Downtown Ithaca is not a world I’m familiar with in the least, even with Serena around my arm at my side. It was my idea to come out here, but with every passing second, I’m feeling more like a fish out of water.

There’s none of the bustle of the city here, none of the rush and looming buildings that I was just getting used to calling home back in the Bronx. It’s almost too quiet for my taste, but I have to admit, I feel like I can breathe here. There’s plenty of green, and fewer people look anxious or stormy.

That doesn’t help my situation, though. I’m clad in the same old clothes I had before we left, and while I’m not one to worry about fashion, I can tell I stick out here. As we walk down the wide brown sidewalk flanked by shops on all sides, Serena notices how often I’m adjusting the hood and sunglasses I’m wearing to hide my appearance. She finishes off the mint gelato I bought for us a few minutes ago and throws the napkin into a public trashcan, coming to a stop as she does.

“Relax,” she says, stroking my arm as I smile down at her. “We’re miles away from, well, everything. NYC may as well be a whole different country up here.”

“That’s part of the problem,” I say, looking around at the hipster couples with big hairstyles and sweaters. That gives me an idea, though. A thoughtful smile on my face, I look over at some of the outlet shops nearby, then down at Serena, who tilts her head to the side.

“Whatcha thinking?”

“That we didn’t bring enough clothes,” I say, smiling a little more broadly at Serena, whose eyebrows go up.

“I... never thought I’d hear you say that,” she admits.

“No, but you’ve been through a lot. I don’t get enough chances to spoil you like a proper Italian girl.” That makes her blush and smile, and I take her hand to tug her along into the nearest designer clothing store to start spending some of that money I worked so hard to get.

Serena’s eyes light up as soon as we enter the place. I can see her mind going back to when she was a teenager on her father’s big budget, because I don’t have to look at the price tags on some of the clothes in here to know they’re above what she usually gets.

“Ohhhh, this is good. This is very good,” she says, wandering in ahead of me and looking at the various odds and ends of the fall line of clothes. She looks back at me with glittering eyes and an eager smile.

“Are you sure about this? If you really turn me loose in here, I think I can put a dent in that paycheck of yours.” She winks, half-joking, but even if she were dead-serious, I couldn’t deny her anything.

“Don’t think about the price,” I assure her, stepping over to her and planting a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll take care of that part.”

That’s all it takes to get her going on a tour of the store that seems to warm her soul. After about an hour of trying things on, getting new sizes, and even experimenting a little, Serena finally comes out of the dressing room with an ensemble she looks like a regular local in: an oversized, unreasonably cozy green sweater that still makes her body look irresistible. She picks out an equally oversized tan-brown scarf that goes with it and matching tall boots and black leggings.

Even though I’ve been getting odd looks the whole time I’ve been in here, my stony expression splits into a grin when I see her, partly because of how cute she looks in her outfit, partly because her happiness is so infectious.

“What do you think?” she asks, holding her arms out and twirling in place, and before she finishes, I wrap my arms around her and pick her up, to her delight, kissing her on the neck.

“Perfect,” I say, setting her down and giving a smile to the dressing room attendant, who stands awkwardly nearby. “We’ll take it. All of it.”

That changes the attendant’s mood quite a bit. A few minutes later, I’ve convinced the store owner to let Serena wear the new outfit out of the store with her old clothes in the bag. Something about the way Serena’s eyes widen when I hand the cashier a big wad of cash fills me with pride. I like providing for her, even if it’s on things that aren’t totally essential.

When we walk out of the store, I can’t help but laugh at the new spring in Serena’s step.

“I never knew you had such a thing for new clothes.”

“It’s one of those things I kind of reward myself with when it’s been a really good week at the shop,” she says, wiggling a little when I hug her to my side. “I mean, nothing this nice or this much, but a little thing here and there is good.” But it isn’t long before her eyes get thoughtful as she looks my outfit up and down, smiling mischievously.

“What?” it’s my turn to ask.

“Your turn, obviously,” she says, and before I can protest through my chuckles, she’s tugging my big arm toward the closest men’s apparel store.

This is as much for Serena as it is for me.

My tastes are usually simple. I went through most of my life in the Bronx in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Apparently, I need to get a little more creative than that to fit in up here in Ithaca. Fortunately, I don’t have to leave my style behind too much to do that.

