Page 98 of The Apparent Trap

And it’s more than enough for me too.

Epilogue

Two months later

“You two are going to have to stop talking to me about curling,” Georgia says, taking a bite of the pathetic premade salad we were handed by some production assistants.

“No, but it’s amazing,” I insist. “Did you know the ice is maintained by ice technicians who use lasers to ensure the proper pebbling? Like even one uneven droplet on the ice can ruin a shot.”

“The assumption that I know what pebbling is—”

“It’s texture to reduce friction; the ice is deliberately not smooth,” Carmen chimes in, as though that’ll change Georgia’s mind.

We’re in Stockholm, but you wouldn’t know it based on the drab conference room the three of us have huddled in to scarf down a quick lunch. Our Olympics schedules here have been topsy-turvy because of the time difference—mornings are jam-packed with watching and covering events, and then we dart back to the makeshift studio before our show starts at 1:00 p.m. local time (which is 7:00 a.m. on the East Coast of the US).

But Georgia is decidedly uninterested in my and Carmen’s morning. “Aren’t curlers like the oldest average teams of any sport here?” she counters.

“Ageist,” Carmen retorts with a smirk, and Georgia cackles. “I mean, yes, but the teams are older because they prize strategy, composure, precision, and teamwork over raw physicality! Come on, you have to admire that. And they are still in really good shape!”

I watch the two of them volley back and forth, and their camaraderie warms me.

I worried it might be weird the first time I invited Carmen to a girls’ night with me and Georgia. But without her armor on and with a little trust built, Carmen actually folded right in. I was shocked to see there was a goofy girlish side to the perfectly poised version of the woman I’d been introduced to. Two margaritas and an in-depth drunken dissection of the weather patterns in the movie Twister, and it was clear Carmen had been a tightly contained jack-in-the-box who’d only needed permission to bounce free.

And this week, our friendship has solidified even more after seeing how deranged and parasocially invested we’ve both gotten over the Olympics. Any athlete backstory we can geek out over, we will—a speed skater whose mom raised him alone while working at the local ice rink? A downhill skier coming back after crashing out four years ago? Ice dancing couples who are confusingly not actual couples in real life despite having the chemistry to incinerate a building? Sign us up. The weirder it is, the more we’re loving it.

But aside from just personally enjoying being here, it’s also felt like we’ve been on fire, work-wise. We hit the ground running and have pumped out a ton of standout segments that the higher-ups seem exceptionally pleased with. We’ve gone a little viral for having Carmen pull a new athlete into her weather updates every day. They teach her about the conditions for their sport, and she teaches them how to read the meteorology report. Think about ski jumpers talking about wind speeds and then Carmen getting nerdy about velocity. Or a cross-country skier discussing ideal conditions while Carmen gets into the density of snow.

Every day has been something different, and we’re both in our elements, reacting to quick changes and chasing down everything that a two-week-long live event can throw at us.

“I am absolutely not coming with you to the curling finals tonight,” Georgia says.

“What if I guarantee the guys are hot?” Carmen teases.

“You think a bunch of dudes who sit inside all day staring at ice could beat like . . . snowboarders?”

“Or the legs of cross-country skiers?” I chime in.

“What about the legs of work-obsessed chefs?” I hear behind me.

I’m giddy before I even turn around, because I know that voice.

“You’re here?!” I squeal and jump up, flinging my arms around Lee before I can even realize what I’m doing.

He chuckles as he catches me, effortless, like I’m a puppy who thinks it’s capable of tackling its owner. “I heard I needed to defend my honor against young athletes that might be trying to steal my girl.”

“She’s into curling,” Georgia retorts. “Those guys are your age—she’s got a type, I’m afraid.”

I shoot her a look, but I’m too excited to put any heat on it. Carmen’s grinning, so clearly she knew this was happening.

I turn back to Lee. “Did they decide to have you shoot some segments? What are you doing here?”

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way Lee looks at me. Like I’m precious. Like I have no idea what I do to him. Like I’m luminous.

“I just missed you,” he says softly.

“I was only going to be gone for two weeks.”

“Yeah,” he says, like I’m proving my own point.