What in the world had he been thinking? Asking this woman out for coffee? She wasn’t his type. And he wasn’t interested in getting into any sort of relationship now anyway. He had enough to deal with at home and school, that he didn’t need to further complicate his life with romance.

He hadn’t really been thinking when he asked her. He wanted to keep talking to her. That’s all he knew. So out it came and once he said it, he couldn’t take it back. Hopefully she’d see this as what it was—two fellow students, coming together to help each other and drink some coffee while they did.

Things felt a little awkward as they walked across campus to the cafe. He wasn’t sure what to say to her. Small talk was pointless. He could ask about her work. Her family maybe? But he sure didn’t want her asking about his.

As they neared the cafe, he decided what to say. “What was the assignment for your paper?”

“A critical comparison of a piece of art from the early 1900s and the late 1900s.”

“Mine is a comparison of two artists from periods separated by at least 100 years.”

“I’d rather just do a review of a piece of art. I’m much better at those.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Trying to compare two artists’ life works isn’t the easiest thing, either. Artist’s styles change over time usually. I tried to go with just using the latter part of the artists’ careers, but he didn’t like that approach.”

“He apparently didn’t like my approach, either.”

They reached the cafe, and he held the door open for her. “Want to find a table while I order?”

“Sure. Just a black coffee. Thanks.”

He went to order and found her once he had their drinks.

“Thanks,” she said as he set her coffee in front of her.

Her books were already out, so this seemed the best way to make things less awkward. They would just do schoolwork and that way, not have to worry about talking too much. And she would be less likely to think this was more than just coffee.

Christian took out his own notebook and textbook. He turned to a blank page and started thinking.

“This was hard enough to decide the first time,” she said, tapping her pencil against a blank page.

“I was having the same thought. But you know, maybe we’re thinking about this wrong. We only have two days. That’s not enough time to do all the research for entirely new artists and works of art. We could use the same research but go about it differently.”

“You think that will be enough?”

“For me, it’s either that or not have enough time to complete it. Unless I don’t finish something else in its place.”

Delilah blew out a sigh and ran her fingers through he hair. “I was thinking I just wouldn’t sleep for a few days.”

“That’s no solution.”

“Don’t we all have to suffer for the sake of our art?” She rolled her eyes.

“I think we do, actually.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Are you one of those people who thinks the best songs come out of heartbreak?”

He shrugged. “It’s more that I think an artist has to experience the pushback from the rest of the world before they can make real art.”

“That’s ridiculous. So, if you grow up in a loving home, you can never make real art?”

“Nope. Not until something messed up happens in your life.”

“On what basis?” She set her pencil down and sipped her coffee.

“Real art requires sacrifice.”

She raised an eyebrow, waiting.

He continued. “It’s like rich parents who decide to make their kids pay for college. They appreciate it more, work harder, think differently about it. With art, if you can’t get past the world’s view of artists, which can be very negative if you’re trying to make a living from it, then you don’t appreciate what you earn from it. And I think that shows. It’s like getting a huge raise after busting your ass for years. You remember the long hours, the hard work, and every time you see that bigger number in your paycheck, you know you made that hard work do something for you. It wasn’t wasted time.”

“I see what you mean,” she said. “But you have to consider the other side. If you’re raised in an environment that encourages art and creativity above all else, then your love for it grows and expands. You have the freedom to be yourself without having to hide from the world. To use your example, what if the rich parents had spent years instilling in their children the love of learning, so that when they got to college, they realized their parents’ sacrifice and appreciated it even more, without having to start their new lives under a pile of student loan debt? Not that art doesn’t take a lot of hard work. It does, certainly. I’m only suggesting that freedom provides for a higher level of creativity than struggling and overcoming. Both have place and value, but I wouldn’t say a person can’t make real art without sacrificing. A person can make real art so long as it comes from the right place inside them. A person dragged down in having to fight for it might not have as much energy to create well as someone full of joyful energy would.”

Christian sat back and looked at her. He could not recall one time in his life that someone had argued with him and made him reconsider his argument. But she was so intelligent, and had obviously thought about the subject as well. Maybe his own past was coloring his ideas.

“Is that the environment you came form?” he asked. “One of love and encouragement in your art?”

“Actually, I have both. My parents are loving and encouraging in all I want to do. But we’re also a big family who struggles. I do have to sacrifice. I work a lot to help out, and I have a lot of schoolwork. I don’t even have friends anymore because I never go out or have time for them. And if I had a free night, I’d end up babysitting probably. I have to fight for it. Not against my family or environment, but against everything else in the world. And it drains me. I wish I had more time and less struggle. What about you?”

“I haven’t had support in anything I’ve chosen to do with my life. The money is there. In many ways, I have more freedom than you with my time and energy in that regard. It seems we both have experienced some of each side.”

“Does that makes us real artists?” She gave him a half smile as she picked up her coffee again.

“Definitely.” He tapped his cup to hers and took a sip.

After their discussion, they managed to work for a while and both of them had a new outline by the time they had to pack up their things so Delilah could get to work. As he put his things away, he realized he hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. And even longer since he’d had a decent date who could stimulate his mind and not only his body.

“It’s been really great talking and working with you,” he said. “I’d love to text you.”

“I’d like that.” She smiled and reached her hand out for his phone.

Christian drove home in high spirits. When he arrived, his spirits dropped.

The driveway was full of the cars of mafia men. And these were high-up men. His father’s boss, Giorgio Russo, and his boss’s goons. Christian couldn’t get into his spot in the garage, so he parked in a spot that wouldn’t park anyone in and headed to the front door.

Two men stood in front of the door. Christian glared at them. “Kindly step aside.”

They crossed their arms and moved closer together. “Boss said not to let anyone in.”

“This is my house, not Giorgio’s.”

“It’s you father’s house and he wouldn’t have it if weren’t for Giorgio, so you better show some respect.”

Christian hated these guys. They were the reason he didn’t want the mafia life. Giorgio Russo was the cruelest, hardest man he’d ever met, and he never wanted to have to answer to creeps like these men or to Giorgio himself.

The door opened and Giorgio’s face appeared, looking unhappy. “What’s the problem, here?”

One of his goons answered. “This punk wants to come in. Whining about it being his house.”

“Step aside,” Giorgio said.

The men didn’t hesitate or argue. They moved promptly. Christian brushed past them with the intention of going straight to his room. His father’s voice called out to him from the den.

“Christian, come in here.”

He walked into the den and Giorgio followed him.

“Father,” Christian said.

“Take a seat. I want you to hear this. Learn from it.”

Christian sat in the chair across from his father, giving himself some space. Giorgio sat closer to his father.

The conversation was about a job. Some meet-up that would lead to more business. Christian was to learn how to set up these meetings when a business opportunity showed itself. He didn’t care, though. He didn’t need to know this since he wasn’t going into this business. Instead, he let his mind wander to Delilah.

When they got into the discussion and didn’t seem to be paying him much attention, Christian took out his phone and texted her, “Thanks again for a great afternoon. I’ll be sitting down to work on my paper soon. Maybe we can meet up to work on them together again.”

He put his phone in his pocket and turned back to the conversation to find his father glaring at him. Christian pretended to listen after that, but his mind was filled with thoughts of places he could take Delilah that would let them work, but also give them some privacy for conversation.