“I like to draw. And paint. I wish I could find a way to get paid to do nothing but create masterpieces all day long, but as you said. That isn’t practical.”
He nodded. “Well, maybe this whole computer science thing will pay off, and your art will become a pastime that makes you money.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What are you majoring in?”
“Finance,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Oh.” I nibbled my bottom lip for a moment. “What do you wish you were majoring in?”
He grinned. “Meteorology.”
“Like a weatherman?”
He laughed. “Sort of, but I don’t want to be on TV. I want to be one of the guys who chases the storms to study all the weather patterns. I want to develop technology that will help get people out of the eye of the storm long before it hits.”
“Wow, and I thought I was going off the rails with an interest in art.”
He glanced at me and sipped his coffee.
“My dad, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather were all in finance. It was expected. But my uncle, the black sheep of the family, went off and did his own thing. He was essentially cut off from the family tree for it, but now he’s living in paradise, in a little hut on the beach, and he runs his own business. He’s not rich, but he’s happy, living his own life, not the one he was almost forced into. That’s what I want.”
I smiled up at him, appreciating his realness. “That’s what everyone wants.”
He shrugged. “Gotta do finance to get there, I suppose.”
He had a point.
We reached the Campbell building and stopped outside the main doors.
“You’re on the third floor,” he said. “Fourth door on your right.”
“That’s very specific,” I said, smiling at him. He really was a handsome guy.
He grinned back at me. “I took that same class last semester. Hated it. You’re in for a treat.”
I groaned, making him laugh.
We fell into silence a moment later, simply staring at one another.
“Hey, I know this sounds weird, but can I get your number?” he asked, his words running close together.
“You really like numbers, huh, Mr. Finance?” I smirked at him.
He let out a genuine laugh and pulled out his phone.
I rattled off my number for him, and he sent me a message, making my phone buzz in my bag.
“Maybe I can show you my favorite math problem,” he said, backing away from me, a twinkle in his eye.
I laughed softly as he shot me a wink and turned to go.
The day was shaping up, and for that, I smiled.
TWELVE
