“If you’re gonna use it more than once, get the expensive one.”

“Great. Hold on, let me check out.”

“. . .”

“Thanks, appreciate it. Have a good day! Okay, JD. I’m back. And no. I’m not freaked out.”

“How is that possible? You should be, like, calling the police right now!”

“JD, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that we know one another from the neighborhood, yeah? Either you live here or you work here, and since you know which neighborhood I live in, you were just taking an educated guess that I was at the one drugstore in walking distance. Right?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“See? That’s not scary at all. I’m sorry I made jokes about you stalking me. I obviously don’t feel like you’re stalking me.”

“You swear you’re not freaked out?”

“I’m not freaked out.”

“I just can’t help but think about if this were reversed. If you were the one who wasn’t telling me who you were and you suddenly happened to know my exact location. I’d . . .”

“Report me?”

“Probably. I’d block your phone calls at the very least. And I’d check the expiration date on my mace.”

“Well, the situation is not reversed. It’s you and me, and I’m not scared of you, JD. If anything, you’re keeping this whole secret because you want privacy from me, not because you’re trying to butt into my life. In fact, I wish you wanted to meet me more. That way I could find out who you were.”

“You don’t think I’m . . . creepy?”

“You’re allowed to have secrets, JD. Spider-Man, remember? I don’t think of that as creepy. Especially because I’m a man who lives in your neighborhood and up until recently was pretty much a complete stranger. I get why you might be cautious about revealing personal information to me. I’m not entitled to your identity just because we’ve been talking on the phone.”

“Eliot . . . that’s not why I’m not telling you. It’s not because I don’t trust you yet.”

“Then why is it?”

“. . . It’s complicated.”

“Well, tell me later sometime. After you figure out that I really like you and I really like complicated stories.”

“I . . . you’re so . . . frustrating sometimes.”

“Me? How?”

“You keep getting me all . . .”

“Getting you all what?”

“Nothing.”

“What? Lay it on me. Why am I frustrating? What am I doing to you?”

“I take it back. You’re not frustrating. At least not intentionally. It’s my fault, really.”

“If you explained it to me, maybe I could help figure it out.”

“Just . . . never mind. It’s not a big deal . . . You’re gonna go do your pedicure now?”

“Yeah, I was hoping you could tell me how to do it.”

“As much as I’d love to talk you through cutting your toenails, I’m actually out tonight.”