Page 31 of Matteo

“Lizzie?” He can see right through me.

I take a sip of my tea, just the right temperature of hot and soothing. “It was nothing exciting.” I try to sound not bothered, but it doesn't quite land like that.

“Why is that?”

“Do you really want to know?” I cry. “It's boring.”

“I'm interested in your life, Lizzie. It's not boring to me.”

Bless his heart. I love that about him. I've been invisible for so much of my life that having someone genuinely want to know about my day takes getting used to.

I set down my cup, remembering that painful, rollercoaster day, but the sentiment that lingers is one of embarrassment and pain. “There were two of them.”

“Two?”

“A father and son who watched the presentation.”

“Who didn't you like? The father or the son?”

I sidestep the question. “The interview went really well.”

“Hmm.” Arthur looks pensive, his eyes burning into me like he's seeing through me. “Then why don't you want to work there? You said it was a great place. You said it would help with your own business.”

I shrug. “I just didn't feel it, this time. The father comes across as not very nice.”

“And the son?”

I reach for a muffin and slowly peel apart the paper case, but I feel my cheeks coloring. “Nothing special.”

“Is he the reason you don't want to work there?” he asks, gently.

I laugh, and it's so false, and he knows I'm lying.

“Why would you say that, Arthur?”

“Because you don't get to being seventy-eight years of age without knowing about these things, Lizzie.”

“I'm not sure I know what you're talking about.” I break off a piece of my muffin and pop it into my mouth. It's so good.

“What happened with the son?”

I almost choke on the muffin, whether in shock or surprise, I can't tell. “Nothing.” But my voice is high-pitched now, and that's a tell.

Arthur rubs his hands together. “The son,” he says, a knowing smile on his face. “Is he ‘beau’ material?”

“Stop it, Arthur!” My cheeks are red, I can feel the heat crawling along my skin. “It was an interview, not a date.”

He sits back, lifts up his cup of tea and assesses me carefully. “I'm not so sure, Lizzie. You're getting awfully worked up over someone who was just interviewing you.”

I don't answer, and we sit in silence for a while.

“I should get going,” Arthur says, getting up. “These are delicious, Lizzie.”

“Thanks for coming over.” I hand him the plastic container.

He gently rests his hand on my arm. “It'll work itself out. Don't you worry. These things often do.”

I smile, because I'm not sure I fully understand, or believe him. Still, I'm glad he popped over. I feel better for having someone to talk to instead of ruminating about these things in my head.