Free Fade In by M. Mabie

right now. So I suppose it's going well.”
    I'm rambling, but he's engaged and doesn't seem to mind.
    “Have you done this sort of work before? Of course, you don't have to answer that if you'd rather just wait for Neil and we can go through your interview a bit more formally.”
    “No need to wait for him,” he chimes in as he takes a seat at the bar across from where I'm standing. “I don't mind answering your questions. No, I've never been a personal assistant, but I have a lot of experience with helping people. So it couldn't be much more complicated than that, right?”
    “Yeah, I guess. But my life is a bit unorthodox. I work about sixty hours a week from the office, sometimes more from home. Sometimes I have multiple social events and meetings to attend in a week’s time, sometimes with no notice.” I think about how that was true at one time, but not so much lately. “I have an active social life and like to be out and about. Well, I did. That may all be slowing down in the near future.”
    “Sounds fascinating. What kind of work do you do?” He listens, and I can tell he's paying close attention just by the way he looks at my eyes as I speak.
    “Oh, I thought you knew. I write for and produce Just Kidding.” Feeling pride and a sense of confidence, I hold my head a bit higher, summon my business posture, and say, “I'm Tatum Elliot.”
    He stands, walks around the island, and extends a hand to me. This simple gesture, one that I do nearly on a daily basis, all of a sudden seems foreign. I stand, looking at him, lost in my own thoughts for a minute at the possibility of touching this smoking-hot guy.
    The air between us gifts me with a lungful of leather and sandalwood. It's like I have an infinite capacity for oxygen, and I inhale for what seems like minutes, never wanting to stop.
    “Tatum, I'm Ben Harris. It's is a pleasure to meet you.”
    As these words float in the delicious air around me, I somehow find my bearings and raise my right arm waist high. Just like that, his fingers are wrapped almost completely around my offered hand. His pinky bridges across the back of all four of my fingers and his thumb settles on my wrist.
    I knew I had miniature hands, but his warm hand swallows mine, and it suddenly feels like the handshake has lasted just a beat too long.
    “You too, Ben. The pleasure is all mine.” This kind of tunnel vision is unlike what I'm used to. I'm hoping that it's from the heady feeling I'm getting from being around him and not one of those possible dizzy spells Dr. Meade mentioned.
    His calmness makes my mind feel like it's floating away. I haven't experienced anything like it before.
    I withdraw my hand, and he returns to the seat he left for our formal introduction.
    I shake my reverie back and try hospitality on. “Can I offer you something to drink? As I mentioned, we were going to have a bite to eat before your interview. You're quite early. I wonder if there was a miscommunication with the time? Do you have anything that you need to do? Then perhaps come back at five? Or you could just hang around here until Neil returns and we could go through everything then?” I’m rambling again.
    “I would love a glass of water. No, I don't have anywhere to be. Is it necessary that Neil is here for the interview?” he asks, and it's a fair question.
    I open the cabinet door, take a glass out for Ben, then fill it from the dispenser in the refrigerator. I narrowly miss bouncing my noggin off the still-open cabinet door again before handing him the drink. Thank God I didn't though.
    “No. I suppose not. I just hadn't prepared to do this alone. But you are here and I am here, so I don't really see why not. Excuse me. I'll just go get my notes and things. We can do it in here.”
    “That works for me.” I walk into the dining room, where we've been seeing the other applicants, and grab my legal pad and one of the question sheets Neil printed out. I hear him ask, “What is it that