“Is your family okay?” Luke asked carefully.
“They’re fine. It’s fine, we’re not that close. I wanted to get out. Moving in with Glen was possibly the best thing I’ve ever done. I’m happy here.” I wiped at my cheek furiously. “I am!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“My family never felt like this.” I pointed at the screen, where his grandmother pretended not to listen to us. “It is complicated. We shout at each other more often than we show affection of any kind to each other. It just got to me.”
“We’ve had our fair share of shouting too. Trust me, that’s all part of it.”
I wiped at my cheeks again. Somehow, I didn’t think it was the same, but instead of pointing that out, I just nodded.
“I want something like what you have,” I whispered.
His eyes softened, but he didn’t respond. What did I expect him to say anyway? That he’d give it to me? And then what? Go have a freak out at the implications. Him not saying anything was for the best.
Once I had gotten myself somewhat together, and the tablet connected to the speaker system instead of the voideo call, Luke showed me how to use the kitchen aid to cut the pasta dough. He set to mixing the seasoning into the minced meat all the while explaining each step he took. I realised his grandmother had been making the same exact meal.
Luke grinned when I asked about it. “Sunday is for family dinners. It’s a tradition to always cook together on Sundays. We have been doing it a bit differently during my time in Egland, but we’ve made it work.”
“That sounds lovely.” I thought about my family traditions—something solid and unbreakable—but couldn’t come up with anything. “Do you miss them?”
“A little, but we talk every week. And once my work here is done, I’ll be going back.” He stopped mixing the minced meat, eyes glazing over for a moment before shaking his head and smiling at me.
He’d be leaving. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but nonetheless, he had no plans to stay. I shouldn’t have latched onto that revelation, but now that he’d said it, a playlist with the same name was made in my brain, and someone pressed ‘play.’Leaving.
“And what is it that you do here, exactly?” I was finished with the pasta dough. It was all cut up in strips and placed in a bowl to wait until we could cook it. My hands now fidgeted around without purpose as I watched Luke fold over the roll of mince, press down on it with his palm, and repeat the motion several more times. His entire biceps flexed along with the movement, mesmerising me.
“Programming, mostly. Internal systems.”
My mouth fell open, and he grinned at my reaction. “Impressive, but couldn’t you also do programming from afar? It’s not something that needs a personal approach.”
“This company was very adamant on seeing me face-to-face onsite. A security measure I fully understand.” He got a faraway look again, and furrowed his eyebrows at whatever he was thinking about. “Let’s not talk about work unless you want to tell me about yours?”
I shrugged, tapping my fingers against the countertop. “Not much to tell. I give a few dance classes and do a little waitressing. Pretty standard stuff.”
“Is that where you met—” he stopped mid-sentence, slight shock registering on his face. He took a deep breath and pushed the minced meat bowl to the center of the kitchen aisle. He turned toward me, meeting my eyes as I waited for whatever he’d left unsaid. It never came. “Wait, you give dance classes? There’s nothing standard about that.”
We watched each other for a nerve-racking moment, both wondering if I was going to call him out on the swift change of direction. I dropped my eyes and shrugged again, letting him off the hook for now. “It’s nothing like programming.”
“But you like it?” he asked.
“I love it.” Thinking about dancing brought a smile to my lips. I’d been working on a new choreography that I couldn’t wait to show the class on Monday. It made me bounce on my toes.
“Then it’s much better than programming,” Luke said in a raspy voice.
A quick flick of my eyes confirmed he was still staring at me. “It doesn’t pay as much as programming.”
That was my mum talking through me. I swear she had repeated this same sentence, switching programming with law, often enough to make my ears hurt. Definitely often enough for it to become my standard response—my mantra—since here I was, tearing down my own profession, which I loved more than anything.
“Okay, would you rather do something you love and get paid a little, just enough to get by. Or would you choose to be filthy rich, stuck doing something you despise?” Luke asked.
“I don’t care about the money.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
I sighed. “It’s conditioning. I would be stuck in a pantsuit in some well-esteemed law firm if I hadn’t fought this hard to do what I love. I’ll choose dancing over anything in a heartbeat.”
“Law firm,” he echoed slowly. “Yeah, I don’t see you stuck in a pretentious place like that.”
