Chapter 8
Sunday 9:04 p.m.
Okay, Jane—which part of “You don’t need this” didn’t you understand?
Having dinner with a guy who affects you in such an unbelievable way isn’t the best way to avoid him, now is it?
I sigh inwardly.
Too late.
He said yes, after a fraction of a second of complete surprise. And now we are in “Little Bamboo”, my favorite Thai place.
A waiter brings two steaming plates and puts them on the table in front of us. “Can I bring you anything else?” he asks.
“That will be all for now. Thank you!” Sam responds.
“Enjoy!” the waiter says, then leaves.
My stomach is making noises, but I hope the surroundings are louder and Sam doesn’t notice.
I take the fork and roll up a string of rice noodles with it, making sure I don’t splatter the table as I do so.
“You’re not gonna use the chopsticks?” asks Sam, arranging his own in his hand.
I shake my head. “I’m too hungry for chopsticks. This is much faster,” I say and put the first forkful in my mouth.
It’s delicious. Pad thai with chicken and the extra peanuts I asked for. Mmmm.
After a few bites, my wild heartbeat and the fluttering I feel in my stomach are still there. In fact, sitting directly opposite Sam makes it even worse. I realize that my hyper-excitement in the laundry room had nothing to do with my hunger and everything to do with Sam.
I swallow once, then gather the courage to look at him. His eyes are on me, beautiful and alluring. My courage disappears in an instant.
To distract myself, I reach for my glass of juice but, flustered as I am, I knock it with the back of my hand and it starts tipping off the table. I try to grab it, but I’m way too slow.
In the back of my mind, I already hear glass breaking.
The next moment, Sam is setting the glass back on the table, just a few drops spilled on the tablecloth and the floor.
I open my eyes wide. That was really fast!
I look at him and point to the glass, the liquid inside still swirling around. “Good reflexes.”
He smiles nonchalantly. “Had some practice. Catching falling cameras… and distracted neighbors.” He winks at me and looks behind me. “Excuse me. We had a little accident.”
The waiter comes over to us and Sam continues, “We spilled some juice on the floor. Might be slippery.”
“You don’t need to worry, sir. We’ll clean it up right away.”
“Thank you,” Sam says and looks back at me.
I’m still entranced with all of him. I take a quick breath, trying to refocus, then grab another forkful.
“So,” Sam starts, “what are you doing in this large city?”
I look up. Yes! Home field! “I’m a scientist.”
His eyes widen but he doesn’t say anything.
“I work in a basic research institute,” I explain.
“What does basic research mean exactly?”
“It’s kind of a free research. It means you can pick a subject you’re interested in and you discover more about it.”
“Do you like your job?”
I pause for an instant. Not the question I expected. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“What do you like best?”
I think about this for a second or two.
“I think . . . well, I like being the first person to discover something. See something for the first time that I know no one else in the whole world has seen before.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “I can see why this is intriguing for you. So what subject did you pick?”
“I work on prokaryotic cells—um, bacterial cells—and I’m basically looking at their life cycle.”
“Life cycle? I didn’t realize bacteria had a life cycle. I thought they just—existed.”
I laugh. “No, no, they do. You see, they have—” I raise my hands in an attempt to describe it to him. Then I drop them, realizing I’m getting into crazy-scientist-talking-about-science mode again.
He’s not really interested in what I’m doing. People usually aren’t.
“It’s not important,” I say and take a sip from my juice.
He narrows his eyes slightly. “What makes you say that?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Normal people don’t find this interesting.”
He laughs out loud. “What makes you think I’m normal?”
I look at him. Absolutely stunning and strangely mysterious. He’s right. I’ve never met anyone like him before.
He nods at me and says, “It’s interesting enough for you to spend entire weeks, sometimes even weekends, working on it. So I actually do think it’s important. Tell me.”
“Ah, it would take too long.”
“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he says, setting his chopsticks on his plate. “I’m listening.”
I keep looking at him. I can’t seem to figure him out. After a moment, I set my fork down and say, “Okay . . . well, bacteria have a life cycle. They start in the so-called lag phase, where they are not really growing but are preparing for a growth spurt. So there is a lot of translation happening, ribosome biosynthesis; they need to have a set of proteins ready, there’s RNA processing and also a lot of DNA modification, and they need to be ready for—”
“Wait! Wait! Wait.” He holds his hands up, closing his eyes. “This is too much detail. You need to simplify things for me. Quite a bit.”
