Chapter 12 #3
“The door to my room jammed,” I say, my fingers curling into the sofa cushion. “It only took a few minutes for someone to get me out, but when you’re that small and the air is turning black . . . time just stops. I learned really early what it felt like to be trapped in the dark.”
I take a slow, steadying breath. “I had night terrors for weeks after that. I couldn’t close my eyes without smelling smoke or hearing alarms. My parents tried everything—doctors, specialists, you name it.”
I pause, a faint, genuine smile touching my lips as the memory shifts from dark to light.
“And then, they took me to Tokyo Disneyland. It was the first place I remember feeling safe again, mostly because it felt like I’d entered a world where nothing could go wrong. That trip stayed with me for years.”
I look at my hands, my thumb tracing the edge of my tablet. “Funnily enough, it wasn’t the Disney magic that got me. During the trip, I got a glimpse at the Imagineering workshop. Seeing all the tool, gears, and wiring they had lying around to literally build the park fascinated me.”
I look back at him, meeting his eyes. “I wanted to understand how everything came together, and that curiosity led me here.”
Theo shakes his head once. His voice is low when he speaks.
“Your resilience to pivot from something like that speaks to how strong a person you are.” After a beat he adds, “I’Il admit, I’m a bit jealous.
You’re the first person I’ve ever met who’s ever seen the Imagineering workshop.
They don’t let just anyone in. How did your parents manage to get you in? ”
The question catches me off guard. I glance down, fumbling for words. “They’re . . . um . . .”
He watches me with mild curiosity, his head tilting slightly. “What? A family member? A friend who works there? Diplomats?”
“Something like that,” I say, hoping the vague answer will be enough to steer us away from the reality of who they are.
Theo studies me for a moment longer, but to his credit, he doesn’t push. He just nods, accepting the boundary. “I’m just glad you chose to work for us instead of becoming an Imagineer.”
“What can I say? I wanted to start working on projects like Silver Comet, Drakon, and Trident’s Run.”
Theo’s mouth twitches, the faintest hint of smug amusement. “You’ve got good taste.”
It takes me a beat to connect the dots, and then my stomach drops faster than a launch coaster. “You had a hand in designing Silver Comet and Drakon, too, didn’t you?”
His grin is unapologetic. “Yes.”
I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face as my cheeks go hot. “And here I am, lecturing you on why they’re great. I’m basically reciting your own portfolio back to you.”
Theo leans back in his chair, looking more relaxed—and clearly pleased with himself. “Don’t stop on my account.”
As I shift, trying to laugh off the embarrassment, something on the shelf behind him catches the light. “Wait,” I say, squinting at the grainy feed. “Is that a miniature of Trident’s Run behind you? Without the tanks?”
He glances over his shoulder, caught mid-sip. “This?” He sets his mug down and stands, lifting the model into view. “No. It just looks similar.”
My heart jumps anyway. “Then what is it?”
“It’s the frame of Vortex Rise. The current bane of my existence.
Its non-traditional launch,” Theo says, a spark of the inventor returning to his eyes.
He rotates the model, pointing to a drum-like structure at the base.
“It’s a vortex start. The train sits in a spinning centrifuge to build g-forces before it ever moves forward.
Then, at peak velocity, the hatch opens and slingshots the train out. ”
I whistle low. “Like a fighter jet catapulting off an aircraft carrier.”
“Exactly.”
“And the problem is?”
“It’s been fighting the math.” He taps a specific curve right after the launch.
“On paper, it’s perfect. But in practice, the lateral forces spike right here every time.
We’ve had two different teams working on the issue.
They’ve tweaked the banking, the radius, the track length—nothing works.
It’s why I’m here. I thought it’d be a simple fix,” he admits, his jaw tightening.
“Like maybe we were just over-rotating the roll. But so far, nothing’s working.
And it’s driving me mad. I’ve never had a coaster outwit me before. ”
That, I can well believe. Seeing him this frustrated is like watching a grandmaster stuck on a basic chess opening; it’s not that he isn’t capable, it’s that he’s too close to the board to see the obvious. “You’re being pulled in too many directions,” I say quietly. “You need a vacation.”
“I don’t do vacations.,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But once I wrap things up here, I think I will take a weekend off. A real one. And turn my phone off.”
