Page 15 of On His Mind

He looks at me. “I think you will.”

There’s no challenge in it. He isn’t needling me. Something in my chest pulls tight, because he’s not the first person to say it to me.

“The office is expanding over the next few years,” he says. “It’s a good place to build a career.”

“A career.”

“And a life.”

The two words sit down on the table between us, next to the bread, like they arrived together. I pick my fork back up.

Dessert appears without either of us ordering it. Chocolate mousse. My favorite, set down in front of me like a coincidence.

“I hope that’s alright,” Oliver says.

“Yes.”

Of course it is. My mother knows exactly what I’d order.

Oliver reaches into the leather portfolio beside his chair and slides a cream folder across the linen.

“We don’t usually do this.”

The Whitmore Design Group logo is embossed on the front. I open it. My name is already printed across the top of the first page. Every line is filled in. Dates. Hours. A stipend with a comma in it. One blank. There was never an interview. There was a dinner, and an offer that was finished before I got dressed.

“You’re going to do great,” Oliver says.

“I appreciate that.”

“And?”

I close the folder.

“I’d like some time to think about it.”

Surprise goes across his face, and he smooths it off fast, but it was there.

“Really?”

“I don’t make decisions this size over dessert.”

A corner of his mouth goes up. “I respect that.”

I finish the mousse. All of it, slowly, because it’s very good and because leaving it would say something I’m not interested in saying.

Then I stand and slide the folder under my arm.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“My pleasure.” And as I turn, he says, “I hope you decide to work with us.”

I look back.

“I think you’d fit what we’re planning.”

Fit what we’re planning. He thinks he has me figured out. He’s telling me my outline matches.

“I’m still working out where I fit.”