Page 55 of All at Once

This is likeeye contact, eye contact.

The one where your mind spirals into thinking something completely unrelated and usuallynot appropriate.

But when he looks away in the blink of an eye to focus back on the screen, I feel my cheeks flush again.

Trying to avoid how a brief glance feltthatmoving, I look back at the page, noticing a posting titled as “Associate Editor.” I then find myself sighing for the hundredth time tonight after reading how many years of experience it requires. “Fuck.”

“What?” Luca asks.

“This one requires at least five years of experience. I only have three,” I explain. “Who hasthismuch experience for an entry-level role? These aren’t even entry-level roles.”

“Don’t you just love when you still have to have experience to get a job that markets itself as one that needs little experience?” he says, leaning back against the couch.

I turn toward him. “You know what I love evenmorethan that? When you’re constantly told to get experience but never get the said position that will give you experience so what then?” I quickly clarify, “I’m still referring to getting a job.”

“I knew that.” He chuckles. “Anothervicious cycle.” Then he focuses on the screen again. “Mind if I check a few pages too?”

“Yeah. Don’t havetoomuch fun,” I say, handing him my laptop.

I wonder how long I’m focused on Luca’s hands while he’s working over the keyboard. The way his long fingers are quickly flickering across it. How his knuckles keep flexing every second or so. My throat growing increasingly drier with each moment.

When the clicking sound from his typing stops, my mind abruptly returns back to where it should be focused on, thejobs, Luca redirecting my attention to the screen. “Here, what about this one?”

I read out loud, “‘Production Editor,’ Ooh I like that.”

He scrolls through the qualifications, asking, “Do you have professional experience with editing, contract negotiation, project management, quality assurance regulation, and budgeting?”

“No. But I’m still going to apply,” I reply, taking my laptop back from him.

He snorts. “Sounds like a foolproof plan.”

“Applying to things outside my area of expertise hasn’t stopped me before,” I say. “Besides, if I’m going to get rejected for a role, it might as well be one that seems more interesting.”

“Fair enough,” he says with a tilt of his head.

After finishing the application, I look up from my laptop and notice how he’s arranged everything. Remembering Enrique mention that Luca and his sister are usually here for most of the summer, it makes me feel a little less homesick, seeing the extra blankets and pillows he has near the couch, the snacks he’s set up by the kitchen, and the lamp he’s moved closer to a small painting that matches it perfectly.

But then I notice a few other paintings sitting on the floor by the balcony, the only objects out of place in his room. They’re turned around so that you can’t see what’s on them, making me realize he most likely did it purposely.

When I turn back toward Luca, his eyes snag on mine, anxiety-filled, seeing me notice the paintings. “I like your room,” I offer, trying to keep my focus on the rest of the suite. “It’s nice how you organized everything.”

The tension in his face quickly fades. “Oh. Thanks,” he says, his eyes flickering with surprise. “I think it’s mainly the resortthough. You could organize it any way you want, and it would still look nice.”

“Still, you added a nice touch to it,” I say. “It is a stunning resort though. The voyeurs here are so pretty.”

Luca’s jaw almost drops. “Excuse me, but what did you just say?”

“The voyeurs right outside our rooms.” I gesture toward his door, but when he looks even more confused, I explain, “The hallways by the plants.”

He bites down on his smile. “You meanfoyers?”

“That’s what I said. Voyeurs,” I enunciate.

“Okay, then spell what you’re trying to say,” he challenges.

When I type out the word on my phone and show him the screen, Luca’s laughter echoes off the walls and right into my chest.

He bites down on his bottom lip as he types something on my phone. “That’show you spell what you were trying to say.”

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