GreatSc0t: I used to dream about owning said violin. Especially during naptime.

TheDuchessB: Not a fan of taking a leisurely sojourn in the middle of your day?

GreatSc0t: As a three-year-old boy? Er . . . no.

TheDuchessB: And now?

GreatSc0t: If I’m taking a midday sojourn . . . I prefer to have company. ;-)

There’s a lag in her response. Maybe that came across as too sleazy. I quickly start typing up a damage control message, but I don’t get to send it.

TheDuchessB: Sooooo . . . are you still down for meeting up?

YES! I almost pump my fist into the air. I’ve been waiting days for this. Or, I guess I should say, we have. Jude and I.

GreatSc0t: Of course. Holey Cream, right?

Though now that I think about it, Jude probably doesn’t eat doughnuts.

TheDuchessB: Actually, there’s this other place I’ve been meaning to check out. It’s a pop-up cheese shop called, very cleverly, Cheese. It’s in the East Village.

It’s actually down the block. I’ve seen it. But then I remember, Jude doesn’t eat cheese, either—a memorable point from their first date. Then again, maybe so many other things went wrong that she doesn’t remember. Either way, the fact that she’s giving Jude another chance is a big deal and we shouldn’t give her any cause to change her mind. I can probably get Jude on board; luckily, he’s one of my more affable clients.

GreatSc0t: I’m in. When would work for you?

TheDuchessB: Thursday night?

That’s two nights from now. I have to double-check Jude’s schedule but . . .

GreatSc0t: Let’s pencil it in!

* * *

Jude is fine with Thursday night. He’s even fine with Cheese. Sort of.

“I guess I’ll eat beforehand?” he says to me.

“Maybe,” I respond. “Or . . . I don’t know. Could you save your calories for the day or something and just eat a small amount? It would be less awkward. . . .”

Jude blinks at me through FaceTime as if he’s thinking of saying something. Maybe another deserved question about why we are trying so hard for this one girl. But then he lets it go.

“Sure,” he finally says. “I can have Sunday dessert on Thursday this week.”

“Great,” I say. And now to tell him the other idea I had, which was, in large part, inspired by Leanne’s accidental e-mail.

Jude needs this date to go well. I need this date to go well. It’s not that I don’t trust Jude to not have another stilted conversation disaster . . . okay, it is that I don’t trust him.

“So, do you remember how I mentioned we have a gold package? That comes with a conversational coach who can sit nearby and feed you lines on a date?” Who would ostensibly be Giles, of course.