“Great,” I say. “No need to respond to me anymore. I’ll just listen in and will be talking to you when necessary.”

Jude doesn’t say anything, but I hear him greet Bree and then, a minute later, see the two of them walk through the door.

I order food as they are getting seated, so that the waitress will have no reason to have a prolonged interaction with me. And then I settle in to concentrate on the conversation happening twenty feet away.

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 14

ZOEY

One-fifty for a poem? Are we talking sonnet or couplet? (And did you notice the time stamp?? 3:37 a.m.??) I text Aisha as I wait for the elevator. I haven’t seen the Sleeper inside all week, which I think is a record.

LOL! Srsly. I could be down for a limerick. Between this and my other boss’s digital get-down (don’t ask), I’m setting up a filter. Unless the subject line says “urgent” or “paycheck” all their e-mails are going straight to archive from now on, she writes back.

And then whenever you want to feel profoundly uncomfortable, you can binge them instead of this torturous slow-drip, I reply.

Yes!

I’m about to respond with something along the lines of, “We could make a party of it” when the elevator arrives and I chicken out. We’ll see each other at the work meetup next week and I’ll test the waters in person, see if she’d like to grab brunch sometime. I don’t want to come on too strong; I’m sure she doesn’t lack for friends, so I need to make my move organically, pretend it just came to me in the moment. Maybe a café near the High Line.

I tap my foot a few times. The elevator’s here but the doors aren’t opening. It sits for a moment, and then it’s called back down to the ground floor and leaves me behind. Sad trombone. Twenty seconds pass before I take a deep breath and head for the stairwell.

Outside, en route to Cheese, I earn squinting double takes from strangers as I walk by. My brown trilby hat, ponytail, artfully shredded jeans, and Holly Golightly sunglasses convince people I’m Someone, if only for a second. If I ever need to disguise myself again, though, I’m stuffing a BabyBjörn with salami. #MillennialMom for the win.

It was easy to get myself invited on Bree’s second date with Jude. Over FaceTime, looking contrite and concerned, I offered to drop by in case she needed a bailout. After all, in her view, it was my fault the last date bombed; I owed her one. I told her if it’s as much of a dud as the beer flight, she can Ace him for good.