Kael clutches his chest dramatically and leans back. “Romantic as your offer to ‘crank it out’ right here is, why don’t I grab my paints and we can stroll around the lake?”
“Painting could be a cool way to visualize returns,” I say, conceding. “Happy little trees instead of bar graphs.”
“I’m sure Bob Ross would be thrilled to hear you reduce his passion to… productivity.” Kael pokes my side. His fingers graze bare skin where my shirt’s bunched under my backpack. “I’m kidding,” he adds quickly, but the spark’s already there.
The touch jolts me. I wasn’t ready for the warmth or softness of his hand, and suddenly I’m painfully aware of how cold and exposed I am. I tug my shirt down and slide the pack off myshoulders, fumbling for my jacket to hide the heat climbing my chest.
“Where’s your stuff?” I ask. My voice comes out thinner than I want. The little flicker I’d buried earlier flares back to life, lower now, curling down from my stomach.
“My car,” he says, without looking back.
I zip my jacket anyway, just to have something to do with my hands. I fall into step beside him, somehow the awkward one again.
We pass the spot where I tripped over him. I hear that surprised squawk again, feel the ghost of his body under mine, and see the startled look behind his glasses. It replays on loop, and I can’t find the damn Pause button.
Then the newer memory gets shoved aside by older ones: HR, the demotion, my extended freedom date, and the reason I decided against relationships until after FIRE.
I’ve lost enough life to bad decisions.
But this isn’t a relationship. It’s a partnership, a means to an end. With a… hot—no, careless—guy who acts like he has no financial responsibility.
The further we walk toward the parking lot, the more secluded the path becomes. Most of the other pairs stay close to the fieldhouse, and by the time we reach the lot, it feels like we have the entire place to ourselves.
“Thisis your car?” It comes out more judgmental than I intend.
“Ash, meet Buck,” Kael says. “My gram left him to me when she died.”
“This thing is awesome.” I run my hand along the wood paneling. “I mean, I’m sorry about your gram.”
“She was my favorite person,” Kael says. “But it was a while ago.”
“Normally I’m against car ownership,” I say. “Total money pit, especially in the city. But if you’re going to own one,thisis the way to do it.”
“Thank you?” he says, grabbing his canvas and paint box, then shutting the trunk to stare at me.
“What?” I brush off my shoulders, self-consciousness spiking. “Is it a spider? I hate spiders.”
“You work for Query?” Kael points at the logo on my jacket.
“Guilty.”
He closes his eyes, shoulders slumping. He looks wiped out. Then, without a word, he turns for the counterclockwise trail around the lake.
“What?” I ask, jogging to catch up. “You’re walking away?”
“Need to process this,” he grumbles.
“Process my employment? You knew I worked in tech.” I pull out my phone to check the trail map and freeze. “It says it’s a three-hour hike.”
“We’ll walk fast,” he shouts back, just loud enough that I also catch, “What horrible thing did I do to deserve this?”
We turn onto the trail, gravel crunching beneath our feet. The trees thicken around us, branches narrowing the path. Kael sets a punishing pace, daring me to chase him.
“What have you got against Query?” I ask. “Aside from the sweeping generalizations about tech.”
“‘The fish stinks from the head’ means leadership’s the problem. You work for Query, the stinkiest head of them all.”
“You’re reacting that strongly to Alistair Blackwood?” I say. “Guy’s a genius, and he’s gay. Name a billionaire who isn’t eccentric.”
