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“Yeah.”

“What do you do there?”

I tell him about the campaigns I'm working on, and when he asks how I ended up in nonprofit advertising instead of going the corporate route, I find myself giving him a much longer answer than I intended.

He listens. Actually listens, asking questions about our fundraising campaigns and the kind of organizations we work with.

It's refreshing.

Most guys hear nonprofit and either assume I spend my days hugging trees or immediately start telling me how much money I'd make if I switched to a corporate agency.

Adam doesn't do either.

“So you get to use your advertising skills for something you believe in,” he says when I finish.

“Exactly.”

“That's pretty cool.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

For a few minutes, I relax. Talking about work is easy. I know what I'm doing there, and I don't have to wonder whether I'm supposed to lean forward or hold eye contact for another three seconds.

Then he asks what I like doing when I'm not working.

And somehow, I'm right back to feeling like I'm being interviewed for a position I desperately want to qualify for.

I tell him about my friends, the books I read, and a few places I like going around LA. All perfectly true things, but I hear myself making them sound more interesting than they are.

I almost mention Pickles.

Then I'd have to explain whose dog he is, and I really don't want to do that.

“What about you?” I ask instead.

Adam tells me about his job in wealth management, and I ask a few questions because I genuinely know next to nothing about it. He explains what he does without making me feel stupid, and when I admit that most of my financial planning consists of hoping I don't have to replace my car anytime soon, he laughs.

“You're doing better than you think.”

It’s a perfectly nice answer. But I can’t help but wonder what Wyatt would say if I told him the same thing.

I can practically hear him making some ridiculous comment about it.

My smile fades.

Stop it.

Adam is sitting right in front of me. He's handsome, thoughtful, and clearly interested. I should be paying attention to him instead of imagining what some other guy might say.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Sorry.” I reach for my wine. “Just got distracted for a second.”

“No worries.”

He smiles, and I smile back.

Adam looks so pleased to be here that I wish I could feel the same way.