So I gave her a ride home. It wasn't far to her apartment, only fifteen minutes, but I got to have a real conversation with her. She was born and raised in Houston. A University of Houston graduate. She had worked for three of the local TV stations now, and she loved it, but her real passion was food and cooking. I glossed over my boring career as an investment banker and talked about my love of food and cooking, too. I hoped the ride went as quickly for her as it had for me. And the bonus? Her complex was across the street from mine near downtown and also a short commute to her TV station. Smart and convenient.

When I pulled up to her apartment building, I said, "Guess it's too early to hope for a drink invite." And laughed probably too eagerly.

"Maybe not too early," she said, "but I'm not sure what my boyfriend would say."

Ouch. And that was that, I thought to myself. But the Fates weren't having it. A month later, a restaurant owner friend of mine had a guest chef from San Francisco in for a one-night collaboration. It was a big foodie event, and he invited me, as he always did. I suspected maybe destiny was on my side when I arrived and, during the cocktail reception, noticed Kat. She wore a tasteful A-line red dress that suited her admirably. I looked for an excuse to go talk to her, but I had arrived late and didn't get a chance. But I confirmed destiny's hand when I sat down at my assigned seat. Next to me was Kat Freely. When she joined the table, I leaned toward her ear and said, "We have to stop meeting like this."

She laughed and made eye contact but didn't say anything. So I picked up the conversation. "I've been really looking forward to this," I said. "Have you been to the chef's restaurant in San Francisco?"

"I haven't," she said. "But I'm supposed to have a weekend out there soon, and it was on my list."

"Well, if you need any recommendations, let me know. I go there a lot for work."

We made small talk as the meal began. The food was superb, better than what I'd come to expect in Houston, which is still pretty damn good. I leaned toward Kat again and said, "It's a shame your boyfriend is missing this."

"He's traveling for work," she said. "He does a lot." There was just enough hint of acidity in her words to make me take note.

The dinner grew more raucous as the wine flowed, and it was a delightful evening all around. As the party broke up, I asked Kat if she needed a ride. She said she had taken Uber. What a coincidence, I noted, so had I. I offered to share one with her. Then the wine got the better of me. "Or, you know," I said, "you could finally ask me up for that drink."

Her hazel eyes looked back at me, piercing. "I can't leave here in an Uber with someone." She paused and lowered her voice to barely audible. She surprised me and put her hand on my thigh under the table. "Do you remember where it is? Wait until I'm gone for ten minutes. Then come to my place. Apartment 2248. The access gate along the alley is broken. You won't need a card. Don't knock loudly."

I could only nod in response. She made the rounds for another thirty minutes saying her goodbyes, and I spent the time trying to calm my hands and lower my heart rate. Was this happening?

The Uber ride was interminable. It was after 10:30 p.m. when I approached the door and gave a faint tap on its metal exterior. It swung open immediately, but Kat wasn't there. I stepped inside, and she closed it; she had been standing behind it. She still wore the red dress and had a glass of Champagne in her hand.

"Sorry for the cloak and dagger," she said, "but I have a feeling you get it." I nodded.

"Even if it takes cloak and dagger, I'm not going to pass up the chance," I said.

She laughed. "And what chance is that?"

I smiled. "To have a drink."

The conversation was effortless. We had common taste, and the Champagne helped things along. Next thing I knew, it was nearly midnight. "Don't you have to get some rest before the morning shift?" I asked.

She looked at her watch, a stylish Chanel. "Look at the time," she said. "But I don't like to miss an opportunity. They don't come along very often."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked. "It seems like you are pretty active on the social scene."

"Listen, John," her eyes locked onto mine, a slightly glassy urgency in them, "you're not missing the chemistry I'm feeling here, are you?" I shook my head and grinned too eagerly. "You probably have this idea of the 'traffic girl' and, whether consciously or not, a lot of presuppositions about who I am. But I'm also a paradox. I have a side to me that..." she trailed off and paused, "... that I haven't fully let free for a few years. Not for a lack of desire. Oh, no, most definitely not because of that. Because I can only share it with the very rare person who gets it but also who will appreciate and honor my need for total secrecy."

"My interest is piqued," I said. "And you think I'm one of these rare people? We barely know each other."

"True," she conceded, "but we have mutual friends. I've asked around a little bit. Very quietly, of course."

I laughed. "That's either good or bad, but I am here, and we are having this conversation, so I'm guessing that the blemishes on my reputation might have something to do with the mirror image of your public persona."