“Why go to such lengths?”
“Because . . .” I gathered a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain my passion without sounding unhinged. “I love knowing something from the inside out, and then sharing that knowledge with the world. The law is so fascinating, changeable, and open to interpretation, based on each individual interpreter’s life experience. Stories are that way, too. How people read and react to news. Providing insight into different ways of thinking, different walks of life, making the world think about an old issue from a different perspective, I love it. I feel so lucky that I get to be the conduit through which others’ stories are told.”
Matt was silent after I finished, and I could see him thinking. Deliberating. Considering. As though his ideas about me—on a fundamental level—had just shifted.
At length, his features settled into a frown, but his tone was shaded with admiration as he said, “You’re brave.”
That made me smirk. “I’m brave?”
“Yes. You’re willing to cuddle with a complete stranger. You throw yourself into experiences, all so you can share these experiences with people who might benefit from them, people who, without your stories, may never have been exposed to them otherwise.” I couldn’t decide if he sounded irritated, impressed, or confused.
“I’m not so brave. It’s not like I’m in Afghanistan or Syria, risking my life for journalism and truth.”
“No. You’re brave,” Matt contradicted quickly. “You’re a test case, a subject of research, many times over. Except you’re the one doing the research, writing up the case report. And then you share it with the world, so that others can see and understand better.”
His words suffused my chest with warmth. Maybe even butterflies. And the way he held my gaze with his remarkably attractive eyes, like I was something special, unique and wonderful, made my head swim. The moment stretched, the silence filling with anticipation.
And it was the anticipation that thrust me back into reality.
Because there could be no anticipation.
Right?
Right.
I smiled at him and he returned it, increasing the tempo of my heart.
“Okay, your turn.” I nudged him with my knee, asking softly, “Tell me about your parents.”
Abruptly, most of the light drained from his eyes and his smile fell. Matt shook his head, making a face. “No. Ask me something else.”
I was surprised but I bit my tongue to keep from pushing. I wasn’t writing a story about Matt, so I didn’t need to ask him questions he clearly didn’t want to answer.
“Okay.” I glanced at the ceiling, picked up my pie, took a bite, and pulled a question out of the air that had been on my mind. “Why do you think people become so resistant to change as they grow older?”
“Are they?”
“Yes. There’s a ton of research to back that up, none of which I can quote right now without making up statistics.”
“Safety?” He finished off his pie before adding thoughtfully, “Fear of rejection? Though, in my experience, indifference is worse.” Matt’s gaze floated to the left, then to the right, like he was giving the matter great consideration. Then, abruptly, his eyes cut to mine. “Why? What do you think?”
I shrugged. “I think you’re right. My friend Sandra would also mention avoidance of cognitive dissonance as a factor, but it all boils down to safety.”
“Sandra, as in Alex’s wife?”
I nodded, bemused. “You know Alex? Since when?”
“We met at your knitting club thing, a few weeks ago. Fiona and he work together and she gave my name to him. He’s breaking into banks as part of his job.” Matt paused, frowned, then rubbed his chin. “At least, I hope it’s for his job.”
“Yes. It’s for his job. He works with Fiona at Quinn’s security company. He tries to break into firewalls, or something like that, to point out weaknesses.”
“Exactly. Anyway, he’d come across a bank that was using an AI for its security and had some questions.”
“Oh . . .” I frowned. “Alex had questions? For you?”
A slyly amused smile bloomed over his features. “Yes.”
My frown deepened. “But I thought he was the best.”
This drew a laugh from Matt. “I’m sure he is, at hacking, but AI is a completely different field. He’s not computer or programming omniscient. No one is.”
“Hmm.” I nodded, realizing I didn’t really know enough about programming to wrap my mind around the difference. To me, there was just a giant bucket labeled “programming” and I assumed if someone was fluent in programming it meant all types of programming.
Perhaps I needed to immerse myself in “programming.”
“Anyway, he’s interesting.” Matt’s gaze turned introspective. “He wants to know more about how the field is progressing, so he’s coming with me to an AI expo in a few weeks.”
My mouth fell open. “Really? Alex?”
“Yes. Alex.” Matt gave me a funny look. “Why do you look so surprised? I’m not a troll, you know. I don’t live under a bridge, terrorizing goats.”
I laughed at that. “I know, which—” I set my pie on the ottoman again and gathered my courage, “—is actually a convenient segue into what I wanted to say next.”
“Oh!” Matt’s look of suspicion quickly transformed into playfulness. “Are we going to discuss safe words? Mine is Turing test.”
“No. Not safe words. I wanted to thank you.” I laughed at him again, shaking my head. I loved how funny he was, and it struck me how wrong my first—and second, and third—impression of him had been. If I hadn’t forced him to share his data with me, I might still be thinking of him as arrogant, petulant, and wooden. But he wasn’t those things, not at all. He’d definitely grown on me with repeated exposure.
“Thank me? For what?” His clever eyes danced.
“For coming with me to the cuddle studio. I appreciated having someone there.” I shook my head at the imprecise and diluted nature of my words, and knew I needed to correct myself. “Actually, that’s not true, I appreciated having you there. I was thinking about the story, and of course I’ll still need your help with that, but after the series is over, I’m hoping that you and I can continue to be friends.”
Matt’s playfulness waned as I spoke, his expression growing mystified, then suddenly sober, as though he’d just solved a puzzle.
“You’re friend-zoning me,” he said, and I got the impression he spoke the words as soon as he thought them.
I reared back. “What?”
“No. It’s fine. I’m just . . .” A deep V formed between his eyebrows, the adorable wrinkle appearing as he pulled his gaze from mine, turning his body in profile, and stared at my ottoman.
I waited a few seconds, paralyzed by what he’d said. Did he not want to be friend-zoned? Did he want more than—
. . . No.
No.