“Yes. Career progression, financial stability, insurance, retirement savings—all those boring things you young creatives forget about.”
“Oh, I don’t forget,” I smiled, keeping my tone light. “I just prefer to invest in things that grow rather than things that sit.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “Such as?”
“People. Projects. Ideas.”
He leaned back, lips curling slightly. “Interesting. Though ideas don’t exactly pay the bills, do they?”
I met his gaze calmly. “Only if they’re bad ones.”
For a heartbeat, silence filled the space between us. Then Eleanor laughed—a smooth, practiced sound that landed softly but not kindly.
“How delightful. I can see why Daniel likes you. You’ve got spirit.”
I smiled. “Some would call it survival instinct.”
Daniel’s fork clinked quietly against his plate. He hadn’t said much all evening. I could feel the tension radiating from him, his shoulders tight, his eyes darting between me and his parents like a man watching two worlds edge closer than he wanted them to.
Eleanor dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin.