It’s true what I said: Sometimes people’s online humor doesn’t translate in person. But with Bree . . . I can’t help thinking this is mostly Jude’s fault. She put herself out on a limb with the hairdo—if nothing else, an instant conversation piece—and he’s not engaging her at all. I’ve got to talk to him. This girl won’t be on the market for long, and I really think he’d be missing out on something pretty special to let her slip away.

A waiter finally comes and informs them there’s no food menu except for a forty-dollar cheese plate with a different slice of cheese to pair with each of their beers.

“What do you think?” Jude asks Bree.

“Huh, cheese,” she says, and then, “sure. Why not? I’m pretty hungry.”

“Cool.” He smiles at her. “Do you know what you want to drink or do you need another minute?” Jude asks before the waiter disappears again.

“Oh,” Bree says. “Just a Diet Coke.”

The waiter blinks at her before jotting her order down. “And you?” he asks Jude.

“Um . . . actually, I’ll take a minute,” he says.

“Okee dokee. Just holler when you’re ready,” the waiter says, impressively finding a way to express irritation through the medium of retracting a pen.

“You don’t want to try out the beers?” Jude asks Bree.

“Nah. I’m off alcohol right now.”

“Oh,” Jude says, looking thoroughly confused. I can see him throwing a glance my way. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have picked a brewery.”

Shit. I’m pretty sure she never mentioned this in our convos, but I am going to have to go back and do a postmortem on myself now.

“It’s okay,” Bree says. “Maybe I didn’t mention it. Who knows?”

“Well . . . do you want to go somewhere else?” Kudos to Jude for offering. But I have to dock a point since he’s looking longingly at the menu while he does it.

“Honestly? I’m not sure this hair would survive a trip to another location. So maybe it’s best if we stay put.”

“Right, okay,” Jude says, and then awkwardly picks up his menu again, perusing it with extra concentration.

When the waiter comes back, he ends up ordering a beer flight, along with the cheese plate and Diet Coke.

“So . . .” he says, once the waiter’s gone.

“So . . .” Bree replies.

Jesus, this is painful. I’m getting flashbacks to RayaJack5. I wish I could type words straight into Jude’s brain for him to speak.

“So . . . you work in medicine? Right?” he finally says.

“I’m a bookkeeper. For a medical practice.”

“Ah, right,” he says. “How do you like that?”

“I like it. It’s more fun than it sounds,” she replies.