It’s hard to concentrate with him sitting here. He’s probably judging my every breath and movement, finding them lacking in some way.

Florida, I scoff. How humiliating.

The next time there’s a flash flood, I’ll splash home in my apparently ridiculous boots. There will be no repeat offer to share this table, I guarantee you.

Right. Back to work. I’ve somehow made it to page three of my screenplay, but now I don’t like the setting. Or the characters. Or their dialogue.

Why can’t the finished script magically appear on my screen so I can fix it instead of having to write it? Why can’t I skip ahead to that part?

Reflexively shifting my laptop so Miles can’t see the screen, I check Bree’s account for any new messages.

There is one unread one.

GreatSc0t: It was my pleasure. If I may be so bold as to ask, what toppings did you get on your doughnut?

I had thanked Jude for the walking tour, wanting him to know that I—I mean, Bree—was still interested. But I hadn’t mentioned meeting up again yet, knowing that a little suspense couldn’t hurt at this point since he was clearly so interested.

Now seems as good a time as any.

TheDuchessB: I could tell you, but maybe I’d rather just show you sometime. ;-)

I’m thinking about what to follow that up with when I get a ping. He’s online.

GreatSc0t: You name the time. I’m there.

I have to double-check Bree’s schedule. Before I can write back, I get another message.

GreatSc0t: Choose wisely re: the time. You may not have lived until you’ve had a butter pecan/rainbow sprinkle /Boston creme doughnut at 2 a.m. on a school night.

TheDuchessB: Rebel.

I’m grinning at my screen and I don’t even care that Miles might notice and make fun of me for it. But a quick glance his way reveals that he’s far too absorbed in his own work.

TheDuchessB: I’ll get back to you with my sched soon.

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

MILES

65 percent of the time? Zoey has beaten me to the table 65 percent of the time? That’s ludicrous. I clearly need to up my game. Though it’s nice to know her name, finally. I mean, for psychological warfare purposes.

The bad news is, I now live across the street from Café Crudité. Bad news for Zoey, obviously, because her stats are about to take a major nosedive. Miles-High Hair, is it? I’d like to see Zoey Scaredy-Toes beat my commute now.

There’s only one word for my new apartment, by the way: spectacular.