I chuckle. “Okay. Think of it as phases of human growth: toddler, teenage, adulthood, and geriatrics. I work on the toddler-to-teenage part.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, in this lag phase—um, toddler phase—bacteria are still not growing, but they’re getting ready to grow. Then the log phase—the logarithmic phase—starts, which is where they multiply at an immense rate, each cell dividing into two every twenty minutes. It’s crazy. And it would continue like that except the cells realize the environment has changed, because they’ve depleted their food supply. So they start to stagnate. Adulthood.”
Sam nods. “I guess that makes sense.”
“And then they start dying. Geriatrics, right?”
“Good, still with you.”
“Now, the very cool thing is this. Let’s say I take a few geriatric cells and put them into new media—”
Sam shakes his head. “Media? Like, TV and sound systems?”
I laugh. “No, media is a name for liquid bacterial food. So, I put them into new food. Lots of food. And do you know what happens?”
Sam shrugs his shoulders. “They . . . change their mind about dying?”
“Exactly! And not only that; they go into the lag phase, into the toddler stage, again. And they start multiplying. Old people turning into children. You see, in a way, bacteria are immortal.”
No matter how many times I explain this, I am still amazed by these simple but miraculous life principles.
Sam smiles and nods slowly. “I can see why this captivates you. So you said you work on the—what was that, log-into-lag phase?—just when bacterial cells start growing.”
“Lag into log, yes.”
“So what exactly is your project again?”
“In this example, old cells get transferred into new media with lots of food, right? They sense this change within minutes. And as soon as they sense it, they revert to the ‘toddler stage,’” I say, making a quotation marks with my fingers. “They start preparing for the big growth spurt. And then they start growing. Log phase. But”—I raise my index finger—“if something is wrong with them sensing the environment, if they are for example treated with a reagent that blocks their sensory input, then they can’t tell what’s happening around them. They will not realize that there is a lot of food in their surroundings, and then—they will stay old. They. Won’t. Grow.” My lungs full of air, smile so broad that it hurts my facial muscles, I’m simply thrilled by explaining the central point of my project.
“Ha!” he says and puts a finger on his lips, thinking. “So, you could theoretically use this—what do you wanna call it—blocking principle as some sort of antibiotic treatment to stop bacteria from growing, couldn’t you?”
My smile gets even broader. He just figured out the main point. “Yes! Precisely!”
“And have you developed this mysterious reagent of yours? The one that stops them from sensing?”
I open my mouth to answer, but I stop for a moment. Something feels wrong about telling Sam about my big finding before I tell it to my boss. But then again, what is he going to do? Take a photo of it?
I chuckle inwardly.
He’s not related to science at all.
I look at him. Then, in a theatrical tone, I say, “Yes.”
His smile spreads into a broad grin. “That’s pretty awesome, Jane!”
“I know!” I squeak, basking in the self-proclaimed glory of my great new results.
“When did you find this out?”
“Just today!”
He puts a hand on his chest, then bows just slightly. “Wow—I’m flattered that you told me. I thought such big findings were usually kept secret before they get published.”
They are, actually. “But you’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”
He takes a moment before he responds. “Of course not. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Oh, good!”
“Was this a project you chose yourself?” Sam asks, looking at his plate as he takes more food.
“Yes. I mean, well kind of. I chose the lab because it deals with bacteria and their metabolism, life cycle, and so, and I was interested in that. But this particular project is just a bit different, because . . .” I pause, trying to figure out how to explain it.
“Yes?”
“Normally, you can pick a project from a pile, so to speak, anything that’s available in that particular lab. And my previous project was exactly like that. But this one was different because David, my boss, came up with the idea. And since I had finished my old project anyway and this one sounded interesting, I thought it might be cool.”
“And so it was.” He’s got a vague smile on his lips, his face slightly tilted as he looks at me, as if he already knows everything I’m going to say but he just wants to hear it from my lips.
I quickly look down, escaping his gaze, and wipe my palms on my thighs.
“And when did he do that? When did your boss come up with this project for you?”
I shrug, then look at him. “In scientific terms, fairly recently—about four months ago.”
“And you already have such great results? Your boss must be very proud.”
“Yes! Well, I assume, because I haven’t told him about this one yet, but my previous project was very successful too.”
He nods. “Yeah, I know.”
I blink. “You do?”
“I mean . . .” He closes his eyes for a second. “You mentioned that you finished your project . . . before this one started, so I just assumed it was successful.” He coughs into his fist. “You, um, seem like a very dedicated scientist.”
I smile. He’s not exactly qualified to comment on my science, but I still like the compliment. “Thanks, I try to be.”
“So, did your boss choose other projects for your lab mates? Or were you the only one working on a new project?”
I look to the side, my eyes unfocused, thinking. “I think so . . .” Then I nod firmly and look back. “Yes, I’m sure. The others stayed on their current projects.”
