Page 45 of The Sound of Silence

After securely locking my belongings in one of the gyms lockers, we walked out together. I made sure to keep ample distance between us, but on the crowded streets, touching was sometimes unavoidable, and his arm would occasionally brush mine. The mingling scent of sweat and his cologne billowed my way. It was intoxicating.

“Have you always lived in New York?” I asked, trying to ignore the heady smell.

“Born and raised. Brooklyn to be exact—Prospect Park area.”

“I’m not familiar, but then again, I’ve only lived here for just shy of two months. I’m still trying to get to know the city,” I admitted.

“I moved to Queens to be closer to the gym and to my parents. They had a house a couple of blocks over.”

His voice sounded sad and I noticed his mention of his parents was past tense. I wanted to ask but didn’t want to pry. Instead, I pressed my lips together and considered the surrounding area.

“This location is convenient,” I observed. “Almost everything is within walking distance. I’ve been to many stores in the area to pick up essentials, but I haven’t hit any of the restaurants yet. What do you recommend?”

“Delaney’s if you want classic American bar food. Mario’s if you want Italian, but don’t tell Isabella I said that,” he added with a wink. “There’s also a good bakery on 31stthat has a pretty kick-ass lunch menu. The Hatch has the best Manhattan clam chowder around, but that isn’t really within walking distance. You’d have to head up to Flushing Bay for that. The Hatch does a really good dinner cruise too.”

“A dinner cruise... hmmm. That could be fun. I’ve never been on a boat before.”

“Really?” he asked, seeming genuinely surprised. He glanced down at me, and I could almost see the wheels spinning in his head. “Maybe I’ll have to rectify that one day.”

“Yeah, well…” I trailed off awkwardly. “Maybe one day. For now, I’ll stick to the neighborhood restaurants. You told me who has the best food but what about coffee? Lattes are my guilty pleasure. There are chain places everywhere but I like to support local when I can.”

“The best cup of coffee in the city is right here,” he said, pointing to the maroon awning of a storefront about fifty feet ahead of us, with La Biga written in scrolling font. “It’s family owned by the Gianfranco’s. As big as New York is, I’m pretty sure everyone knows the family—especially Angelo, the founder. They have a few other locations in the city as well. Angelo’s daughter and son-in-law run this one.”

As we passed the front doors to the little coffee shop, I smelled the aroma of espresso and fresh pastries, and my stomach gave a low grumble, reminding me it was nearly lunchtime.

“I used to religiously drink coffee every morning. I feel like I haven’t had a good cup in forever,” I remarked.

“Do you want to grab a cup after I get these supplies ordered?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean we had to…that is…I can’t,” I stuttered, thinking about my budget. I was doing okay, but every extra cent I had was being saved so I could pay back Teddy.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have my wallet. It’s back in my locker at the gym.”

Derek laughed.

“It’s only coffee. I can afford a few bucks. It’ll be my treat.”

“Oh, well…okay. If you insist,” I said, albeit hesitantly. I really didn’t want him to pay for my coffee, but I didn’t have a reasonable excuse for saying no. Wallet or no wallet, the idea of explaining my very limited funds was awkward.

A few minutes later, we arrived at the supplement shop. Derek walked up to the customer service desk, placed his order, and was told it would be ready for him within the hour. The entire process took less than five minutes.

“Well, that was quick,” I said as we walked out of the shop.

“That’s why I like working with them. They’re efficient and have a good product. I spent months searching for the right supplier. I needed a product I felt comfortable endorsing to my clients. Plant-based organic was a must, designed for people on the go, and formulated to fit their needs. I…” He stopped talking and gave me a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I’m probably boring the hell out of you. I geek out over shit like this.”

“Not at all.”

“You’re lying,” he teased with a wink. “It’s okay though. We’re just about to the coffee shop.”

Entering La Biga, I was pleasantly surprised. The café was small, with a simple interior. The sound of espresso beans being ground and the voice of Frank Sinatra could be heard above the friendly chatter of the patrons. It was a quaint little place with multiple three-person tables and a craft coffee wall.

“This place is so charming!”

“Yeah, it kind of has that feeling of being home, you know? They have amazing pastries. Theirsfogliatellais to die for.”

“Their what?”

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