After a few minutes, I come out of the dressing room with an outfit that Serena seems to like very much. Even though the hand-knit tan sweater is the biggest size they have, my muscles are still visible underneath, making it a snug, warm fit. Over it, I get a big coat in a darker brown with a flared collar, and I finish the ensemble with a simple crimson beanie and a new set of aviator sunglasses. I get a new set of jeans and boots, too, just in case I wasn’t fitting in with the outdoorsy style enough.

I like it mostly because it keeps my appearance a little less than obvious, but the smile from Serena and the big thumbs-up from the attendant tell me it’s stylish enough that I won’t stick out like a sore thumb anymore.

One big fat receipt later, we step out onto the street again like new people. I have to admit, it feels good to be wearing a new set of clothes. Serena can’t stop looking up at me, either, which gives me a quiet sense of pride.

“See something you like?”

“A lot,” she says, a silly grin on her face, but then she narrows her eyes, reaching up and touching my beard. “Just one more thing to freshen up, and you’ll be a new man.”

Another hour later, we step out of a hipster-y barber shop, and I’ve got a new haircut and trimmed beard. You’d never guess I spent the past two years locked away in prison. I started to protest the haircut since I’ll be wearing the beanie anyway, but Serena insisted.

I can’t argue with the results, either.

“So, I’ve never been this far north,” I say as it starts to get closer to the time to get an evening bite to eat. “What does a perfectly normal, definitely-not-fugitive couple get to eat in upstate New York?”

“Good question,” she giggles, playfully slapping me on the chest, “but maybe don’t google ‘what do fugitives eat,’ ok?” We laugh and wander around a little more, but it isn’t long before we spot a place that looks good to both of us. When price isn’t an issue, those kinds of things get a lot easier.

We step through the doors of a local brewpub, a building with exposed brick and a cozy interior, complete with a roaring fireplace toward the back of the building and wooden tables all around. There’s a good mood in the place I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s what Americans call good vibes.

A little while later, both of us are sitting side-by-side at a corner table, backs to the walls so I can see the whole place, and the waiter brings us the beer and cheese soup we ordered, complete with breadsticks and some rich, dark beers.

“Carbs on carbs on carbs,” Serena says as I wet my lips and take the bread basket to start loading my plate. “You really know how to spoil a girl, huh? Good to know prison didn’t change that.”

“After prison food,” I say after a long drink of the outstanding beer, “you learn to love the little pleasures in life like good food.”

“You won’t hear me complaining,” she says with a smile, and she takes a drink of her beer and blushes after setting it down. “Wow, little stronger than I was expecting.”

“It’s not Italian, but I think I can appreciate American drinking,” I say, and we dig into our food. It’s hearty and hot, exactly what you’d want on a fall day that’s just starting to get cool enough for sweaters and boots. The cheese is rich, the beer helps us relax, and the atmosphere of other young people chatting and enjoying themselves makes us feel... comfortable. It’s not something I’m used to, I realize.

Just being somewhere with Serena is a special pleasure I missed dearly.

“You look thoughtful,” Serena says as she sets down her beer, going through it a little faster than I am. It’s making her cheeks rosy, and the whole picture of her looking a little tipsy in that sweater against the brick wall makes my heart feel all the warmer.

“I just forgot how much luxury there is in the world,” I say, looking around at the place with a smile on my face. “I know this place doesn’t look like much, but it’s these little things you forget when you’re locked away.”

“Like beer and cheese soup?” she asks with a playful smile on her face that I return.

“Yes, like beer and cheese soup,” I say. “Really though. Little things. Walls and floors that aren’t gray concrete. The feel of a warm fire. Clothes that aren’t the same thing every day.” I look back to her. “Spending time with you.”

I kick her gently under the table, and she crosses her leg with mine, resting her chin on her hands and beaming at me.

“Those letters really did keep me going in there,” I say to her, leaning forward. “I would have lost sight of the real world and all its pleasures. They were like... little breaths of fresh air before going back down under again. I can’t believe how much I took for granted out here.”

She nods thoughtfully, swirling her beer around. “I’ve thought about that too. There’s so much I don’t even think about in my day to day life.”

“One thing I could never take for granted, though,” I say in a low, husky tone, and I lean forward to kiss her on the lips which she meets with a soft, surprised moan, made all the warmer by the beer.

