Right on cue, faint bursts of color bloom on the horizon. I can’t help it, I squeal in delight and freeze in place, taking it all in.
Theo glances back and places a hand on my shoulder. “There’s a better place to watch. Come on, then.”
The hallway opens onto a private terrace tucked neatly into the corner of the rooftop. A single table waits there, draped in crisp white linen and ringed with softly glowing lanterns.
“We can pipe music in from my phone if you want,” Theo says, pulling out a chair for me. “But I rather like the quiet.”
“No, this is perfect,” I manage, my voice coming out embarrassingly small as I sit.
He takes the chair across from me. As he reaches for his napkin, I study him, trying to reconcile the man who has just brought me to a private rooftop terrace overlooking Disney fireworks for dinner.
He looks up and catches me staring. “If you don’t like this,” he says evenly, “we can go inside. Or find somewhere else. I just thought you might enjoy this. Mostpeople do.”
“No, I love it.”
Together, we watch the show. Unsurprisingly, it’s brilliant. It’s almost like being inside the theme park. Pulses of violet, red, green, gold, and crimson paint the night sky like shimmering pieces of Christmas-tree tinsel, drifting slowly toward the dark horizon before vanishing.
When the last echo of the finale fades and the sky returns to velvet-black, I find my voice. “I can’t remember the last time I got to enjoy fireworks. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I thought you’d like it. I use this place a lot for client dinners, and it’s always received well,” Theo says, smoothing his napkin across his lap with practiced ease. “Most people fly into Florida expecting Disney. Even if the company has absolutely nothing to do with it.”
I hum thoughtfully as I unfold my own napkin. “That makes sense. I almost applied to work for them, you know. But I didn’t think I had a good shot.” I reach for my water glass. “My advisor said I wouldn’t be competitive enough. Most people have at least a couple years of experience already under their belt.” I give a small shrug.
“I’m glad you didn’t. You would’ve been wasting your time with them. It would’ve been at least two years before you’d make it to looking at track layouts. Your end goal has always been coaster design, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, how did you?—”
“I remember your interview. I was on your panel.”
“I’m surprised you remember. You must’ve dealt with a lot of candidates.”
“No.” He shakes his head, leaning back as the lantern light catches the sharp line of his profile. “I don’t normally do interviews. It was a one-time thing. I was only stepping in for a colleague who was out sick. But I remember how much fun I had.” He offers a rare, lopsided ghost of a smile. “It isn’t often I get to ask such technical questions and actually get an answer that makes me think.”
He nods, his gaze settling on me with an intensity that feels far more personal than a performance review. “I’ve been told that a lot of candidates crumble when we poke holes in their work. They rush to agree. They apologize. They try to guess what I want to hear because they’re desperate for the job.”
His expression remains steady. “You didn’t. You corrected me. You explained your reasoning, acknowledged the limitations, and defended your design without ever getting defensive. You held your own and impressed me. All of us. I wanted Mara to make a job offer to you on the spot, but HR would’ve had my head.”
A thousand little lightning bugs flutter inside my chest. It’s a sensation that has nothing to do with the height of the rooftop or the cooling breeze. Rather, it’s the weight of the realization that Theo wanted me. All this time, I’ve been bracing myself for a battle, trying to prove I belong in his world, only to find out I already have his acceptance.
A server arrives with dinner,setting down a lacquered black plate in front of me. Steam rises in soft curls from a perfectly grilled miso-glazed salmon, flanked by a delicate mound of yuzu-scented rice and roasted seasonal vegetables that are all bright and jewel-toned under the lantern light.
Across the table, Theo’s dinner is heartier, the most expensive thing on the menu. No surprise. He’s ordered a wagyu steak and a side of truffle-dustedpotatoes.
“Itadakimasu,” I say, before lifting my chopsticks and helping myself to the salmon.
“What does that mean?” he asks, giving me a quizzical look.
“Oh.” I pause and glance over at him. “Just a habit. It’s a greeting we say back home before we eat. It expresses gratitude for a meal and the people who prepared it.” I return my attention to the plate.
“I like that,” he says, cutting into his steak. “I’ve heard it before, but I never knew what it meant.” He pauses mid-bite, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “How’s the salmon? Better than a protein bar?”
I snort. “What do you think?”
“To me it is, but you never know.” He shrugs.
I shake my head, swallowing another bite. “For the record, the salmon is perfect. It’s rich and buttery. Honestly, I could live on it.”
“Noted,” he says dryly. “The next time I need to bribe you, I’ll bring grilled fish.”
