Page 69 of If Ever

I shake my head. "Nah. My fifteen minutes are about to expire. I'm not cut out for this fame thing. It's time for me to start searching for a job."

“Or, take a couple months off to just relax and enjoy life. From what I’ve heard, you don’t take much time to treat yourself.”

“No. It’s never been an option.”

“Why don’t you take a few chances and try something different? We made it far enough in the show, you should have some decent bonus money.”

I just have my apartment rent and a couple of bills to pay for, which I should be able to cover. “Maybe, but I can’t imagine doing nothing.”

It isn't long before Dominic is reclined in his seat with his head back and mouth open like a teenager passed out after an all-nighter gaming. But I can't sleep, I get to see Tom soon. We've only spent a few hours together and yet he's turned my life upside down. Will he still like me after we spend the next two days together? God I hope so.

The flight drags, so I watch a movie. By the time I finally close my eyes, it's only a blink and the flight attendants are serving coffee and pastries.

New York City

Stepping into the late November New York chill takes my breath away after two and half months in mild L.A. The studio has sent a car to meet us. I'm tempted to call Tom, but it's so early, he probably isn't awake yet; and he has two shows today, so I don't want to bother him yet. I peer out the window, soaking in every detail as we approach Manhattan. The traffic slows and we inch through rush hour. People pour out of a subway exit, just like in the movies. Taxis dodge in and out of traffic, and food carts crowd every corner. The air smells of baked goods and vehicle exhaust. Dominic points out the historic Grand Central Station and later the New York Public Library with its giant lions standing guard.

We arrive at the morning show studio in Times Square just before 7 a.m., and I change into a fitted blue dress and black boots. We're briefed by a producer, and my makeup is touched up. When there’s a spare moment, I sneak in a text to Tom.

The interview goes well. Jokes are made about my stubborn start to the show, and the growth I've made. They ask who we think will win. Dominic evades, saying it's too close to call, but I declare it's Brady and Leyna.

Afterward, our luggage is whisked away to our hotel, so Dominic and I can go our separate ways. I slip on the new coat that I bought special for the trip. Thanks to all the professional primping, I feel fantastic.

Dominic and I push through the doors and onto the sidewalk in Times Square. Cars and buses crowd the street and billboards flash with lights. I hear a distant siren as people hustle through the cool morning. There's Tom, with his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket, leaning against the light post and wearing a crooked smile and a dark scarf.

It's really happened. I'm here. And he's here, and we have a whole day together, other than his two shows. I smile and head toward him. He pushes off from his spot and meets me halfway, greeting me with a kiss. Ah, the familiar touch of his lips. His hair flutters in the breeze and the morning sun sparkles in his blue eyes. A city bus roars by in a cloud of exhaust.

"Welcome to New York," he laughs.

There’s an excited nervousness between us. We’ve waited for this moment for so long, but what now?

"How did the interview go?"

"It's sort of weird. The hosts talk like they know me."

"You made the semifinals. You're a celebrity."

I cringe. "Hardly. If I'm what people consider a celebrity these days, that's pretty pathetic."

Tom gestures with his head to a couple of tourists taking our picture.

"They must be here for you," I say.

"It's all you. People only recognize me when I'm standing outside the theatre immediately after a show. Twenty minutes and two blocks away, I'm a regular shmoe just like everyone else."

I lean in and whisper, “They look like they’re going to come over here. What do I do?”

His arm goes around me. “Do you want to talk to them?”

I turn my back to the strangers. “I want to slink away, is that rude?”

“Nope.” Before the onlookers make their move, he guides me down a street away from Times Square. "I thought we could catch a late breakfast. Are you hungry?" he asks.

"I am. They served a breakfast sandwich on the plane, but that was almost four hours ago. My internal clock is messed up. I only slept for an hour or so. I was too excited."

"I know all about that." He smiles.

We walk a few blocks and stop at a red light. The breeze is brisk. The cold air on my legs is unexpected. I pull the neck of my coat tighter.

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