Page 27 of That First Flight

It’s a statement, not a question, one that quite literally knocks me off my feet and I drop the glass I was holding, letting it shatter into pieces.

“Excuse me?” I fire back, ignoring the glass shattered around my feet.

“After I left your place, I got to thinking.”

“That’s usually not a good thing.”

This grown man chuckles, and there’s just something I love about the sound. “I’m a big supporter of people who set goals and want to do something big with their life. I called a friend of mine in the city and I got you an interview at one of the restaurants there. If you want it, of course. It’s a five-star restaurant and they are actually looking for some help because they want to add a second location across town by the summer.”

What? That wasn’t where I saw this going.

There’s a part of me that’s shocked but the other part feels like he might have hacked my computer while I looked at the New York City ads last night after he left to see if anyone is hiring anytime soon. I even shot off three emails to see if they would be willing to set me up with a virtual interview in the next couple of weeks so I can start in the summer.

As much as Iwantthe job and the interview he’s offering me, I also can’t afford a place there just yet.

“I can’t do that. I’m not ready,” I finally reply.

“Why do you say that?”

“I have to study more. I have to practice more.” I frantically start wiping down the counters as nerves spike inside of me. Clearly I’m a stress cleaner. “I’m not ready.”

“Practice in the city.”

I stop abruptly and watch his ocean blue eyes bore into mine. “I’m not sure if you noticed or not, but I work a lot here. I live in a small one-bedroom place on someone else's property because I’m broke as a joke, Oliver.”

I hate admitting my financial struggles to someone who looks like he doesn’t have to worry about a thing. I’m sure he picked up on it by now after seeing my place and how much I’m at work. But it stings more admitting it out loud.

I continue, “Plus, how can I find somewhere to stay on such short notice?”

“Short notice? I’m giving you two days' notice,” he jokes. “That’s when I head back to the city.”

“That’s short notice last I checked.”

“Is it?” He smirks.

What’s it like to be so carefree about life? I envy him right now.

“I can’t accept. I appreciate it, but I just can’t.”

“If money is the biggest factor stopping you from chasing what sounds like your life long goal, then stay at my place.” He says it so casually as if we’ve known each other for years. “Besides, I’m heading out of town for two months to backpack Europe.”

“You don’t know me. What if I’m a serial killer?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”

“What ifyou’rethe serial killer?”

“I’m not going to lie; I can fuck up some fruity pebbles.”

I ignore that while he laughs at himself as I press on, “What if I’m messy and leave my laundry out everywhere?”

“I saw your place, and you’renotmessy.”

“I cook a lot, but I hate cleaning up. What if I leave a mess in the kitchen when you’re home?”

He laughs again, rubbing his hand in a circle over his stomach. “Good, I like to eat. So if you’re cooking, I’ll gladly do the cleaning.”

“God,” I cry out. “You’re impossible.”

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