"This is incredible," I say, and I'm not exaggerating. It's the best pasta I've ever had.
"My mother's recipe," he says. "She taught me when I was a teenager. My dad’s mother taught her. An Italian man married to an Irishwoman. We were never without good food at home."
"She's a good teacher."
"She is."
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, and I'm struck by how easy this feels. How natural.
"Can I ask you something?" Ethan says.
"Of course."
"What made you say yes? To this job, I mean."
I set down my fork. "Honestly?"
"Always."
"The money." I laugh. "I know that's not romantic or noble, but I'm a broke twenty-six-year-old with student loans and a car that's one bad pothole away from falling apart."
"That's fair."
"But also..." I hesitate. "The way you looked at me. When you made the offer. Like you actually believed I could do this."
"Because I do."
"You still don't know me."
"I know enough." He leans back in his chair, studying me. "You're thoughtful. Detail-oriented. You care about getting things right. That's more than most people." Did he Google me, too? Do I want to know? Not if I don’t want him knowing I did a deep dive into him as well.
Heat creeps up my neck. "Thank you."
"What about you?" he asks. "What do you want to do? Long-term, I mean. Is personal shopping your goal?"
I almost laugh. "No. God, no."
"Then what?"
I take a breath. "Graphic design. Specifically book cover and social media design for the book world. I love creating visuals that capture the essence of a story. The mood, the characters, the feeling you get when you read it."
"That's specific."
"I've been working toward it for a while. I'm taking college classes, building a portfolio. But it's expensive, and I need to work to pay for it, which means less time to actually design."
"Catch-22."
"Exactly."
Ethan's quiet for a moment. Then he says, "Can I see your work?"
"My... my portfolio?"
"Yes."
"You really want to see it?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."
