I chuckled, nudging her foot under the table. “Just Callan. Human guy from Queens.”
She considered this as she took another bite of fish. “I think I like ‘just Callan’ better than ‘Callan Burkhardt, tech billionaire.’”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He seems more real. Less rehearsed.”
“I am quite rehearsed. You have to be, when everyone’s watching. One wrong move, one bad decision, and suddenly you’re not the boy genius anymore. You’re the cautionary tale. The guy people reference in business school as ‘what not to do with your first billion.’”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It can be. There’s this constant pressure to never fail. To always have the answer. To be the smartest person in every room.”
“Are you?” she asked. “The smartest person in every room?”
“Usually. Until I met you,” I said with a grin, then sobered. “But that’s not the point. The point is that everyone expects me to be. And when your whole identity, your whole value, is built around being the guy with the answers...”
“You can’t ever admit you don’t know something,” she finished for me.
“Exactly.”
She nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I get that, in a way. Not the billionaire part, obviously. But the pressure to always have the answer, to always be in control. To make it look effortless even when you’re barely holding it together.”
“Wedding planning,” I guessed.
“It’s not just about making pretty centerpieces,” she confirmed. “It’s about managing expectations, emotions, family dynamics... all while making it look easy. If I plan everything perfectly, nothing can go wrong.”
“Except when it does anyway,” I pointed out. “Like sprinkler systems with a vendetta against wedding dresses.”
“That’s what the emergency kits are for. And the backup plans for the backup plans. And the emergency contact list for when the backup to the backup fails. And sometimes, apparently, billionaires who show up at the last minute to help save the day.”
“I do look dashing in a superhero cape. Though the spandex chafes in unfortunate places.”
“You’re very good at that,” she observed.
“At chafing? I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m good at it, more that I’m particularly susceptible to?—”
“At deflecting. Whenever the conversation gets too real, you make a joke.”
I blinked, caught off guard by her insight. “Force of habit. Vulnerability isn’t exactly encouraged in board rooms.”
“We’re not in a board room,” she pointed out, gesturing to the water.
“No,” I agreed, meeting her eyes. “We’re not.”
A seagull dive-bombed our table, snatching a piece of fish and breaking the spell.
“Feathered menace!” I shouted, waving my hands. “Go steal from the tourists with fanny packs! They expect it!”
Anica burst out laughing, and I joined her
We finished our meal and continued exploring the island, wandering through small shops and along the beach. The afternoon slipped away without either of us noticing, lost in conversation that ranged from childhood memories to professional disasters to favorite movies (she loved old black and white films, I preferred action blockbusters with improbable explosions).
“Tell me something no one else knows about you,” I said as we walked along the water’s edge, shoes in hand, letting the warm water lap at our feet. “Something that would shock your clients.”
She thought for a moment. “I hate cake.”
“What?” I stopped walking, genuinely surprised. “But you’re a wedding planner! Cake is like... 30% of your job!”
