I tried to remember how playing guitar used to make me feel and said, “I guess, for me, art is how to tell, not the truth, but my truth. It’s a way to communicate who you are and what you feel. Some people think art is pretending, but to me it’s the opposite. It’s the one place where you can’t pretend.”

October was watching me closely as I spoke, her eyes soft but curious.

“The job is yours,” she said. “If you want it.”

Rae jumped to attention. “Wait. You want to ask him more questions, yeah?”

October was still studying me. “Rae said you used to work in construction?”

“I did. For years.”

“On a scale from 1 to 10, how tech savvy are you?”

“About an 8,” I said. I was probably closer to a 5, but, like I’d told Rae, I’m a quick learner.

October looked at Rae and nodded, and Rae said, “All right, then. How soon can you start?”

I figured I had to give FarmHouse some notice and said, “Two weeks?”

It was a Thursday. October’s eyes widened and she said, “Monday would be better.”

I nodded. I wanted the job. Or, more specifically, I wanted the apartment. I still didn’t know what the job was. “I can probably make that work.”

The three of us stood inside a lingering silence that was awkward for me and ostensibly for Rae, who was picking bits of almond skin from her teeth. But October seemed relaxed and content, her eyes moving back and forth across my face as if it were a page in a book she was reading.

“If you need a place to live, it makes sense to live on the property. My days start early.”

Rae said, “Maybe wait and see if you like the job before you decide.”

“No,” I said quickly. The apartment was the main reason I’d come. I already had my heart set on living in it. “I’ll take it.”

“Great,” October said. “Follow me.”

I went with her to the back of the studio, to a tiny office with a desk, a computer, and an old futon. She picked up a bowl of keys, pilfered through them, found a keychain shaped like the Golden Gate Bridge, and gave it to me. “The blue key unlocks your apartment. The white one is to this building.” She grabbed a Post-it note, wrote a series of numbers down on it, and handed that to me too.

I looked at it, chuckled, and said, “My birthday.”

She looked taken aback. “That’s the gate code.”

I laughed and said, “Your gate code is my birthday.” I gave the Post-it note back to her. “I probably don’t need that.”

“No, I guess you don’t.”

She walked me to the front door of the studio and told Rae to show me the apartment, discuss the salary with me, and, if everything was acceptable, have me fill out some paperwork.

“You can start moving in over the weekend. We’ll hit the ground running on Monday.”