“Sure,” she says. “If you meant it, that is, and weren’t just trying to find a way to prolong a conversation with me.” She smiles sweetly, batting her eyelashes an extra time or two.

“I meant it,” I say. “This is about a headset. And a service I can offer. That’s all.”

“Cool. Works for me. Can I get your number and text you the time and place of the dinner?”

I take out my phone briskly, determined to show her this is strictly business even though . . . it isn’t, unless I’m in the business of offering conversational coaching to random enemies I make at cafés.

We exchange numbers and then I decide I’ve worked enough for the day. I gather up my bag. “Enjoy the table,” I say. “But don’t forget. The tally.”

She shakes her head at me. “Here. You can watch me do it.” She slowly takes out the notebook, opens up to the right page, and makes two exaggerated marks underneath the MHH column. “Satisfied?”

“For now,” I say. “See you.”

* * *

When my alarm rings at four fifteen the next morning, I consider sleeping in. I remember Zoey’s taunt that that’s exactly what she had done the past two days. I hit snooze.

At four thirty, it goes off again. Does her little table tally really matter? Besides, maybe we’ve reached a new level in our relationship, one where we act more mature than a five-year-old. I hit snooze again.

At four forty-five, I bolt out of bed. I don’t have time for a run, but I take the world’s quickest shower, throw on a T-shirt and jeans, and slip out the door with my hair still wet. I’ve just put my key in to lock the door behind me when I hear my enigmatic neighbor yell, “I’m coming out!” Finally, this mystery will be solved! The doorknob turns. I face the other door, waiting with bated breath.

She’s not looking up when she emerges, and her blond-brown hair is covering most of her face, so my mouth is gaping before hers is.

“Aaaaaaaaaaah!” she screams when she finally realizes there’s a human body standing right in front of her. And then, when she realizes exactly whose human body it is: “How did you get into my building?” She’s literally clutching at her heart, and looking at me as if I’m some sort of stalker who might’ve followed her in here.

“It’s my building,” I say.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she hisses and I don’t know why it bothers me so much that she seems totally offput by seeing me there.

But it triggers an unpleasant feeling in my gut, powering the force of words that come out of my mouth. “I can’t believe you’re the one yelling into the void every time you leave your apartment!”