I’m slightly taken aback by the declaration but try to spin it on the positive side. “Oh, are you passionate about history?”

“Yes, it’s important to learn who our ancestors were. The Puritan era is such a dark splotch in this country’s past. Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely.” I try to bring the conversation back onto less loaded topics. “I’m afraid my alias is much less poetic—”

“Come on, don’t discount number 33, he’s a legend!”

“Are you a Knicks fan?” I ask, surprised, my good mood restored at once.

“Yes,” Meadow says. Then she leans in closer with a conspiratorial air. “I have to admit the agency tricked me into going on a date tonight, and they only managed because it’s an away game.”

I laugh. “Same here.”

A server arrives, asking if we’re ready to order drinks or if we’ve chosen our food already.

Meadow looks at me. “I’m having the steak, but if you need more time…”

“No,” I say. “I’ll have the steak as well.”

I take in her warm smile, add in our shared love of basketball and passion for the same foods, and imagine what a future with this woman would look like. A few years of passionate nights spent making love, Knicks games, and wild travels… Then we would settle down, have a couple of kids, and bring them to Madison Square Garden as soon as they were old enough to enjoy a game… It could work. Maybe taking the randomness out of the meeting process is not as unromantic as I originally thought, and the algorithm really knows best.

The server jots down our orders and turns to Meadow. “How would you like your steak done, ma’am?”

“Rare,” she says.

“Very well.” The server writes her preference and then asks me the same question. “And you, sir?”

“Medium rare, please.”

More scribbling. “And to drink?”

I look at Meadow. “Would you like to share a bottle of wine, or is a glass enough?”

She smiles, embarrassed. “A glass might be better; I’m such a lightweight.”

We both order a glass of red.

“Perfect,” the server says. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Once we’re alone again, Meadow straightens the napkin on her legs, looking shy. “What did you answer to your ideal day question? I mean, if we’re even allowed to discuss our questionnaires?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

She smiles, those adorable dimples making another appearance, just as the server arrives with our wine glasses.

I take a sip and then answer her question. “I’ve always wanted to finish the Stairway to Heaven Trail up in Mountain Creek. Do you enjoy hiking?”

“Yeah, I love being in nature. I went into the woods around Westchester just the other weekend, up the old Buckout Road for the full moon.”

“Did you say full moon? As in, you went at night?”