At Cheese, Bree sits at a booth in the back—plenty of space for our laptops—and pours herself a healthy slug of pinot noir. The way the liquid sloshes against the side of the glass makes me nervous. What if she spills some on her special shirt? The shirt is a print of the movie poster for Undersea. It’s faded, and the material looks whisper-soft. I can see why she likes it. As she mentioned on the phone yesterday, she’s got blond hair, which she’s pulled into a side braid. That hair combined with her light blue eyes and pale pink lips would normally give off a Barbie vibe, but the fact that she’s a bookkeeper at a doctor’s office cuts into the stereotype. Still, from the shallow end of the pool, she’ll have NO trouble attracting “suitors.” I make a private challenge to myself: Secure her a first date within the week.

She stands upon seeing me, and when she moves in for a hug I’m surprised at how emotional the gesture makes me. It’s been a month since I’ve been hugged or touched in any way that didn’t feel like the prelude to a knife fight. My poor vestigial broken pinkie toe. It doesn’t hurt anymore—I don’t think it can—but if it turned blue and fell off while I slept, I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.

Bree’s taller than me by a few inches, so my head tucks against her collarbone briefly before she releases me. Her hair smells like coconuts.

“How are you?” I ask. “Does the menu look okay?”

“It looks awesome! But . . .” She lowers her voice as we face each other across the table. “They’re not a BYOB. She charged me a fifty-seven-dollar corkage fee. I’m so sorry.”

What is with New York? At Bottega Louie in LA you can bring as many bottles as you want for free.

Then I remember who’s footing the bill and grin. “No worries, really. It’s a business expense.” Smell you later, Clifford.

Bree smiles back, relieved. “Also, could we, like, pretend I’m not paying you? I liked what you said about ‘peer-to-peer’ or whatever. I think this’ll work better for me if we hang like we’re friends and you just happen to be good at online dating, and you’re helping me out for fun.”

“Sure, no problem. Thanks for meeting me near my place, I really appreciate it.” Please don’t ask about my cat. I haven’t invented his backstory yet.

“Are you farther over in Alphabet City or . . . ?”

“I’m actually right across the street.”

“Oh my God! You live there? Those apartments are huge! And they allow pets? Do you mind if I ask what you’re paying?”