Love Me Deeply, Then Let Me Love You Deeper

The producer counted down from five while I held a smile I no longer felt. "Three, two..." A hand lifted. "And we're live." The cameras slid toward me. Across the candlelit terrace, six strangers watched me pretend I hadn't spent the afternoon reading comments about my face, my breakup, and whether my last movie had bombed because I was "too old to play charming." I was thirty-two. I had played charming for a living since I was nineteen. "Welcome to The Last First Date," Tessa Lane said, bright as a studio bulb. "Mara Hart, our first guest, is joining us for a week of dates here in Bellwether Bay. She's been called one of the most recognizable women in America. Tonight, she's just a woman looking for a real connection." I kept my smile steady. The phrase real connection sat in my throat like a line I hadn't rehearsed enough. The show had pitched a fresh start. My publicist had called it a controlled risk. My agent had called it a chance to be seen as more than the woman who'd been dumped by actor Blake Rainer on a red carpet, then laughed about it in a late-night interview. I'd said yes because my career had started to feel like a room where everyone was waiting for me to leave. The cameras swung toward the contestants. The first was a handsome architect from Denver. The second owned a bakery. The third, a tall man in a dark green jacket, sat with his hands folded loosely on the table. Tessa glanced at her cue card. "And Noah Reed says he works in finance." "Mostly small investments," Noah said. His voice was low, calm, and just amused enough to make the phrase sound like a private joke. He looked at me, not the camera. I'd met plenty of men who looked at me. Most of them saw a useful story, a glamorous evening, or a way to tell someone else they had my number. Noah's gaze didn't linger on my dress or my face. It met mine, then gave me room to look away. "Small investments in what?" I asked. "Mostly businesses that are one bad quarter away from becoming somebody's problem." A few people laughed. I did, too, before I could decide if I wanted to. "So you buy disasters?" "Not the disasters. The part that might still work." That sounded like the beginning of a polished answer. I searched his face for the pitch and found only a small smile. Tessa leaned in. "And what brought you here?" "Curiosity." "About dating?" "About whether two people can have a conversation when there are seven cameras waiting for them to kiss." The crew laughed. Tessa's smile sharpened. I wondered if the producers had told him to say that. I wondered whether it mattered. Dinner was served. The cameras stayed close. I answered the expected questions: What did I want in a relationship? Did I believe in love at first sight? Had I been hurt before? "I believe in attention," I said. "The kind that lasts after the first impression." Noah nodded. "That's a more useful answer than love at first sight." "You don't believe in it?" "I believe you can know you're interested in someone quickly. Love takes longer than a good first night." The conversation was easy in a way I didn't trust. I had been trained to hear the hidden ask beneath a compliment. Noah didn't ask for my number, my worst breakup story, or the name of the person who had made me cry. When the first date invitation came, I picked his card. The crew guided us to the porch for a private conversation, though "private" meant one camera behind a potted fern and another pointed through the open window. "What did you mean about businesses that might still work?" I asked. "I'm a partner at Reed Harbor Partners. We invest in companies that need money and a little patience." "That sounds larger than small." "It sounds better on a website." "You put 'small investments' in your application?" "I did. I didn't want a camera to follow me here and turn my job into the entire conversation." He said it lightly. It still landed like a warning. "Is that what happens?" "I'm finding out." I studied him. "I thought you were here to find out about me." "I can do both." The answer should have annoyed me. Instead, I laughed. A producer's voice came through the earpiece clipped behind my collar. "Ask him what his biggest mistake was." I hated being instructed in the middle of a conversation. I hated even more that I had to pretend I hadn't heard. "What's your biggest mistake?" I asked. Noah looked at the small black device under my hair. Then he looked back at me. "Answering that question when someone else tells you to ask it." My cheeks warmed. "I'm sorry." "Don't be. I know where we are." "And you still came?" "I came because you seemed like someone who might be honest even when the room makes that difficult." The camera light blinked. I wanted to ask whether he'd read my interviews, or whether this was another line. Instead, I asked what kind of person he was when no one was watching. "Quieter," he said. "Same." "That would make for a pretty dull show." "Maybe dull is underrated." "Not by the people paying for the lights." The producer called time. I stood, then hesitated. "Would you like to keep talking tomorrow?" I asked. "I would." There it was, the spark the show had wanted. I could feel the crew ready to package it, frame it, and sell it before I'd even taken off my microphone. I walked away smiling anyway.