her eyebrows shooting up. "Your coworker? Just when I thought it couldn't get better."

Jen rolled her eyes as obviously as she could. "What part of just my coworker did you not grasp?" she hissed.

"You weren't looking at him like he's just your coworker."

She refused to even entertain the idea. "I was being friendly because he was!" she exclaimed, exasperated, before her voice grew more quiet yet resolute. "He's the only one there besides your brother and my bosses who has given me more than thirty seconds of their time."

But Celie was now smiling in a genuinely happy fashion rather than a taunting one, which only confounded Jen further. "I'm just saying," she said diplomatically. "That it takes a special kind of person to get you to start coming out of your shell."

"I do not have a shell."

"Yes you do. It's just made of flannel."

Jen instinctively wrapped her arms around herself as if that would conceal her flannel overshirt. "Must you make fun of my outfit choices?"

She knew Celie well enough to know that this was all in jest, but a small part of her brain began to genuinely question if she'd looked bad in front of Robert. But why on Earth did she even care about such a thing?

Because he's my colleague, she told herself.

She was starting to get on even her own nerves. All of these odd feelings were very against her nature and she could not make any sense of them. She wanted her usual self back – perhaps it was closed off and bitter, but at least she could comprehend it.

"Fine, suppose I am," was all she said out loud to Celie. "Is it such a crime to want a friend?"

The word friend felt bizarre coming off her tongue in reference to him, but that must have been what they were, or at least becoming. She had coworkers at her last job who she liked fine and chatted with during their lunch breaks, but she hadn't gone writing to them for weeks. She didn't reveal any real feelings to them. But then again, Jude was both her coworker and her friend, yet she never opened up quickly to him. She didn't even do that with Celie. But with Robert, it was just...it was just easy.

She didn't know why he was having this effect on her or what this effect even really was. All she knew was that she didn't want it to go away.

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A/N:

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