When we break apart, I pull out a few bills and set them on the table. I nod over to the couches by the fireplace as another group gets up to leave. “I’ve got the bill. Want to get a few more drinks?”

Serena hesitates a moment, biting her lip and squirming in her chair. I know that look: she’s not used to spending that much, not for a long time. But I put a hand on her smaller ones and give her a reassuring smile, and that old excitement comes back to her eyes. “Oh, sure, why not?”

Serena goes to ‘save’ the seat while I go and get more drinks: a beer for me and a mixed drink for her, one of the fancy cocktails she picked out from the menu with cinnamon and whisky. When I walk back over to her, I can see she’s already curled herself up by the fire, looking at me with the firelight dancing off her hair.

She looks radiant. Every time I see her, I’m reminded of how lucky I am to have her with me, and it reminds me what I’m fighting for. It’s not just me anymore. A lot of young men forget that. I’m not so foolish.

I sit down, making the couch groan in protest under my bulk as I wrap my big arm around her and hug her to me while we clink our glasses together softly in the fire’s warmth. We’re almost too close to the fire that it burns, keeping just barely out of harm’s way, still enjoying ourselves together. It’s just like our everyday life, but so much richer.

“I think I could get used to a place like this,” I say, running my hand up and down her arm as she sips her drink through the tiny straws they gave her.

“Are we turning into upstate hipsters now?” she giggles, wiggling her hips into me.

“Not quite,” I chuckle, “but I have to admit, I missed the quiet life.”

“Was your hometown quiet?” she asks.

“Kind of. Taranto isn’t a quiet place. But my home was on the outskirts of town, and it’s a lot more peaceful out there. Not nearly as rich as you are here, but there’s something to be said for the... rustic charm,” I say, smiling down at her before planting a kiss on her lips. I feel my manhood growing between my legs, and even though I can’t act on it here, it makes me feel even closer to Serena.

“I could get into that,” she says.

“You might like it around here more, I think,” I say, “but I’d like to take you there sometime. Here, though,” I say, pointing to the tables around the place, “I can tell some friend of the owners must be a carpenter. These are good tables. Chairs, too. They make some of these things in factories to look like they’re handmade, but any real carpenter can tell the difference.”

She nestles her head into my shoulder and gives a contented sigh. “I suppose I could see us up here. My shop could do alright in a place like this, and everyone needs carpenters.”

“True,” I say, squeezing her thigh, “I could go just about anywhere you think you’d like to set your business up. Not that the Bronx is too terrible.”

“It’s alright,” she says, wistfully looking into the fire, “just... a lot of baggage, you know?”

“I do know,” I say, staring into the fire with her. We’re quiet for a few moments, but she looks back up at me and smiles.

“I’d rather make new memories with you.”

I bring my face down to hers, and we lock lips, a deep, long kiss. I don’t care that we’re in public. I love the feel of her melting into me as our tongues explore each other briefly, and we break apart. I’m about to kiss her again when the sound of music reaches our ears, and I turn my head to see a band playing live music up on stage. It’s folksy, and to my surprise, the singer is Italian, singing in my mother tongue. I have to admit, they’re not bad, and I smile at them.

Serena nudges me.

“Hey, it’s kinda like the old world music you and your friends used to listen to.”

I blink and give her a confused look, laughing.

“Wait, do you think this is what that sounded like?”

“Shut up, it is!” Serena says, giggling yet blushing, self-conscious.

I laugh and hug her close to me, peppering her in kisses as I set my finished drink on the table and start to stand up. “Okay, now I have to bring you back home and show you the real music. But at least I can remind you how we dance back home.”

“Bruno, this is a restaurant!” she laughs as I pull her to her feet, but I don’t care.

“Good, we can show them too,” I say, and we start dancing to the lively tune in front of the fire. The band catches on and keeps the good vibes going, encouraging us to keep going as we move to the rhythm and Serena nearly falls over from laughing so much, the alcohol and the mood getting to her.

Works every time.

But soon, the song winds down, and I don’t want to attract too much attention to ourselves. I admit, it was a little irresponsible to start dancing with my girl in a crowded restaurant, but nobody’s going to recognize us here.

Besides, a life not taking risks for your loved ones isn’t a life worth living.