“Well that’s just ridiculous,” Yaz says. “You don’t need this thing to be successful. You built it. You and Robbie, and he-who-shall-not-be-named too, I guess. If you build something else, something that lifts your heart, I think it could be just as successful. If not more.” She takes a bite of her salad.

“You really think so?”

She nods as she swallows her food. “I know so. You are a code-blooded bitch too.”

I text Robbie that I have an idea to run past him, but that I want to do some research first. I head straight from dinner to the library, and stay there until 10:00 p.m., pulling articles about couples married for seventy-five years and that New York Times thing about the thirty-six questions to make you fall in love. I find anthologies of the greatest fictional love stories, and philosophy and sociology writings about human connection.

I check out so many books that the librarian asks if I am working on a thesis before giving me a hand trolley to transport them.

Robbie bursts out laughing as soon as he opens the door. He holds the door as I wheel my books into his room.

“Are there any left in the library?” he asks.

“Ha-ha. Funny.” I start to stack the books on his table.

“Do you have your laptop?” I ask. I didn’t bring mine to dinner, and I’d been doing most of my research on library desktops.

“Yeah.” He pulls his Mac out of his backpack.

I lay the books on the table and open them to pages I marked.

“What is all this?” He starts to turn a page.

I swat his hand away out of reflex. He yelps.

“Sorry.” I turn to face him and put my hands on my hips. “I was thinking. Maybe we can reinvent the app, make it about real human connection, not about status. About bringing more love into the world, not...whatever it is this thing is doing now.”

“Have you talked to Braden about this?”

I shake my head and turn back to my books. “He’ll likely shoot it down, because every time we help someone find someone—”

“We lose two customers. Right,” Robbie says.

“Plus he’s probably plastered by now.” I try to picture where he might be. At some party? Some bar? I don’t know how he deals with heartache, but I doubt it’s with ice cream and a rom-com marathon. I keep getting texts with dubious spelling from him at 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. It’s an interesting rotation between I miss you, let’s get back together and screw you, never talk to me again.

I had to put his texts on Do Not Disturb to get some mental clarity and distance.