I shook my head but didn’t bother objecting aloud for a second time. Under no circumstances would I be asking him to increase my pay.
He stretched his long legs under the table and leaned back in his chair. My knee silently protested the loss of contact. My fingers skated along the spot where our legs had been pressed together for the last several minutes. He looked like a man that was so comfortable—in his house, sitting at his kitchen table—there was no place he’d rather be.
“So, tell me about this Insider Trading book,” he beckoned.
“No shit, this dude goes into his girlfriend’s home office, goes through her private work documents, and then invests $100K into a company heknowsis about to be bought.”
“It actually happens more often than you’d think.”
“Fuck, I feel bad for her. It’s not her fault she trusted the wrong person.”
“I do too! That’s exactly my point. But the investigator—he doesn’t feel bad for her at first. He thinks it was reckless she left the documents lying around. Until he gets to know her better and realizes what she’s lost far outweighs the magnitude of her error.”
Luke watched me intently as I spoke. “I think it sounds great. I want a signed copy.”
I shoved his shoulder. His body didn’t move at all.
“What?” he asked, eyes flaring with mock indignation.
“You’re humoring me.”
“I am not! I listened to the whole pitch, and it sounds good. I’ll watch the movie, too. I love that white collar crime shit.”
I didn’t fight my smile for once.
He’d opened another beer and refilled my wine glass while I rambled about my story and how I started writing it. We hadn’t moved from the table, but we’d turned our chairs so we were facing each other. I sat cross-legged, my sundress draped over my knees. He’d undone the top two buttons of his shirt, unfortunately only revealing the neck of a white undershirt.
Eventually, I looked back down. He watched me fidget with the skirt of my dress for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry your boyfriend called it a hobby. He probably didn’t mean it to be hurtful, but I know it sucks to hear stuff like that when you’re dreaming about making it a bigger part of your life.”
I looked at him. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience?”
“Yeah. I had more stable options back in Pennsylvania. Established construction companies where I could have gotten a desk job after college. People told me moving to a new place and opening my own business was risky and likely to fail. But I didn’t listen to them. I wanted something that was mine; I wanted to create jobs, provide a more affordable option for people. Our old boss always only wanted to take the big jobs, the most expensive renovations and new builds. Anyone who called that just wanted a new bathroom, or a new deck, we’d turn down. So I made that part of my mission: we’d do bigandsmall jobs. Starting out, it was a lot of the smaller jobs, but eventually those created relationships and leads, and now I get just as many big jobs, too.”
“That’s a pretty awesome origin story for Karas Construction.”
He shrugged, humble.
This man.
“I mean it, it’s impressive.” I grabbed his forearm for emphasis, but quickly removed my hand. His gaze moved to the spot where I’d touched him.
“Thanks, Val,” he murmured.
“It’s inspiring, too,” I added. His eyes widened, like it meantsomething to him that I found him inspiring, like he was surprised I said that.
I finished my glass of wine and angled my head up to the ceiling, a soft sigh escaping my lips as my mind reverted to my own next steps.
Sensing the train of my thoughts, Luke said, “Honestly, Val, and I mean this in a nice way, but who cares if they don’t get it? You get it. You know why you’re doing it. So who cares what your old coworkers or anyone else thinks?”
Luke was right, of course. My therapist had been asking similar questions lately, too, especially after I finally revealed to her how much I loved writing, how I would be excited to wake up every day if that were my real job.
“I know you’re right. I’m…” I pursed my lips to the side. Luke’s gaze flashed to my mouth. “I’m working on it.”
Then my eyes caught the time on the stove: 11:00 p.m.
“It’s late,” I said. “I should probably head home.”
Luke nodded but didn’t move.
