My glee starts to subside when five minutes pass and there’s no response from her. Was I too gung ho? I’ve been known to want things a little too badly. It’s part of my chemistry. It goes with the whole obsessing over random stuff thing.

“You still there?” I ask her.

“Yes! Sorry. Someone just needed my attention for a second. But it’s all good now.”

I frown.

“Same person as last night?”

“No.”

I frown more. I thought for sure she was joking last night when she said that she’d been voice-messaging with someone else as well, because, duh, is there anyone else in the world besides me who prefers voice-messaging over texting? But . . . maybe . . . is she actually talking with someone else at the same time she’s talking to me?

Well, if she is, I guess that’s exactly zero of my business.

“I’m glad you messaged me tonight. I was getting dangerously close to finishing season 1 of Love on Mute all in one fell swoop.”

“Yikes, things are getting dark over there, Hoffman.”

“You’re telling me. This show is terrible. The worst one yet.”

“Maybe we need to switch it up from dating shows. I mean, there’s more out there, right?”

I’m grinning at my phone, up on my side, balancing my cheek on one palm. I’m very aware of the fact that in between messaging her, I keep placing my phone in the center of the other pillow. It’s a place of honor. It’s where someone else’s head is supposed to go.

“Switch it up?” I ask. “It’s not like we’re searching for high art, are we? And what’s more mindless than competitive dating shows?”

“Hmm. Competitive baking shows?”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to watch the British one that everyone is always talking about.”

“Yeah, me too. People say it’s soothing.”

“Well, shall we?”

I can hear the heartbeat in the palm of my hand as I prop my head up. All I did was ask her to watch a television show with me, but even so, I suddenly have a case of sweaty pits.

“Shall we what?”

“Watch that baking show together?”

“Define ‘together’.”

I laugh at how flat and unimpressed her voice sounds. For some reason, it delights me.

“I don’t know, we press play at the same time and chat while we watch?”

There’s a long pause, and I brace myself for her to message me back and tell me that I’m being too . . . much.

“Which episode should we start with? Looks like there’s a lot of seasons and, like, preseasons and Christmas specials and stuff.”