“I’d also want to know the weird places people go to zen out. For me it’s office supply stores.”

She looks at me for a beat. “I should introduce you to my brother. Well, actually, he’s my . . .”

I cut her off right away. “Thanks, but I’m not in the market right now.”

(Who would want to date a virtual shut-in?)

“You sure? He’s a great guy. Went through a bad breakup recently, not his fault, but—”

“I’ve never had a bad breakup. Probably because I’ve never had a good relationship,” I admit. Whoa, where’d that come from? This punch flask must be living up to its name. “Don’t the two go hand in hand?” I clarify. “The better it was, the more it hurts when it ends?”

“Maybe. I don’t actually think he should have been with her to begin with. But anyway, I could show you a picture. . . .”

“If he’s cute, that’ll make it tougher to say no,” I laugh. “But let’s talk later, okay? I’ve gotta run. My new client has a date straight from work and asked me to help her prep.”

“I’m going to take off, too. Secret-agent duties. Are you headed uptown or downtown?”

“I’m headed . . . left, whichever direction that is. Luckily, her office is only a few blocks away, so I can walk.”

* * *

By a “few” blocks, I mean twelve, and by the time I reach Blue Sky Family Practice, I’m a sweaty, frazzled mess, and my socks have sunk low in my combat boots, chafing one heel. That’s what happens when you’re convinced the subway’s going to collapse while you’re inside. Good times.

Clad in a skirt and blouse, Bree ushers me into the large, empty bathroom for patients, where she’s putting the finishing touches on her makeup. The wallpaper consists of pictures from vintage children’s books. I’m pretty sure it’s Bree’s handiwork.

I try to ignore the urine samples sitting on a counter by the wall. Most of her colleagues have left, except, apparently, the owner of the hand that reaches through a small wooden window to yank the samples away.

“ ’Night!’ Bree calls to the hand, which waves, tilting a urine sample this way and that.

Bree focuses on me.

“Did you come from the gym?” she asks kindly. I’m reminded again why I like her; she doesn’t mince words but at the same time assumes the best of people.

“Yes, I did.” Minimal Bluff. Power walking is exercise, after all. “Did you have a chance to read the messages from this morning? I printed a copy, if that’s easier.” I dig through my bag and hold the pages out to her.

She’d been brutally honest about skimming our first conversation. (She referred to it as “the blabby blabby.”)