“If you need anything else for your baking endeavors, we can order whatever it is, but hopefully this covers the basics,” Luke said.
“Luke, you didn’t have to, this is... it’s too much.”
“Nonsense. A house isn’t a home until it’s filled with stuff that brings you joy. Now this is officially your home.”
My heart swelled so full I wondered how it didn’t burst right here in the kitchen.
“I... thank you.” I should have said more, but there weren’t enough words to adequately express my gratitude. But if the smile he gave me was anything to go by, I think he understoodand I didn’t need to say anything more. It was enough. Somehow, miraculously, I was enough.
Chapter 13
Luke
With Oliver back at work, we had fallen into a steady routine. Three weeks in and we were housemate pros. Since my mornings kicked off earlier, I’d claimed the honorary breakfast-and-coffee shift. In return, because I usually got home later, Oliver had taken over dinner.
I’d wondered at first if it had been carryover from Vincent, some leftover sense of obligation and belief that he had to earn his keep, but he insisted that he liked it, so I let him have it. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate coming home after a long shift and not having to figure out a meal.
“How was your day?” I asked as we dug into dinner. “Didn’t you have that meeting with your team about the low conversion rate on the flagship account?”
“You remembered that?” he asked with surprise that told me Vincent wouldn’t have. No shocker there.
“Well yeah, you sounded excited about your presentation. How did it go?”
He set his fork down, launching into a whole explanation of marketing strategies, data funnels, A/B testing, retargeting metrics, his eyes lighting up as he spoke, hands animated. It made me happy to see him so passionate.
When he finally paused for breath, I chuckled, my hand reaching for the back of my neck. “So, full disclosure? I haveno idea what ninety percent of that meant, but it sounded important.”
The happy, excited expression on his face vanished, his shoulders rolling toward his chest as he tucked his hands under the table, his gaze dropping to his plate. “Sorry. I didn’t... I probably went on too long. I know it isn’t interesting. I didn’t mean to bore you.”
There it was. Vincent’s ghost, pulling up a chair to the table like he owned the place.
“Hey, no, that’s not it at all. I want to hear about your day. I like when you talk about the stuff that fires you up. I just don’t speak fluent marketing and got a little lost.” I gave him a sheepish smile. “But if you’re willing to help me understand the lingo, I’d love to learn.”
“Okay, um, simplest version, we have two major metrics when we look at site traffic. Click-through rate, which is the number of people landing on a site, and conversion rate, which measures the number of people who follow through with either a purchase or sign-up. Right now, we have a high click-through rate but a low conversion rate.”
“Got it. So if you were a physical store, you’d be full of people walking in, looking around, but leaving without buying anything?”
“Yes, exactly. Part of the work I do is to figure out why they’re leaving, what’s stopping them, and then fix it so more of our click-through rates convert into sales.”
“I think I get it. You’re like detectives for why people bail on the shopping process.”
“Yeah. That’s actually a perfect way of seeing it.”
“And your meeting was to figure out where the drop-off point is? Did your detective work reveal anything?”
“We think the issue is on the pricing page. The layout’s confusing and makes customers second-guess whether theproduct is worth it. We’re designing two new site product pages that we’ll go live with at the end of the week and track which one is more successful.”
“That’s awesome, Ollie. Sounds like you cracked the case.”
“Yeah, it was a productive meeting.”
We wrapped up dinner with the kind of easy, low-stakes chatter that didn’t ask much of either of us. But once we migrated to the couch, Oliver got quieter. He kept worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.
Pulling out my wallet, I fished out a loose penny, and held it out to him. His brow creased as he looked at the coin.
“For your thoughts,” I said.
His lips quirked upward. “When you first brought me here, you said once I was ready, you’d go over the next steps, you know, for someone in my position. I think I might be ready to talk about those options. I’m grateful to be safe, but I want to start reaching for something beyond just surviving. I want connections with other people, I want to build something that’s mine. If the offer still stands.”
