Page 5 of The Apparent Trap

“What about you, stranger who’s not a stranger? How’s your life?”

“I’m happy, my life is easy,” I brush off.

“Is easy the goal?”

I think about my teenage years, muddled and confused and filled with uncertainty. “I think it is, yeah.”

“Maybe that’s what I should be doing,” he says, reflective. “Maybe I should be embracing the easy instead of trying to make things more complicated.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t be here attempting to figure you out.” His words are so genuine. I’m not used to this, being a present someone wants to unwrap so fervently.

“Not a lot to figure out,” I push off.

But he isn’t taking the bait. He sits up straighter and looks me right in the eye. “What if you said yes to going out with me another day? Meet for your drink with whomever tonight, but give me your number and let me take you on a date. Let me flirt with you properly over dinner, and I promise I’ll figure out where we’ve met and apologize profusely for not remembering. Wear whatever the comfortable opposite of these sparkly boots are for you, and put your hair up in an unwashed ponytail for all I care. I like you and want you to believe it’s because you’re funny and charming and a little bit weird and not because I’m hoodwinked by eyeliner.”

I can feel the blush prickle across my skin, because he’s opened me up as quickly and sharply as if he were filleting a fish for one of his cooking segments.

I try to take a sip of my drink, but I must be so addled by his declaration that I spill a little bit. He reaches out and wipes a droplet off my mouth with his thumb, and it sears me from the inside. He lingers, his touch soft, and I’m mesmerized.

Just that small gesture makes me want to throw away my usual safety net of nights in and say yes.

I’m about to say yes against my better judgment.

I’m about to say yes, even though I know all the reasons I shouldn’t.

I’m about to say yes because that thumb against my lip makes me want to incinerate the box I’ve lived in forever—the daughter, the homebody, the practical introvert with niche hobbies—and grow ten sizes taller.

I’m maybe . . . about to let him kiss me?

But suddenly, something in his expression changes, like all the air has been pulled out of the room.

“I’ve um . . .” His hand jerks back, like I’ve scalded him. “I’ve gotta go. I’m so sorry.”

I’m surprised there isn’t smoke left in his wake, he’s gone so fast.

My mouth drops in shock.

What in the actual hell just happened?

I take a deep breath and set my jaw, willing the unwanted tears that are now prickling at the edges not to dare make an entrance.

And an even more unsettling thought settles. What did I do?

I let all the air out of my lungs slowly, willing myself back to reality.

That’s the thing about carefully curated boxes. We’re in them for a reason. I can’t let mascara and an egomaniac chef three drinks deep convince me to change everything I know about myself.

Idiot.

But I still need another deep breath.

Maybe two. It’s whiplash, and I need a moment.

Until there’s another tap on my shoulder and I turn around expecting to see Lee again. But of course, it’s Carmen, ready to meet her new producer.

So I indulge in another deep breath. And then plaster on a smile of my own and stand up to introduce myself to the new coanchor I’m about to work with every day.