I pull out my phone, open my portfolio site, and hand it to him.
He scrolls through slowly, studying each design. I watch his face, trying to gauge his reaction, but he's maddeningly unreadable.
Finally, he looks up. "These are excellent."
"You don't have to say that."
"I'm not." He hands my phone back. "You have talent, Lily. Real talent."
Something warm and unfamiliar blooms in my chest.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Have you thought about freelancing? Building a client base while you finish school?"
"I have. But it's hard to get clients when you're just starting out."
"Not if you know the right people."
I blink. "Are you offering to help me?"
"I'm offering to introduce you to my brother who has a few colleagues who might need design work. What you do with those introductions is up to you."
I don't know what to say. "That's... really generous."
"It's practical. You're talented. They need help. Everyone wins."
He says it like it's simple. Like helping me is just the logical thing to do.
But it's not simple. Not to me.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" I blurt out.
Ethan's expression softens. "Why wouldn’t I be nice to you? The way I see it, you deserve to have the same kindness bestowed upon you as you do others."
The air between us shifts.
I should look away. Change the subject. But I can't.
"Lily." His voice is lower now. Quieter. "Can I be honest with you?"
"I prefer honesty."
"I like you."
My heart stops. We might have to call 9-1-1. I’m pretty sure my body has forgotten how to work. I’m holding my breath. My heart isn’t beating. I might just pass out.
"I like the way you think. The way you care about the details. The way you light up when you talk about design." He pauses. "And I like the way you blush when I look at you."
Oh God.
"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," he continues. "But I think we should address this. Whatever this is."
"I don't know what this is," I admit.
"Neither do I. But I'd like to find out."
My mind is racing. "Ethan, I'm working for you. That's... complicated."
