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Caleb asked a lot of fucking questions. He asked things that made me stop and think.

“What would you be doing if you weren’t designing?”

“Designing.”

“That’s a bullshit answer.”

“It’s my answer.”

“You don’t have any dreams that you gave up?”

I looked over at him while we were sitting on the floor of his unfinished office eating takeout because the furniture delivery had been pushed back another week.

“Why do you assume everybody has some abandoned dream?”

“Because most people do.”

“Do you?”

He dipped a fry into ketchup. “I asked first.”

I rolled my eyes. “I wanted to be an architect when I was little.”

“What happened?”

“I realized architects have to care about shit like whether buildings fall down.”

He laughed. “That’s really why?”

“No.” I smiled. “I realized I cared more about what happened after the walls went up.”

He just sat there watching me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m listening.”

“With your eyes?”

The corner of his lips formed into a smirk. “Sometimes.”

Something fluttered through my stomach.

I reached for another fry. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Abandoned dream.”

He leaned back against the wall. “Family.”

I frowned. “Family is your abandoned dream?”

“No.” He looked down at the container in his hands. “Not abandoned.”