“You were saying?” I prompt.
“It’s nothing, really. I’m just bummed because I have to share the role with my understudy because I can’t be off work that many nights in a row.”
“Who told you that?” I ask immediately, ready to approve whatever time off request he made.
“Oh, uh, no one here. I just can’t afford to miss that much work. The play runs for two weeks, and I need the paycheck.”
His passion for theater shines through whatever is weighing him down, but unease and sadness still linger.
“When is opening night?” I ask.
I’d really love to see Zeke in his element. I wonder if he’s confident on stage or if his guarded demeanor dictates which roles he takes on. Perhaps the stage is the only time he feels comfortable being his authentic self, whatever that may be. Like hiding in plain sight.
“Aren’t you supposed to be serving today?” he asks instead of answering me.
“I am. They give us these things called breaks, which I notice you never take,” I tease, nudging his shoulder with mine, careful not to make him spill his coffee.
“The day passes quicker if I stay busy,” he says.
“Right. Because the long line you have now must really make the time fly.”
We both look at the empty space in front of his host stand, and to my utter delight, Zeke laughs. Anactuallaugh. It’s over almost as fast as it began, but it happened, and it feels like a big deal.
“Smartass,” he says, unable to hide his smile.
“So…opening night?” I ask again.
Before he can answer, the door to the restaurant swings open, and Hayden sticks his head out.
“There you are! You about ready to get back to work?” he calls.
“Be right there!” I yell, wanting to linger here in the blustery cold just a little longer. “Please,” I say with a laugh. “For the love of God, tell me when opening night is.”
“January eighth.” His brows furrow as he says it, like he couldn’t possibly fathom why I want to know even after divulging that I love theater.
I grin widely at finally receiving an answer. “Thank you. Enjoy your coffee!” I yell, jogging toward the doors, my day much improved.
The good moodlasted until I got home around six.
I was just enjoying a glass of red wine when my phone rings.
“Hey, Luke!” I say, glad to hear my brother’s voice. We catch up for ten minutes—until he can’t take it any longer and divulges the reason he’s calling.
“So, you remember Annie’s friend group I was telling you about?”
I bite back my groan, but take a large gulp of wine.
“Mmhmm,” I hum.
“Well, I talked to Lalani first, told her about you and what you’re looking for, and she said she’d love to get together sometime.”
So many emotions filter through me. I’m grateful that my brother wants to help, I really am, but I’m just not so sure another high-society debutante is what I want. I don’t really knowwhatI want other than a partner who loves me forme. And, while I guess that would be easier if she came from a wealthy family, I also think that’s the part that turns me off the most. Dahlia was also used to having money, as was Tabitha before her, and Sonja-Lee before her. It never feels like they truly appreciate anything. Including me.
Once you reach a certain net worth, everything becomes replaceable.
“Luke, I appreciate it, but I’d really like to find someone organically. I’ve only been out here a couple of weeks,” I say with a laugh. “There’s still hope.”
“You’re going to do long distance? What happens when you move back home? Besides, I know what rebranding is like. You’re going to be working sixteen-hour days for the next five months, meaning your only chance to meet someone is at theresort, and we both know our parents would have your head if that happened.”
