Page 233 of Better When Shared
Skylar bit into a lacy and delicate tempura lotus root, chewing thoughtfully.
“So?” I asked when our appetizers arrived—delicate towers of seafood and vegetables arranged with an artistic flair. “What do you think of all this?”
A smile broke across her face—not the awed expression I’d been hoping for, but something softer, almost apologetic.
“Want the truth? I thought you were making the whole hundred-million-dollar business sale up,” she said, laughing a little. “I figured you were just some nerd living in your mom’s basement, trying to sound cool to a chick he was into online.”
I set down my champagne flute carefully, afraid I might crush the delicate stem. “You didn’t believe me?” My voice came out smaller than I intended.
Skylar’s smile faltered, her hand reaching across the table to cover mine. “Hey, no—that came out wrong. I believed you were smart enough to do it. And I believed you’d sold your company for a tidy sum. I just... people say all kinds of shit online, you know? I didn’t believe Ryker was a firefighter, either.”
“Skylar, he sent us literal firefighter calendar pics, shirtless, holding kittens.”
“I don’t know, I thought maybe that was like his hot older brother or something. He doesn’t act like a tough firefighter. And you don’t act like a billionaire. You’re both just my dorky, cute best friends.”
“Dorky? Me?” I scoffed.
She giggled. “So dorky. But in my favorite way. And then when I finally meet you and you show up in designer clothes, offering me a ride in a literal helicopter—”
“And Ryker shows up with a literal eight-pack?”
“See? You get me. It’s a lot to process.”
She squeezed my hand, and I stared at her hand on mine. Her nails were short and practical, a small callus on her thumb probably from gaming controllers. Nothing like the manicured women I’d usually invite to a restaurant like this, but somehow so much better.
She smiled. “To be clear, I like you for you, Kiaan. I’m impressed with your mind and your ideas, not your millions. But I never thought you weren’t capable of it.”
“When you first met me, I was that guy in the basement,” I said. “Well, basically. I did have a shitty apartment. But I’m not that guy anymore because you believed in me when no one else did.”
The memory surfaced with perfect clarity—sitting in my tiny apartment four years ago, surrounded by empty energy drink cans, coding like a maniac, breaking only to game with Skylar and Ryker.
“Remember when I dropped out of Stanford to start my company? Everyone thought I was crazy.” I ran a hand through my hair, the familiar gesture grounding me. “My family called me every day for months, telling me I was making the biggest mistake of my life. Investors laughed me out of meetings.”
Skylar’s expression softened. “I’m sorry they didn’t believe in you.”
“They didn’t, but you were the one person who told me my idea for the security app was brilliant. You pushed me to keep going.” I swallowed hard, the memory vivid enough to taste—bitter coffee and desperation as I coded through another sleepless night. “Remember that time I sent you the prototype for my authentication algorithm?”
She nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. “That was some fucking genius code.”
Those were the exact words she’d used then, their impact just as powerful now. I’d been ready to give up that night, to call my parents and admit defeat. Instead, I’d sent the code to Skylar during a break in our raid, not expecting much.
“You told me anyone who couldn’t see its potential was an idiot,” I continued, throat tight with the memory. “Said it would revolutionize security protocols.”
“Well, I was right, wasn’t I?” She grinned, raising her champagne in a small toast. “Wait. I’m an idiot.”
“What?”
“You never told me your company name, and I didn’t think much of it since I figured you were exaggerating, but now that I know… Holy shit, I read all about your company in some tech paper. Why didn’t I put two and two together?”
“You’ve always been a little slow on the uptake,” I teased.
She burst out laughing, shaking her head, looking more beautiful than I’d ever imagined her to be.
My chest ached with the sudden realization of how much she meant to me—had always meant to me. Not as some idealized online fantasy, but as the one person who’d seen value in my ideas when they were nothing but lines of code and ambition.
“You were the first person I told when the acquisition went through,” I admitted. “Not my family, not my co-founders. You.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, eyes dropping to her plate. “Are things better with them? With your family?”
