Two kinds of love

I'm finally taking another creative writing class. The focus is on fiction, which is what I prefer to write. Our first assignment is due tomorrow. The idea is similar to that of an art school - but instead of going to a gallery and drawing the works of art in our sketchbooks, we were asked to read a short story and write one in the same style. Our two choices were a story by Ann Beattie and "Hills Like White Elephants" by Ernest Hemingway. Anyone who knows me knows that Hemingway and I are not the best of friends. That being the case, I chose to fashion my story after his work. Partially for the challenge and partially because writing dialogue is something I've been told I can do. The story is called "Two Kinds of Love", tentatively, and has not been edited. Here it is:

I was reading my book for the second time that afternoon. That's how I read; quickly first, then slowly. The pair walked in sometime during the seventh chapter, but I didn't notice them at first. I noticed them when I looked up to start on my third cup of coffee. I first looked at the building across the street, like I always do. It looks like a courthouse, stately and white. It's part of the college that makes this backwater hole a town, a women's college. He was sitting with her to his left, resolutely looking anywhere but at her face. She stared straight at him with the same kind of stubbornness. They had to be father and daughter.
"No, you don't!" he said, louder than I would have in such a public place.
"I do."
"I'm telling you, you don't. I know more about it than you do, I've had 32 more years of experience than you."
"What does that have to do with anything? You and Mom divorced when I was 12."
He blanched and almost looked her in the face. Recovering, he stared at the same building I had been.
"I knew sending you away to college was a bad idea."
"Yes, because it was college that made me fall in love," she scoffed.
"You would never have gotten the idea into your head if you hadn't come here!"
He gestured at the building as if it were something filthy and guilty of a terrible crime. I had now set down my book entirely, in favor of my coffee. The day was fair but a storm was coming in. You could tell by the uneasiness of the breeze and the half-hearted way the birds searched for crumbs on the sidewalk. The girl looked up at the building too, just as a class let out.
"I'm taking you home with me and there will be no more talk of this."
"Talk of what? You say 'this' like it's a dirty word. I only said I was in love. I thought love was a good thing."
"I told you, it isn't love."
"It's more love than whatever you had with Mom."
She crossed her arms and pouted. He grunted and turned his face farther from hers.
"I'm against this for a good reason and you know it."
"Like what? Give me one good reason."
"It's not right."
"It makes you uncomfortable."
"No."
"Yes."
"Are we going to order lunch?"
He suddenly looked into her face. She picked up a menu and thumbed through without reading.
"I know what I want, we come here all the time."
"What's good then?"
"The tuna."
"Then two tuna sandwiches?" She nodded and called the waitress over to order.
"Anything to drink?" the waitress asked.
"Water," said the girl.
"Coffee," said the father.
The waitress turned to put in the order and the father considered his daughter while she considered the table.
"Perhaps if you would just meet – “
"No."
"Why not? Maybe you would like each other. Maybe you'd really get along."
"I don't think so."
"How can you know? How can you know that it isn't love and that it isn't right until you've seen for yourself?"
"Because I know."
“You don’t.”
“When does this semester end? How soon can you transfer schools?”
“All of the deadlines for transfer applications have passed. Besides, I like it here, I don’t want to transfer.”
“You will anyway.”
“No I won’t.”
“You will if I say you will. How are you going to pay your tuition if I don’t pay it for you?"
“Scholarships, grants, loans – any number of ways,” she spat back, “I don’t need your help anymore. I’m an adult.”
“So you would choose this relationship and this school over me?”
“If you refuse to see me happy, then yes. I choose happiness over misery.”
She smiled a forced smile at the waitress who had just brought the sandwiches and drinks. The waitress sat them down and the father stared at his coffee as if he was considering drowning himself in the mug.
“Will that be all for today?” asked the waitress a little too politely. It was obvious she could feel the tension between the two.
“Yes, thank you,” replied the girl. Her father still seemed to be contemplating breathing coffee into his lungs.
“Are you ok?” she asked him.
Outside, the rain started to fall from the clouds that the awkward breeze had brought and I drained the last bit of my coffee.