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He grins and takes another mouthful of omelet.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and I deliberately don’t look at him as he works his way through his eggs. When he’s finished, he takes his glass of milk and drinks it all down.

“I told you, I’ve never brought a woman here before. Never cooked for a woman. Not before you.”

I know it’s not meant to be a compliment. It’s meant to simply inform—be factual. But a warm ember of comfort lights deep inside me.

“That’s hard to believe,” I say. “You’re a mean omelet maker.”

He chuckles. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take it. So how was tonight? I take it the food wasn’t good.” I glance down at his clean plate.

“I rarely eat at these things. It’s work, so I’m never focused on the food.”

“Where did you go?”

“An awards ceremony for design and architecture,” he says.

“Really? And that was work?”

He shrugs.

“And you didn’t enjoy it?”

He pulls in a breath, slowly, like he’s really trying to think about my question. “I don’t think I did.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I spoke to the two people there I needed to speak to. One of them was sitting next to me. I accomplished my goal for the evening. So it was a successful night.”

He doesn’t finish his thought. “But…” I prompt him.

“But…I don’t care as much as I usually do.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I’m not sure what I mean. Maybe I don’t mean anything at all.” He’s talking in riddles, but I can’t help but think he’s got something he wants to say. Otherwise, knowing what I know of Ben, he wouldn’t say anything. He’d make some glib statement and that would be the end of the conversation.

“Why don’t you care as much as you usually do? Because you’re not into the project you’re working on?”

His knee begins to bounce. “One was connected to a live deal. The other was just renewing a connection I hadn’t seen for a while. And I saw a few other people and was able to catch up. It was a really good evening from a professional perspective.” He sounds frustrated, like maybe he doesn’t even know what’s bothering him.

“A couple of years ago, I would have come home after a night like tonight and been bouncing off the walls, dopamine whirling through my body like a twister…or maybe I wouldn’t have come home at all.”

Suddenly I feel awkward. “Maybe it’s because I’m here in your space.” I shift my chair back, ready to head back to my bedroom, but before I can stand, he reaches under my chair and pulls it back toward the table. “I guess I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This started before you moved in. I’m just not getting the same sense of satisfaction from my work.” He clamps his mouth shut like he can’t quite believe what he’s just said.

“That happens to us all.” I try to sound reassuring. I’m not quite sure how I can make this better. “No one can enjoy their job all the time. Most people never enjoy their job.”

“But that wasn’t ever me. I was always focused on my long-term goal.”

“Which was…?”

“Making myself indispensable to people. Being able to call in favors from anyone in New York.”

That’s an audacious goal. “And you’ve achieved that. You know everyone there is to know in New York. Well, not just New York…that’s why I’m here.”