This is my job.
“What do you think?” he asks, his tone rich and smoky, just like his food.
"It's amazing," I say, but my thoughts are filled with Evan at The Bean, about how I should have just said that I was sorry.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says with a grin that also makes his dark eyes sparkle. “This is my passion.”
“Playing with fire?” I tease, trying to remind myself that I’m on the dime and time ofThe New York Standard,and I need to put my personal life away and focus on Leo, not Evan.
He laughs richly. “You’re funny.”
I shrug my shoulders. “It’s one of my better qualities.”
He smiles at me. “So, what does a New Yorker have to say about the food here?”
“I’m not from New York,” I answer. “Well, I’ve lived there for the last six years, but I’m actually from Oklahoma. Are you originally from Chicago?”
This is the part I love about interviews. The focus isn’t on me, not that I don’t want there to be focus on me, but I want it for the right reasons. I want to be interviewed, to be a person of interest. This man has made his dreams come true, and he deserves this opportunity to talk about it.
I’ve learned how to redirect and how important the stories of everyone else are, but thinking about that makes me wonder why I have been so quick to not learn about Evan’s story. Why I haven’t given him the opportunity when for so long I truly wanted to know his story.
Leo nods his head. “I grew up here. I love that I can give back to this community. It’s supported me in so many ways.”
I write his words down even though I’m also recording them, but while I do, I notice that Leo’s attention leaves me and goes to the large wooden front door. I follow his focus and feel something twist inside of me when I realize it’s Evan with a woman—a pretty woman wearing a revealing, tight black dress and heels so high she might as well be considered a skyscraper. She’s the kind of woman men glorify. Legs up to her ears and curves in only the right places. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with women like her, it’s just, women like me don’t even qualify for a participation trophy in comparison. While she’s a skyscraper, most of us are like little huts or the property card inThe Game of Lifethat says, ‘Split-Level. Was one level before the ‘quake. Now a real fixer-upper for adventurous folks!’
Most men aren’tthatkind of adventurous, and I definitely feel like that yellow house split down the middle sometimes.
I watch as Evan pulls out a chair for her after the hostess leads them to their table. The woman sits down, giggling.
I groan, and I guess I groan loudly because now Leo is looking at me.
“Do you know that person?” he asks.
I feel my face flush. “I mean, it’s Evan Michaels.”
He nods his head. “Yes, the author. I heard he’s on a book tour with a fanfiction writer.”
“I heard that, too,” I reply.
Leo’s smile widens. “It’s you.”
My jaw drops. “It’s not…I’m not…”
He laughs. “You didn’t think I’d know.”
“I don’t think a lot of people know,” I finally say as I take a large gulp of my water.
“I just had to type your name on Google, and it came up,” he says with a shrug. “I like to know who is interviewing me.”
“I’m on Google?” I question. “I mean, I know my articles come up, but me as a fanfiction writer?”
“You have no idea, do you?” he questions with his eyebrows raised.
He pulls out his phone and types in my name on the search engine where I can see, and there my name is along with dozens of blogs, social media posts, and more.
“I’ve mainly been off social media since going on tour, then when the stalker situation happened on day one, I handed my login information to a friend and deleted the apps on my phone,” I explain. “And this interview isn’t supposed to be about me, it’s about you.” I shake my head, grabbing my notebook.
“What’s going on with that stalker situation?” Leo asks, completely avoiding my attempt to direct this conversation back to him.
