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Chapter Twenty-Three
“Kitchen is through this corridor.” He leads the way.
As we walk, I gawk at everything.
The place is huge, especially for New York. The décor reminds me of our office—cold, modern, spotless. But unlike at work, there are human touches here as well. Specifically, posters of The Matrix movie franchise. And I mean a lot of posters. In multiple languages. Of every character. There are even posters tangentially related to it, like the one that states, “In Soviet Russia, Bullet Dodges You.”
We enter the kitchen.
“Sit.” He presses a button on an espresso machine. “Milk, sugar?”
“Just black is fine.” I plop on a chrome barstool. “So, let me guess. The Matrix is your favorite movie.”
He cocks his head. “What gave me away? Was it the trench coat?”
I want to smack myself on the forehead. He loves that movie so much he even dresses like the characters.
How did I not pick up on that?
I grin. “Oracle. That’s also a reference, isn’t it?”
He pours two cups of coffee and puts one in front of me. “Tell me you like the first Matrix.”
“I don’t like it.” I blow on my coffee. “I love it. I’ve been Trinity for every Halloween since I’ve seen it.”
He gives me such an admiring look that, for the first time ever, I wonder if this could actually work between us.
Whatever this is.
We love the same movie.
We’re into coding.
I find him attractive, and he clearly doesn’t think me hideous.
If only I’d met him outside of work.
“Every programmer likes The Matrix, at least a little,” he says. “How can we not? The hero is one of us.”
I take a big sip. The coffee is good, smooth and only moderately bitter. “How psyched are you about the fourth one?”
He grins. “Since they confirmed its existence a few months back, I’ve been counting down the days.”
Hmm. I wonder if he’d take me to the premiere.
“What’s your favorite scene?” I ask.
He tells me, and I share what mine were. Then we talk about other movies we like, and here, too, our likes and dislikes fit together like pieces of a puzzle.
“Can I see Oracle’s room?” I ask when the coffee is gone.
With a wide grin, he leads me there.
It’s as big as it seemed on the screen. There are millions of people in NYC who have less square footage than this lucky pig.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Still drunk?”
This again? I glare up at him. “I wasn’t drunk before. Even less so now.”
