Uh-oh. Hope I haven’t been reading this wrong. “This was fun” might be the first generic thing Bree has said and it’s only a positive about 60 percent of the time. I hope I didn’t blow this for Jude. Or myself, as I remember the little remote access icon that’s been quietly flashing at the bottom of my screen this whole time.

TheDuchessB: Can we pencil in another one of these? Maybe tomorrow.

Whew.

GreatSc0t: Name the time.

TheDuchessB: Is 9 AM too early?

GreatSc0t: It’s perfect. I don’t have any personal training sessions until the afternoon.

What Jude does is already in his profile, but might as well work in a nice, organic reminder.

TheDuchessB: Is this your subtle way of reminding me you have muscles?

Oops. Maybe that wasn’t as organic as I thought. I should be more careful, especially since this girl seems extra sharp.

GreatSc0t: Yes. It obviously worked, right? You feel very subconsciously attracted to me?

TheDuchessB: Of course. Freud would be having a field day with my id right now.

I grin at my screen.

GreatSc0t: So . . . until the morning sky kisses the stars away, my Liege.

Another pause.

TheDuchessB: You’re a little bit of a rule-breaker, aren’t you?

GreatSc0t: Only in the best way.

I send through a winking emoji.

She sends one back.

TheDuchessB: I guess we’ll see about that. Talk later.

GreatSc0t: Later.

Bree logs off. I copy and paste the conversation to tack onto my unsent e-mail to Jude, feeling pretty pleased about the turn of events. Apparently, I’m not the only one.

Leanne T: Nice work.

Miles I: Thanks!

Leanne T: So . . . can I be relieved of babysitting duties now? Regular Miles is back up and running?

Miles I: Consider yourself relieved.

Leanne T: Thank God.

And then, right before she logs off my computer, one more message:

Leanne T: P.S. I missed you.

I appreciate the sentiment but is Regular Miles back? Not really. It’s going to take more than eight weeks to accept that the woman I thought I was going to marry has now wholly disappeared from any future scenarios I can imagine for myself. Jordan won’t be chatting with me while I cook, she won’t be snuggled next to me on the couch while we’re watching some Netflix documentary, and she’ll never walk toward me down an aisle in a white dress. I inadvertently look toward Nathan and realize that we are never going to stare down at a human we made together, feeling both exhausted and content.

But for Leanne’s purposes, sure, I can be back. I can orchestrate other people’s romances. I’m good at it. And, luckily, I think Bree and Jude just might make this easy for me.