“Thanks, but I’d rather have a chocolate bar.”
“Of course you would,” he murmurs, placing his cutlery down and patting his mouth with his napkin. “Hypothetically speaking, aside from chocolate, what else would you accept?”
“I’m easy, all you need is ramen. But it has to be proper ramen. Not the instant-noodle crap you buy in the grocery store for fifty cents. I mean the kind that takes hours and hours to cook.”
I rest my chopsticks on the edge of the plate and glance at his dinner. “What about you? What would it take to bribe a man like you?”
He leans back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossinghis face as he considers it. “One of my nan’s shepherd’s pies.”
Shepherd’s pie? Interesting. I wouldn’t have guessed he’d pick something homemade. He strikes me more as the type of guy who’d want something high-end or flashy. I mean, again, look at what he ordered for dinner tonight. “What makes your grandma’s pie special?” I ask.
“Everything. But it’s mostly the smell.” He sighs. “When I was younger, I always knew it was Sunday when I came down for breakfast and smelled the roasted lamb and veggies caramelizing in the pan.”
There’s a faraway look in his eyes now. “She raised me,” he adds so softly, I have to almost strain to hear it. “My parents were always... too busy.”
The last word hangs there.
“Do you ever see them?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“From time to time.” His knife stills against the plate. For a moment, I think he might actually elaborate, but then he pulls back and the professional boundary snaps back into place before I can see any further behind the curtain.
He shifts the focus to me. “What about you, Minami? You’re a long way from home. Is there anything you miss about it?”
I chew slowly, buying myself a second. There’s a lot I could say. A lot of which he might not believe. “The small things,” I say finally. “Summer festivals. Wearing a yukata. The smell of grilled corn.” I smile faintly. “Not having to second-guess what I’m saying. I use English so much nowadays, I don’t usually have to think. But there are times it still trips me up.”
Theo tilts his head, thoughtful. “I never would’ve guessed.”
“Because I hide it well,” I say, half-joking, half-serious.
A quiet settles over the table, the distant sound of the theme park humming in the background. I nudge a piece of salmon through the last of the miso glaze, my mind drifting to the reason I’m even in this country.
“How do you feel like you’re settling into Excelsior Parks?” Theo asks, switching back into boss mode.
“Pretty well. Everyone has been nice.” I picture Leon and the guys. “And Anya is an amazing mentor. I’m learning a lot.”
“I know in your interview you said this was the dream,” he says, watching me over the rim of his glass. “But now that you’re actually in the thick of it, do you see yourself staying with us long-term?”
I hesitate. It’s a loaded question to answer when your boss is the one asking and the truth is overly complicated. Orlando is everything I’ve hoped it would be. But at the same time, I feel like I need to be honest with Theo.
“Yes,” I say finally, meeting his gaze. “I do. Although...” I trail off, tracing the rim of my glass with a finger before finding the courage to continue. “My long-term goal is to get to London and the main office.”
Theo doesn’t offer the easy, supportive nod I’m hoping for. Instead, a quiet sigh escapes him. “That’s a brilliant goal, Minami. But it’s unlikely.”
I freeze. “What do you mean?”
“Transfers to the head office are rare,” he says. “Most people put in ten or fifteen years at one of the satellite offices before they’re even considered for a posting like that. If they get the chance at all.”
I frown, feeling a spark of defiance. “You were based in London. And now you’re heading up the entire Orlando division. I reckon you can’t be that much older than me.”
“I’m twenty-seven. I’ve been with Excelsior for five years,” he says carefully.
“Exactly.” I lean forward. “If you’re an exception, I can be one too.”
“Youcan...” he says slowly. “Butit’s bloody hard work. You have to be prepared to sacrifice everything.”
He blows out a long, slow breath and suddenly looks exhausted. “I interned with the Cooper Parklands attraction design firm for three years during uni. Took every overtime shift I could get. I volunteered for the projects no one else wanted. The ones that were most likely to fail.” He looks back up. “I was miserable. But I proved I was useful enough that I couldn’t be left in the junior ranks.”
Silence stretches between us.
