Whoa. WHOA! What the hell are you doing, Miles? As the Tell It to My Heart Style Guide and Freelancer’s Handbook suggests on page twenty-two, there are certain things you never, ever bring up on a first chat: politics, religion, marriage, meeting the parents, and—of course—children. Not in any way, shape, or form. I know this because I literally wrote the handbook. As Leanne’s first employee, I got to sculpt a lot of what my job—and the company culture—is.

There is a noticeable pause before Farhad’s match writes again.

Jules478: Yeah. I like them.

PerseMan: Do you have any idea what a six-week pregnant belly looks like?

I have no idea what’s happening. My fingers are 100 percent working independently from my brain.

Jules478: Uh . . .

PerseMan: It’s not obviously pregnant, right? Like, usually, you wouldn’t be able to see a bump?

At this point, what the hell does it matter? Jules might have more insight into this than me considering she, at least, has the requisite parts and has, I don’t know, probably attended a baby shower or something.

Jules478: I don’t think so?

PerseMan: That’s what I thought.

The thing is, I know the baby isn’t mine. I probably always knew it, but the blank screen on my messages, gut-punched by that Read 8:37 AM confirms it. Jordan wouldn’t raise a baby alone, not if its father wanted to be an active part of his or her life. How many times had I held her while she told me another example of why her absentee dad was such a shithead and how it had directly impacted some aspect of her life or personality?

Jules478: So . . . listen. I think I’ve got to go.

Shit. I’ve been spiraling into a deep, dark thought hole instead of doing my job and convincing this girl that Farhad is a great match for her and worthy of at least a meetup.

Time for some damage control.

PerseMan: Ha! Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.

I’m now racking my brain for some sort of valid excuse to ask this girl about pregnancy symptoms.

PerseMan: I’m writing a song. And this is research.

Look, if there can be songs about lady humps, why not about baby bumps, am I right?

Jules478: Oh . . . are you a musician?

PerseMan: It’s a hobby.

I scan Farhad’s questionnaire again.

PerseMan: I work in finance by day.

Good, good. Worked in the stable job bit smoothly. I might be back on track here.

Jules478: What kind of band are you in?

I scan the questionnaire one more time. Oh, fuck.

PerseMan: A string quartet.

There is another long pause.

Jules478: Right . . . I’m sorry, but my lunch break is over and I really do have to go.

It’s 8:52 in the morning.

Jules478: Maybe talk later?

But then she logs off before I can respond.

Honestly?