Somewhere Only We Know

He chose a small coffee shop on a quiet corner of L.A. (who knew such a thing existed). It didn't have a lot of hype, and Olivia knew this because she thought she knew of every little hangout in the city. But when she arrived at the hole in the wall, she could see why he chose it.
There was not a photographer in sight. There were no tourists in this part of the city. There was nothing for blocks and blocks but blocks and blocks. It was quiet here. He must love that, she thought.
She noticed a man sitting in the back reading a paper, dark-rimmed glasses covering eyes of an indistinct color, sipping on tea. His gray cable-knit sweater told his age, but still gave him a polished look. And as his eyes met hers, he flashed a familiar lopsided smile of perfect white teeth.
"Olivia," he breathed. It didn't sound as much like a greeting as it did a word of self-assurance. It was like he was telling himself who she was. It was almost like he couldn't believe it. He couldn't.
"Cary Grant?" she joked as she approached. She looked so much like Alexa, only she had Jeremy's eyes. Her red hair and freckles seemed to be a gift from an unknown source, but her smile - that was all Alexa.
He walked up to her with arms outstretched, but when she hugged him it was only because she didn't want to embarrass him. It was slightly awkward, but she felt better once they sat down.
He tapped his fingers nervously on the table as he waited or her to talk. He needed her to do it first. If he talked first, he was afraid he'd say too much.
"So," she started after a few moments of pregnant silence, "You're my father, huh?"
He smiled as he offered her the plate of fresh fruit. "Am I?"
"You didn't know for sure, did you? Maybe you even believed it wasn't you who was my father."
As his smiled vanished, he ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. "I always wanted to be your dad," he answered.
"Well, you are." She showed his the letter. She was touched by the way he read over it, studying each word. She expected a smile from him, but his face was straight. He just kept looking at it like he couldn't grip the truth just in front of him.
"So, you're Jeremy Renner," she said. "Um, that's... that's pretty awesome."
He took a moment to react, simply looking up and nodding. There were tears in his eyes.
"Are you ok?" she asked.
"I've never been better," he said. "I've never been better in my life."
"I'm sorry if this is a bad time to spring it on you," she told him. "I just turned 18, and I have college coming up in the fall, and I thought I would take some time to travel and, you know, meet my father. And by the way, I still can't believe it's actually you!"
He smiled warmly at her.
Olivia had always been a little awkward due to her mother's overprotective nature, but sitting with a much older man who was practically a stranger was smothering her with uneasiness. They sat there and smiled at each other. His was one of admiration and reminiscence while hers was forced, trying to settle into an odd situation.
"I-I picked this place because I figured, hey, you're 18, you must love hip coffeehouses, right?"
She grinned a bit, glad to hear he'd planned this place for her sake, even if it wasn't what she was used to.
"I love it!" she lied, and quite convincingly. Being the child of two actors had certainly rubbed off on her.
"They have great lattes. You like lattes?"
She'd never had one. Her mother barely let her drink soda, let alone coffee. "I suppose I could try one."
"Tell me how you like it. I'll go get one for you."
"Oh, um..." she tried to think if she even knew what lattes were. "Just, any kind. Make it sweet."
He left to order for her, and she sat across from the empty seat. She stared at it, as if she expected that to talk, too. He had left his wallet. She peaked inside. Driver's license, credit cards, cash. Lots of cash. Enough to where he wouldn't miss a few bucks. She grabbed a handful as quickly as she could before he came back.
"So I put a little vanilla in it, too," he announced as he sat down. "That's how I like 'em. If you don't like it that way, I can change it."
She took a sip. It was disgusting, but again, she didn't show any indication that it was anything less than satisfactory.
"I bet you've never tasted anything like that, huh?"
"Never!"
He smiled as he grabbed more fruit and apparently felt more comfortable. "So," he began, "Tell me about yourself. What do you do?"
"I don't really do anything," she told him. "What do you do?" She immediately realized how ridiculous that question was. "I mean, besides, you know, acting and stuff."
"I like to fix up houses," he told her. "I find these really great examples of architecture in homes that otherwise need a lot of work, and I invest a lot of money in them to get them all - "
He could see he was losing her interest.
"I play guitar," he said. "And a little piano, drums, you know. I sing a bit."
"Really?" As she spoke, Jeremy danced a little victory jig in his head. "I was in a band in high school. But we've all kind of gone our separate ways. That happens during senior year sometimes. People pick their colleges and fall in love and just kinda get caught up in their own worlds and stuff just happens," she explained. "And then you just don't see each other anymore."
"That's cool, though," he said. "What kind of music did you guys play?"
"You know that death metal band DeathSlate? We cover a lot of their stuff."
He looked at the sweet little princess dressed in pink in front of him. "Death metal, huh? I would think you'd be more into someone like Taylor Swift or something."
"Who?"
He wondered when he became so old. "You know, soft country, pop, light rock at least."
"Why would you think that? Because I'm a girl?"
Because she was HIS girl actually, but he didn't say that. "No it's just, you seem so sweet."
"Well, why can't I be sweet and play decent music?"
"Well I wouldn't exactly call DeathSlate decent music," he said. "But if you like it, I'm sure it's fine."
She just kind of ignored him, painfully sipping more latte.
"So what are you going to school for in the fall?"
"I'm going to do hair and make up. It's called being a cosmetologist. You basically just have to know how to cut hair and make someone look pretty. A lot of people think it's just an easy A, but it's something I'm really passionate about."
He bit the corner of his mouth to keep from laughing. He loved how she lit up when she talked about her ambitions, and he thought of how adorable she was being, explaining cosmetology to him.
"You know, I was a makeup artist for a little while before I got my first big acting job," he told her.
"You're shitting me! You?"
"Wow, well you certainly have a mouth on you don't you?"
Her face fell, embarrassed.
"No, I think it's awesome. You get that from me, you know."
"My mom has a potty mouth, too," she told him. "You don't inherit swearing."
"No, but you inherit the courage to use it."
She pushed the drink away after another sip. She just couldn't pretend anymore. She leaned forward and looked into his eyes. "I get those from you, don't I?"
He looked into hers. "I guess you do," he smiled, seeing there was no doubt that she did.
"And you're a lefty, right?" She observed that he'd used this hand to remove his glasses and sip his drink.
"You are, too?"
"I am," she said.
"So I guess we have some things in common," he told her.
"I guess we do."
"So, what are you doing with the rest of today?"
She pretended to think for a while, knowing she had a clear schedule, but not wanting to appear desperate. "I guess the stuff I have planned can wait until tomorrow. Why?"
"Just wondering if you wanted to see a movie or something?"
"Sure," she smiled. "I'd like that."