He looks at me for a few seconds without saying anything, but then he drifts forward, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin on the heel of his palm. “Your boss must think very highly of you to offer you this project…”
“I don’t think so.” I shake my head, frowning. “I mean, I’m sure he has a good opinion, don’t get me wrong, but it so happened that I was just finished with one project, and I was simply available for a new one. There’s nothing more to it.”
His lips open up in a hint of a smile, just enough for me to see his white teeth, hiding behind very soft, very—ah, kissable—lips.
I bite my lower lip and try very hard to think of something else.
“Maybe.” He nods, then straightens in his seat. He pulls his fleece jersey off over his head, a tight black T-shirt underneath revealing a body people would kill for.
My shoulders drop.
I’m staring at his muscular torso.
And I can’t even blink.
When I finally look up, I see him looking at me, his lips curled into a mischievous smile.
I close my eyes. Oh, Jane—some dignity, please!
I look down to my half-full plate, my hunger suddenly gone.
“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning forward, his fingers almost touching mine on the table.
I look at those few millimeters separating his fingers from mine. Then I pull my fingers into a fist and move my hand away. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” I nod, still not looking at him.
We are silent for a few moments while I try to get a grip of myself. Then he says, “Are you gonna finish your meal?”
I look up at him, deliberately avoiding looking at his tight chest muscles, then shake my head.
“Are you sure?” he asks again.
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I finish it?” he asks, arching his eyebrows, his face turning childish and innocent.
My body relaxes a bit and I smile. “No, not at all.” I push my plate toward him. “Go ahead.”
He picks up the plate, holding the fork firmly in place so it doesn’t fall, then sets it in front of him on the table. He doesn’t use his chopsticks but takes my fork and digs in.
“Mmmm, this is good,” he says, pointing to the food with a fork. “Next time, I’ll choose that too. They really make it well here.”
“I know. It’s my favorite.”
He smiles at me. “I should have known. An insider. Next time I’ll ask you for a recommendation.”
Next time?
I can’t stop myself from smiling. I look down again, embarrassed to meet his gaze.
In less than a minute, he’s finished. “Great! Thanks! Just the extra I needed.”
I sneak a glance back at his body. No wonder. Something needs to keep this pile of muscles working.
“Would you like to get a dessert?” he asks.
I contemplate that for a moment. That would prolong my time with him, but . . . I don’t want to add extra calories to my existing strategically stored pounds on my body, so I decide to skip it. “No. Thanks! I, um, I think we should go. Early waking up tomorrow.”
He looks at me for a moment too long. Then he nods once and looks up to search for our waiter and makes a signature motion in the air to ask for the bill.
I turn around to pick up my wallet from my bag hanging on the chair, but Sam says, “Jane, this one is on me!”
I look up at him. “Oh, no, no, it’s fine. I actually invited you, so it wouldn’t be fair if—”
He puts his hand on mine and my mind goes blank. “Jane, please.”
After the few seconds it takes for me to reboot my brain, I say, “Well, let me at least pay for my part.”
He moves his hand and leans back in his chair, then tilts his head sideways, looking at me. He does it in such a graceful and charming way that I’m left speechless. Again.
Then he slowly shakes his head and says, his voice deep and serene, “No, Jane. It’s been”—he takes a breath—“a very long time . . . since I had a dinner like this. It’s the least I can do.”
Well, I’ve never had a dinner like this one before.
Finally, I nod. “Thank you, Sam, that’s very kind.”
“It’s my pleasure, Jane.”
The waiter comes, and Sam gives him his credit card. The waiter swipes the card on his tablet and asks for Sam to sign with a finger. Through all this time, Sam’s not looking at the waiter at all. Or at the tablet, for that matter. He just keeps looking at me, that half-hidden smile on his face.
What’s he thinking?
Once the transaction goes through, waiter takes his tablet back and says, “Thank you, sir. I wish you both a good evening!”
He leaves, and I’m just about to stand up, but Sam doesn’t move. He’s all still, his eyes drilling into me.
I swallow.
I have the urge to look away, but at the same time, I can’t. I feel hypnotized by his gaze, the dimming blue ocean at the end of the autumn day.
Then he leans in and says very quietly, “I think this is something we will need to repeat. Don’t you think?”
Oh . . . yes . . . definitely . . . But I only manage to nod.
Then he smiles a mischievous grin and pulls his chair away. “Shall we go?”
As if awoken from a spell, I slowly stand. He takes the jacket hanging on my chair and holds it open for me.
“Thanks!” I say as I wrap my jacket around myself.
“I’ll walk you to your apartment,” he says and winks at me.
I laugh.
Can this guy get any better?