I’m about to launch into a lecture on burnout—to tell him that a vacation doesn’t have to mean sitting on a beach doing nothing. He could do something like work on his own passion projects. Or take me to see and test some of the other coasters he’s worked on.
But my brain suddenly stops listening to my own inner voice. My eyes zero in on the launch area of the model, tracking the geometric pattern just after the exit. The lines aren’t wrong, but the rhythm is.
“Wait,” I say slowly, leaning in until I’m squinting at the screen. “The issue is right after the launch, isn’t it?”
Theo straightens, his focus snapping back instantly. “Yeah. The second inversion. It’s supposed to feel like a smooth roll, not like it’s trying to wrench your shoulders out of their sockets.”
“Theo,” I say, my heart starting to race as the physics click into place.
“You’re forcing the turn too early. The train is still stabilizing from that massive vortex launch when it hits the curve.
If you extend the lead-in by just three meters, the forces should balance out naturally.
” I glance up, meeting his eyes through the camera. “It’s a timing problem.”
The silence on the other end is absolute. Theo’s eyes narrow as he runs a mental simulation, his gaze darting across the miniature track. Then, slowly, his mouth curves into a grin. “Bloody hell,” he murmurs. “You’re right.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” His face fills the screen again. His eyes are dancing. “You just solved what fifteen engineers couldn’t. The London team is going to owe you. And apparently, so do I.”
“In that case,” I say lightly, “there is a favor I’d like to ask.”
He nods, giving me his rapt attention. “Name it.”
“Take the rest of the day off.”
“Kaori, I can’t. Now that you’ve sorted the missing piece of the puzzle, I’ve got about a hundred emails to send and three reports to revise—”
I understand exactly where he’s coming from. I’m just like him. When the gears finally align and something clicks, you want to run with it. You don’t want to eat or sleep or answer the door. You just want to follow that thread until the project is perfect.
But Theo has been working nonstop, pushing himself at a pace that isn’t sustainable. And as his friend, I know he needs me to intervene. He needs someone to tell him when to stop.
“Theo,” I interrupt, half-pleading, half-scolding. “It’s Saturday. Don’t you Brits believe in the weekend?”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I don’t let him. “You asked what I wanted. And this is it.” I lean closer to the screen. “Rest. Do something fun. Like watching The Office.”
He leans back. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.” I cross my legs and hold my phone closer to my face. “We can even watch it together if you want.”
“How? You’re more than three thousand miles away from me right now.”
He must be even more exhausted than I thought.
“Technology, Mr. Riverton,” I say, tapping at my screen.
“There’s this app called StreamMate that lets multiple users watch the same movie or TV show at the same time.
Although we need snacks if we’re doing this properly.
I’ve got popcorn and chocolate-covered pretzels. ”
He glances toward his kitchen. “I’ve got . . . tea.”
“And what do you normally have with your tea? Scones? Cookies? Rocky Roads?”
“Biscuits, but I’m out. And I polished off the Rocky Roads yesterday.”
“But I gave you two boxes of them! There were twenty-four bars.”
The tips of his ears color a faint, sheepish red. He doesn’t look at the camera, instead focusing very intently on the tea bag he’s currently drowning in his mug. “I needed something to get through the week. They were . . . accessible.”
“So you ate them instead of food food?”
“The project was at a critical stage, Kaori. I couldn’t always leave the office for a proper meal.”
I should be mad at him. I should probably give him a stern lecture on nutrition and the importance of a balanced diet, but he’s kind of adorable right now.
Seeing the world-class engineer who can solve a three-million-dollar physics problem get embarrassed over a chocolate-bar binge makes him feel remarkably human.
“Okay, well, I’m sure you have something else around. Chips, crackers?”
“Care to make a wager?”
He flips the camera around. The view tilts and blurs for a moment, a whirlwind of motion before settling on his kitchen.
There are gleaming white counters and high-end appliances.
He approaches the closest cabinet and opens the door.
“Let’s see . . . one packet of expired instant noodles, a bottle of olive oil, and a protein bar. ”
He moves to the refrigerator and opens the door. The light flickers over a takeout container from Burger Chalet, half a lemon, and what might have once been milk.
I’ll amend my earlier statement. He needs that lecture now. “Theo. This looks like a crime scene. Why do you not have any food?”
He glances back at the open fridge. “I’m in Orlando most of the time,” he says, as if that explains everything. “And when I’m here, I usually eat out. Or at the pub.”