Between the Lines

Chapter 1

Many people think that I have the ideal life. That I have their dream job. But what they don't see is this – me, standing in weather that is way too hot to be New York City in May, trying to figure out how to take an original picture of a half-melted ice cream. (And, given the billion or so hand-holding-ice-cream photos there are, I will have to say that is a pretty difficult task.)

"Do you think this is good?" I handed my phone to my partner in crime, fellow media associate Sam.

He made a grimace. "I think we should take a couple more... Here, let me try." His fingers brushed against mine as he took the phone from my left hand. It was a good thing the afternoon sun was giving me such a hard time – I couldn't have turned any more red than I already was.

Sam is an associate culinary producer, just like yours truly. In fact, we met while waiting for our interviews. (Spoiler: We both got the job.) Getting to meet and work with him is still the best work perk – and this comes from working in a place that constantly gives you free food. He's smart, talented, funny... and not a total jerk. Oh, and definitely the most objectively attractive person in the entire city. Picture a tall guy, about six foot one, with broad shoulders and an overall skater-slash-surfer physique. Black hair, with slightly asymmetrical bangs that brush against the top of his left eye. Perfect skin, the kind you saw in Korean beauty commercials and dramas.

"Did Sarah tell you yet?"

"What?" I snapped out of my daydream.

"I said, did Sarah tell you yet?"

"About what?" I asked. Sarah, our project manager, had not reached out to me since this whole ice cream fiasco.

"The cross-country project."

My heart stopped. Sam and I had submitted a pitch to Sarah a couple of months ago on a cross-country road trip, stopping by different cities and regions of the U.S. and filming a half-food-half-travel series. It took Sam and me so many work days and all-nighters to work on it. The budget was big, but if we had gotten even two of the hundred or so sponsors we had reached out to, we could get by.

"I'm guessing she hasn't told you yet." He said.

"No."

"Well, congratulations." He flashed one of his cheesy grins, his right dimple appearing out of nowhere. "It's approved. We're heading out next week. Sponsors want the video series in a month, and out for public in two."

"How many sponsors?"

"Five. I heard that we're almost twice above the budget."

I jumped up in excitement. The ice cream cone, the one that I had forgotten that I was carrying, slipped out of my hands and splatted on the concrete pavement below.

Sam gave a barely audible chuckle. "Come on. I'll go clean this up. Then... we'll get some celebratory lunch?"

#

We went to one of our favorite places -- a Hong Kong barbeque restaurant in Chinatown. It was definitely not your ideal date location. There was no décor (unless you counted the colored construction paper signs depicting the special of the day in Chinese characters). But, it was a local spot, known for its amazing food at such cheap prices. A rare gem in the city, that was for sure.

"Getting the usual?" I asked Sam. He had his head bent down, looking at the menu on the table. The menu was plastered between the table cloth and a glass pane. It was a symbol of efficiency of Chinatown restaurants – changing a table cloth took more money and effort than wiping glass.

"Yeah, I think so. Char siu pork and rice. And I bet you'll be getting the roast duck noodle soup? With wontons?"

"Do I order anything else?"

Sam gave me another of his signature grins. I could see the twinkle in his eye, the slight life of his right eyebrow, that right dimple... It wasn't the lack of air conditioning that made me melt into my seat. "Typical Teresa."

"Well, I got to get my favorite. Who knows when the next time I'll be able to have it will be."

"Two weeks on the road, huh." He pressed the white tea cup to his perfect lips. "I can't wait for the timelapses."

Sam was the timelapse guy. He knew how to set up the camera at the perfect angle (without the need to hold it for the entire hour or so of filming), where to get the music, the whole nine yards.

"Have you ever been on a road trip?" I asked.

He shook his head. "To be quite honest, I haven't been around most places outside of the tristate area. Except California and Hawaii. I have some relatives over there." He took another sip of his tea. "But always by plane," he added.

Within ten minutes, our food was out. I peeked over at his order. Char siu pork, in its artificial red color, shimmered alongside the greasy rice. As the waiter put down my food, the noodles and broth swished dangerously along the brims of the bowl, threatening to escape.

We ate in silence. That's what I liked about Sam. He knew that good food is worth shutting up for. To heck with worrying about awkward silences. Not that our silences were ever awkward – they just came and went naturally.

"I shouldn't have ate so much." I complained as we walked out of the restaurant. "I feel like an overly stuffed dumpling."

Sam chuckled. "I don't know what to say, then. It's not going to get better in a week. Lots of food and driving.

"A week. I don't know if I can wait that long," I sighed.

"You were pretty patient before I told you."

"But that's –" I felt a force push me back, sort of like those safety bars on rollercoasters. I looked down to see Sam's lower arm.

"There's a car. Are you crazy? You could've gotten –" He paused after our eyes met. His voice softened. "I mean, you could've... There was a car..."

I never saw Sam like this before. Shy Sam -- a common sight. Excited Sam – a much more rare occurrence, but still nothing new. But this... I never knew that he had such a, well, protective side to him. Did I trigger something? Was this all I had to do this entire time? Just almost get run over by a car?

I glanced over at Sam. He was facing the intersection, his face distorted into an awkward, frustrated expression. I looked down at my phone. It would probably be best if we both pretend this never happened. And if it happens again, well...

My phone lit up. There were two texts from my boss (our boss), Sarah. The first text read, "Congratulations on the project." Another one, two minutes later, said "We're adding another host onto the series project. Check my e-mails."

"Wait, what?"

"What?" Sam asked.

"They're adding someone new to the team." I passed him my phone.