“I have a very serious question for you,” I say. “Are your legs floating? I think mine are.”

“Not at the present time. No, let me check.” He giggles.

It’s so endearing I have to actively stop myself from kissing him. That part of the evening’s over now. We had our thirty minutes and now we’re done.

I flash on Bree’s selfie with her and Jude, and a wave of guilt crashes over me. Miles doesn’t know I’m Bree, or that I know he’s Jude. I should tell him, but why complicate things when this is a singular event? It’s never going to happen again.

The day with him has been lovely, and I don’t want to risk ruining it for no reason.

“What is it you do, again?” Miles says. “For money.”

“What do I ‘do for money’?” I throw a pillow at him. “You make it sound sordid.”

He rubs at his eyes. “The words, they are difficult.”

“Well, for Mary, I was her personal assistant, which entailed anything from picking up food at Koo Koo Roo to taking her emotional support ferret out for fresh air—”

“None of those words make a real sentence or job description—”

“But that ended a while ago, and this past week I quit my most recent job, a weird freelance thing, because I decided to start my own business.” Now would be a good time to tell him I worked for his company’s rival, but how do I even start? Funny story about my last gig . . . and all those late-night messages you sent to “Bree” . . .

He’s appraising me. “Wow, congratulations on starting your own business. That’s a big step.”

“Thanks. I think it was time.”

“I need to stay longer,” Miles says, “if that’s cool, because, uhhhh, the thing is . . . I can’t move. I’m feeling—the opposite of floaty. What’s it called when—”

“Couch-locked. Me too. This is actually my favorite part about weed,” I tell him. “That feeling when you can’t move or get up or go anywhere, and you don’t mind!”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“No, it’s not,” I protest. “The point is you’re happy about it, because you’re exactly where you want to be. Settled. Content. Like falling in love.”

Oh my God. Did I say that last part out loud, or just think it?

“You think falling in love is like being high?” Miles asks.

I guess I did voice it. Ugggggh. “Doesn’t everyone? At first, I mean? The newness of it all?”

“Okay, Valley Girl.” He giggles. “This stuff is strong.”

“I warned you! You said, and I quote, ‘I can handle it.’ ”

His expression contorts. “Is that how I sound to you? All pomp and poss?”

“Do you mean ‘pompous’?”

He looks confused. “Isn’t that what I said?” He remains on the floor, a goofy smile plastered across his face.