“Look at you, jumping into action.” She gave them a glance and nodded at me approvingly. “Not bad.”

I passed her compliment off with a shrug.

“I had some free time this weekend.” Free time, no plans—same thing.

“And now I need you to do something else for me.” Her smile was wicked, glinting. She was enjoying this. “You have to go on a date with Henry’s coworker Serena.”

When she said she wanted to set me up, I hadn’t realized she meant immediately. “And subject another unsuspecting victim to my winning ways?” I scoffed, shaking my head.

“Oh my god,” she grumbled with an eye roll. “We’ve already established you were a dick to Franny.”

“On live TV,” I added. Yes, it was still bothering me.

“Hayes, it’s in the past. It’s time to deal with it and move on,” she said, as if that were an easy thing to do.

But my brain wasn’t letting me move on. Instead it was circling the memory over and over again, still.

“It doesn’t need to be about romance,” she continued, her voice shifting into life-coach mode, peppy and confident. “Become her friend, for all I care. You need to see other people besides…you know.”

She gestured broadly, waving her hand through the air as if she were presenting our office as a prize on a game show.

“You,” I said, my voice monotone. I didn’t quite feel like playing along.

“And Perrine, yes.” Her gaze shifted from mischievous to kind.

“I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass, you know,” she said, pushing back in her chair to get a good look at me. “You’re my friend. I’m allowed to worry about you sitting alone in your apartment every night.”

“I’m not,” I protested, but she wasn’t wrong.

“You know what I mean,” she said, and I did. “And look, you know I love to matchmake, and I’ve kept my mouth shut since you and Angie broke up. That’s been, like, seven hundred years.”

“Three,” I corrected.

“Whatever,” she said, waving me off.

I sighed. “Fine.” Maybe it would be nice to meet someone new. I’d been mostly relying on dating apps this past year, and I hadn’t made it past the fourth date with anyone I’d met there.

“She’s a big runner, like you, and she’s training for the New York City Marathon.” Her eyes lit up, excited by possibility. “She’s very into her job, and she does all this volunteer work. Real type A. She’s great. Also she’s hot and she’s blond. She’s like your perfect woman.”

Apparently, I’d given everyone in my life the impression that I only dated blond women. But still, she seemed interesting, and appealing in a way that calmed my swirling brain.

“One date,” I said.

“Don’t get too excited there, buddy.”