Mint and apricots

59. Steamin' Mugs

Sam had discovered the Steamin' Mugs by accident more than three years earlier, only a few months after his return to Sioux Falls. From then on, that narrow little place, as immersed as it was in the nature of Maple Gardens, had become one of his points of reference in the chaotic landscape of city hangouts, one of his favorite places to spend rainy afternoons in a solitude that Sam allowed himself to define as simply perfect: with a book or his laptop as his only companion and the cups of tea that could go on for hours without anyone pressuring him to clear the table.

That place was the quintessence of hospitality. The cafeteria spaces were modest, not so much more than a corridor, but the warm colors on the walls, the glass wall that overlooked the tree-lined panorama of the park – now covered in snow – and the owner's kindness never failed to warm Sam's heart and nurture his affection for the place. Not to mention the variety of coffees, teas, hot chocolates, infusions and sweet and savory snacks available from the first light of dawn until late at night.

When Sam entered the café, making the rainbow wind chime over the door jingle, Gabriel was already there. Sitting at the table furthest from the entryway, he looked up from the forearms that he had laid resting on the pale wood surface as he heard that placid dling dling, and poured all his anticipation on Sam. Gabriel straightened his back, before returning to look at his wrists in a blink of an eye, as if he feared he had dared to give one too many looks. But Sam had had time to catch a hint of relief in those honey-colored eyes of his.

Sam didn't think he could judge him for thinking he might not show up. Despite being the first one of them rushing out of the Bring me the herbs, Sam had taken more than the twenty minutes he had announced because his walk had been longer than the absolute minimum. He had allowed the cold air of the night to clear his mind and the walk to stabilize the pace of his heart, still feverish at the memory of the song. And it was evident that Gabriel was anxious enough to indulge in worst-case scenarios. Sam could understand that.

"Oh, is it you he's waiting for?"

The voice of the middle-aged woman who was drying dishware behind the counter came unexpectedly and popped the bubble in which Sam had taken refuge. Realizing that she had addressed him — the only other customers were a couple of women conversing over a plate of sandwiches and pastries and Gabriel, and all of them were too far away to hear her — he nodded. The lady looked up from the glass she was now holding and smiled at him with maternal enthusiasm, moving a lock of red hair away from her face with a jerk of her head.

"Lucky boy," she commented, making Sam smile too.

"Which one of us are you talking about?"

"In all honesty, sweetheart, I'd have a hard time choosing" the lady pondered merrily, and then motioned him gently to go towards the back of the room. "Take a seat, I'll be right there. And don't worry about him. Looking at his face, you'd think he was afraid you would stand him up, but the truth is that he's only been here for a few minutes. He will survive."

Wondering how she had figured out his exact concern, Sam had to comply.

He didn't know exactly why he felt that electric current of nervousness pulsing through every nerve in his body. After all, the man he was heading towards had made all the right moves to deserve a second chance – and damn Sam felt electrocuted. But it was as if there was still something unsolved between them, and Sam had learned to fear unfinished business. By now he knew that no new beginning could ever be considered such, without some real clarification coming first.

So it happened that, when he reached the table Gabriel had chosen, he just sat in front of the man and said nothing. He cursed himself, actually, for his own inability to be the first to get a few words out, having just received a serenade that had torn his soul apart. Thank God Gabriel, even while he was his most nervous self, had never had much trouble making speeches. His opening, in front of the way Sam's eyes insisted on staring at him, was a short cough.