Page 13 of Unwrapped

“You okay?” Camille asks.

“Fine. Just—long day. Sorry.”

She studies me for a second, then nods and picks up her own fork. “The salmon’s really good. You should try a bite.”

I do. It is good, and I tell her so. We keep talking.

But it happens again fifteen minutes later. And again after that. Each time, I drag myself back, make a joke, ask a question, do whatever I need to do to keep the conversation moving. But the distance between where I am and where my head wants to be keeps widening, and Camille isn’t stupid. She can see it.

Still, she suggests her place for a nightcap. I say yes. I want to say yes. I want this to work.

Her apartment is ten minutes from the restaurant. She unlocks the door and flicks on the lights, and her living room looks just like what I’d expect from Camille. It’s very nice, clean, and carefully decorated. She hangs her coat in the closet and turns to me.

“Whiskey?” she asks.

“Please.”

She pours two glasses, hands me one, and sits beside me on the couch, not too close, but not too far. Just the right distance for two people on their third date.

I like her. I really do. The first two dates were easy, even if they felt more like having dinner with an interesting colleague than anything else. She’s attractive, intelligent, and we have plenty in common. On paper, we make sense.

Maybe the chemistry just needs a little more time.

We talk a bit more, and the whiskey helps. So does the warmth of her apartment, the low light, the fact that we’re alone now. She sets her glass down and moves a little closer, and when she kisses me, it feels nice. I kiss her back and try to let myself fall into it.

It just doesn’t work.

My body responds, but my brain won’t shut up. Sophie’s handwriting. I came haaard thinking about him. The black lace underwear in the laundry basket. None of this belongs here. None of it has anything to do with Camille, who is kissing me with real warmth and interest, and deserves better than a man who’s thinking about his stepdaughter while his tongue is in her mouth.

I break the kiss. “I’m sorry.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are dark, her mouth slightly parted. “What’s going on, Vince?”

“I’m distracted. It’s not you.”

“Work?”

“Something like that.”

She sits back, the space between us widening. “You’ve been somewhere else all night.”

“I know.”

“It’s okay.” She says it sincerely. “We all have off nights.”

“This isn’t— It’s not about you. You’ve been great. You are great.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks. But maybe we should call it a night.”

I finish my whiskey and stand up. She walks me to the door, and we kiss one more time, briefly. A polite kiss. At the elevator, I turn back.

“Camille, I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She leans against the doorframe, studying me for a moment. “You know, I think maybe we’ve both been trying a little too hard tonight.”

“It’s been a strange week.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll have better luck next time.” She smiles. “You’re still making me dinner, aren’t you?”