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“You seem like you’ve lived a lot of lives.”

I cock my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Tattoo artist. Skydiver . . . What other jobs have you had?”

Finishing my bite, I clear my throat. “I got a job at the hangar when I was seventeen. At first it was just whatever they needed, sweeping floors, hauling gear, that kind of thing. Then I turned eighteen, and I mostly did it because I got the occasional free jump out of it, and the paycheck was easy. Didn’t pay a lot, though.”

“That’s how you got into skydiving?”

I wipe my hands on a napkin. “I guess so. I was around it enough, watching the lessons, the instructors and students. Then eventually I got my first solo jump. After that I was able to help more; I got certified and started instructing.”

“That seems very on brand for you. What other jobs have you had?”

I laugh under my breath and cut a small triangle out of the triple stack. “I did a tiny stint in IT.”

“Wait, really?” She laughs.

“What’s funny?”

“Just didn’t expect it. What kind?”

I roll my fork between my fingers. “The kind you’re not supposed to know how to do when you’re fifteen.”

“Casper,” she chides.

“What?”

“So, what, you were a teenage hacker?”

“Not hacking per se, but I was a curious kid, and had access to computers at the library and school. It wasn’t anything huge at first, just figuring things out. Learning how to bypass different blockers, slipping into places I wasn’t supposed to be. I didn’t like being at home, and it’s not like I had any extracurricular activities to occupy my time . . . It was exciting and fun. It gave me a sense of control, which is refreshing when you’re a teenager.”

She nods. “That makes sense. So you did that for work?”

I give a so-so gesture. “Kinda. I mean, I did some surveillance on the side. But once I got into the workplace, I quickly discovered it was all paperwork and approvals and waiting for permission. The legality sucks all the fun out of it. Before you know it, you’re in meetings about protocol and whether Karen from compliance is comfortable with what you’re trying to do.”

She purses her lips around a smile and nods.

I sigh. “It just didn’t feel like I was doing anything worthwhile. I’d determine the problem, fix it, close the ticket, move on. It was too repetitive. The projects other engineers were working on didn’t interest me enough to go to school to advance my skill set, and by then the creative muse in me was pacing. I needed something I could make or I was going to lose my mind.”

“So you started drawing?”

“I’d always drawn and sketched.” I stab into the stack of pancakes and cut off another bite. “Margins of notebooks, scrap paper, closet walls⁠—”

“That I believe,” she says with a chuckle.

“Exactly. Then I found the shop, brought in my artwork. Had a sit-down with the owner, Clyde, and he let me hang around the shop for a few weeks, then eventually gave me an apprenticeship. Kept my head down, drew constantly, got better, and the rest is history.”

“Do you think you’ll stay there?”

“Definitely. I can’t see myself doing anything else.”

She gives a small smile. “That might be the wildest résumé I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s because the circles you run in are boring.”

“Excuse you, I just went skydiving.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, grinning. “What about you?”