I frowned as I wondered what he was on about, scrolling back to see if I’d missed another message from him, but no; I didn’t have any other unread emails.
I opened up the DMs instead, and Greg’s message quickly made sense. Two different people had messaged me, asking for information about my brand design packages. Apparently Greg had shared his new logo in a Facebook group for aspiring small business owners, and they were interested in my services because they’d liked his logo so much.
I practically jumped out of the rocking chair, which was more difficult than one might think, and which almost resulted in my phone flying into the pond. But I managed to avoid disaster and ran inside, desperate to tell Jack the good news. After everything he’d said about my art last night, I knew he’d be over the moon for me.
But when I ran inside, Jack was just setting the table with two plates full of food.
“Voilà,” he said, doing a little hand flourish around the steaming spread, putting on a terrible French accent. “Dinner is served.”
I sat down at the table, deciding to let Jack show off his surprisingly fancy creation – a dish of “pan-fried wood pigeon in an orange glaze” – before accosting him with my design news. I took a bite and practically sank into my chair; the bitter chicory and vibrant pomegranate seeds he’d paired it with added just the right touch. And the white wine, which he’d topped up when I’d sat down, went perfectly with it.
“I didn’t know you were such a chef,” I said. “But this is incredible.”
“Can I admit something?” he asked.
“There’s a little rat hiding in your hair who actually made this dinner?”
Jack laughed, and I smiled at how satisfied I was to have caused it.
“No, but that would be better. Rather than a rat, it’s Phil.”
“Phil is hiding in your hair?” I asked, squinting and moving my head around as if to get a better look. “I know he’s not a tall guy, but that feels like quite the feat.”
Jack laughed some more, and I chuckled along with him. It was such a far cry from the stoicism he’d shown months ago. I wouldn’t have wanted to go back to that for anything, now that I’d seen how silly and joyful he could be.
“No,” he said again, “Phil is the cook.”
“Oh, well I knew that,” I said. “But really, is he hiding here somewhere? Because if not, it feels like you did this.”
“Well, I was on the phone to him pretty much the whole time. He sent me the recipe, told me where to shop, and talked me through it. Why do you think I sent you out to the deck?” I smiled at him, and he held my gaze for a moment as he took a bite. He was clearly enjoying making me smile as much as I was enjoying making him laugh.
Well, if he wanted to see me smile, I could help him out.
After I’d taken enough bites of my food that I could stand to part with my fork for a moment, I unlocked my phone and pulled up one of the messages I’d got.
“Look at this,” I said, handing him the phone. “I’ve gotten two enquiries since I sent Greg his logo. People love it! People want to pay me for design!”
“Of course they do!” he said, matching my enthusiasm. He handed me my phone back. “You’re so talented! They’d be idiots not to want to work with you.”
“And I was thinking you were right,” I continued. “Maybe I want to do this as my job.”
Jack’s fork paused slightly on the way to his mouth, but then he carried on as if it had just been a glitch. “I mean, yeah! You should probably build your client base up a bit before you go full-time, especially with your house situation, but that sounds great. I’m really proud of you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m really proud of me, too. Though I’m not sure I’m cut out for the whole freelance thing full-time.”
Now his fork stopped all the way, and he set it down on his plate and looked up at me. “What do you mean? Like, you want it as a side hustle?”
I shook my head, my smile faltering slowly. Hadn’t this been his idea? “No, I mean, maybe I want to apply to some design jobs. Like, at companies.”
“Oh,” he said, the enthusiasm dropping like a lead balloon. I stayed quiet for a moment to let him continue, but he didn’t. And the lack of excitement was riling me up.
“Sorry, Jack, but just to clarify, this is a good thing. You helped me have this big revelation last night that I may actually be good at this, now I’m choosing to pursue my passion, yada yada. Why aren’t you more excited?”
He stayed frozen for a long moment, his eyes fixed on his plate before he spoke. “This is not the direction I thought this conversation would go,” he said, his voice low.
“Yeah, well, me either,” I said,myvoice definitelynotlow. “Given how effusive you were last night, I sort of expected you to be happier for me.”
“You expected me to be happy that you want to leave?” He asked, his voice rising in volume to match mine. He looked up from his plate finally, and I could see that there was hurt in his eyes.
