“I’ll report back in the morning, okay? Send it over and have fun with your . . . um, new eighteen seconds of film—oh, and you might be locked out of Game, Set, Match for a while, but I’m on top of it.”

“Should we maybe just start over? Find a new match? This is exhausting.”

I pretend I don’t hear. “I’ll fill you in first thing tomorrow—or, should I give you until noon so you can sleep in?”

“Noon’s good.”

“ ’Kthanksbye!”

The file arrives and I download it to my phone and put my earbuds in.

There are so many ways of communicating online. Facebook, Twitter, IMs, DMs, chatrooms, match services, IG, text, and all they seem to do is increase the distance between us. In that respect, recording one’s voice for a private listening session seems almost . . . quaint.

I love it.

* * *

“Right. Okay. So, I’ve always been a fan of those articles in airplane magazines, the ones that do a spread on a city, with an article about ‘Three Perfect Days in Toronto’ and that. I don’t fly often, mostly just to Glasgow and back every other year, but I always take the magazines home with me. I like to think I’ve amassed a collection so if I ever do find myself in certain cities, I’ll have a plan in place, a perfect three days. And I got to thinking, in New York City, every neighborhood, every single one, has its own vibe, something about it that’s unlike any other neighborhood. I wish someone would put together a guide to them, a microcosm version—one perfect day. But so far, I don’t think anyone has, so I thought I’d take a crack at it. My contribution to this is a walking tour that starts in Hell’s Kitchen but takes you to my favorite place in all of New York. If all goes well, I hope it shows you something that you haven’t noticed before. And if you end up loving this place as much as I do, maybe we could check it out together sometime.”

Oh, mama. His accent IS delicious.

It’s my second time listening to the recording. I’m lying in bed, lights out, eyes closed, window open a crack, letting Jude’s words pour over me as night envelops the city.

“So, without further ado”—he chuckles endearingly—“welcome to Hell’s Kitchen. Let’s start our morning with a trip to Holey Cream on Ninth Avenue. What better way to begin the day than building your own doughnut, right? Don’t skimp on the toppings—that’s the best part. And be sure to order some ice cream on the side . . .”

His voice lulls me into a sense of peace. It’s after midnight and I’m drifting on a cloud of contentment.