“So I told you about my job, but I don’t think you’ve ever talked about your work,” he says over Panang curry. “What do you do?”
“Oh.” A whisper of embarrassment passes through me. I mean, my sister and his brother are both writers, and he has his dream job, whereas I…
He tilts his head to one side, watching me curiously, then amusement colors his features. “Wait,” he says, fighting off a smile. “It’s not something to do with porn, is it?”
It takes me a second to realize he’s teasing me, and I let out a laugh. “Oh, yes,” I joke. “Surely you’re familiar with my work?”
The side of his mouth kicks up in a sexy grin, his eyes burning into mine as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I am.”
My heart stumbles against my ribs and I glance down, mentally kicking myself. I need to be more careful.
“I, er, work in a cafe,” I mumble. “Making coffee, clearing tables, whatever.” I shrug. Then out of nowhere I hear myself saying, “But one day I’d love to open my own cafe. One that has board games you can play while you drink coffee and eat delicious baked things.” I jab my chopsticks into my noodles, surprised at myself.
Luke’s eyes brighten with enthusiasm. “That would be so cool! Tell me more about it.”
I smile, buoyed by his response. And then—I can’t quite believe myself—I set my food down and stand, grabbing the napkin from my bag and handing it over. I sink down onto the sofa again, feeling slightly ill and wondering what the hell I’m doing, showing this to him when I’ve never showed it to anyone else.
He sets his own food aside, carefully unfolding the worn napkin. It’s probably nonsense to him, given how many random ideas are scrawled on there, in no real order. But he turns it different ways, tilting his head as he examines every scribble. Then he folds it and hands it back without saying anything. I tuck it into my bag and pick my food up again, avoiding his gaze.
“I know it’s silly.” My face is hot as I stare down at my noodles. “It’s just—”
“It’s not silly at all.” He studies me for a moment. “You know, there are a few board game cafes here in the city.”
“Oh. There are? Well… never mind then.” I stuff a spring roll in my mouth. I thought it was an original idea, but if people are already doing it, then I’m too late. Disappointment lodges uncomfortably in my solar plexus. I didn’t realize quite how much I wanted this.
“No,” Luke says with a kind smile. “What I mean is, it’s obviously a concept that can work. If you do it right, it could be really cool.”
I munch my spring roll, thinking. Even though I dismissed the idea as unrealistic, it’s been blossoming inside me for years now. It would be the perfect way to combine my skills from working in the cafe with my love of games. But then I remind myself that our board game club back home closed due to lack of interest, and sigh. “I don’t think it would take off in my town,” I say. Thinking about home now stirs an odd feeling inside me. Despite it being little more than a week since I left, it seems almost like a different lifetime. “And I don’t know anything about running a business,” I add.
Luke nods, reaching for another carton of food. “Well, you could take classes in business.”
My shoulders slump as I think about university. I never went, not like Alex. After high school and all the drama, all the anxiety it caused me, I just couldn’t face the thought of going to university.
“Yeah, maybe,” I murmur, wishing I’d never brought it up. “So, um, what game were you playing?”
His face lights up and he starts off on an impassioned spiel about the game and the designer of it and how ground-breaking it is. I nod along, half listening, half thinking about my board game cafe and trying to ignore the sense of defeat that’s settled over me.
I’m just about to reach for my whiskey when, out of the corner of my eye, I see something moving across the floor. Not just something—a turtle.
What?
I rub my eyes then check again—and yes, there is a turtle on the floor. What the hell?
“Is that… a turtle?”
Luke turns to look and heaves out a sigh. “Shit,” he mutters, setting down his food and pushing to his feet. “Not again.” He steps over and scoops up the turtle, shaking his head in disapproval.
“I’m sorry, what is happening right now?”
He gives me a sheepish look. “This is my turtle, Donnie.”
“Donnie?”
Somehow, he looks even more sheepish when he clarifies, “Donatello.”
I gulp down the giggle rising up my throat. “As in—”
“Yes.”
