A few of them whistled and chuckled, which drew a round of laughter from everyone.
All while I was ready to pee myself.
The anchor's co-host chimed in with a laugh.
"They certainly seem to have good chemistry. That's important for a partnership that will last through the holiday season."
"Indeed," the anchor agreed. "We'll be following their journey closely as they prepare for the December tree lighting. Such a lovely tradition."
The segment ended, and the broadcast moved on to weather.
But I couldn't move.
I stood on the stepladder, gripping the spray bottle so hard that the plastic cut into my palms, and stared at the television screen.
They'd analyzed us—discussed us—turned our private moment into public entertainment.
The last time this had happened, it had destroyed my life.
Brad's face flashed through my mind—his smirk when he'd shown me the video, the casual cruelty in his voice when he'd explained that everyone on campus had already seen it.
I'd been mortified at that alone, but the following weeks turned into a nightmare so bad, I had to hide in my parents' house.
"Ember? Are you all right?"
Clara's voice broke through the spiral.
I blinked and looked down.
She stood at the base of the stepladder with concern etched across her features.
"I'm fine," I said automatically, but I sounded detached and distant.
"You don't look fine. You've gone very pale." She reached up and touched my arm. "Come down from there before you fall."
I descended the ladder on shaking legs.
The sponge slipped from my hand and bounced at my feet, leaving a wet spot on the raggedy carpet.
Clara caught my elbow and steadied me.
"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.
I couldn't answer.
My throat had closed and my chest felt too tight.
I stared at the television, even though it had moved on to other news now.
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
I couldn't shake the dread coiling in my stomach.
The cameras were everywhere.
The reporters were paying attention.
And Nate and I had chemistry that apparently showed through the lens.
