Jules is already into my phone, fingers flying over the screen because her smarmy face works for my Face ID unlock. Damn near-identical fraternal twinship. If only I weren’t incapable of memorizing numbers for a password. Every time I think I have it down, I get myself locked out of my phone. Numbers and names, they jumble in my brain, then drop through like it’s a sieve.

I lean on tiptoe and watch as she types. “Ben?”

“Benedick,” she says. “That’s his middle name, but call him Ben. He’ll know you by yours.”

“I hate the name Adelaide.”

“Which is why he’ll call you Addie.”

I shut my eyes and take another deep breath. “This is ridiculous.”

“Actually, it’s brilliant. Everyone agrees.”

My eyes snap open. “Everyone?”

“Well . . .” Jules tucks a smooth chocolate brown curl behind her ear. “I mean, everyone agrees with me that he’s a great fit for you. Even Margo.”

“Margo?” My jaw drops. Margo is notoriously hard to please.

“Who’s talking about my honey?” Sula slams the back door and drops her bag, which she hangs over the back of her bicycle. “I fucking hate drivers, by the way.”

I peer at her over my shoulder. “Who almost ran you off the road today?”

“An asshole trying to make a point with his lifted truck.”

We both groan sympathetically. Sula removes her fuzzy hat, rubs her buzzed cerulean-blue hair, and uncuffs her pant leg, which she rolled up for bicycling.

“I’m over it. Anyway.” Sula smiles at me. “So, how are we feeling about this date—”

Jules clears her throat loudly, and something unspoken telepathically exchanges between them.

Sula smiles awkwardly, backtracking toward the office. “I, uh . . . I gotta get on the phone with the plumber, who still hasn’t called back about that leak. Stationery shops and water damage do not mix.” Then she disappears down the hall.

I turn back to Jules. “You guys are real subtle.”

Jules sniffs, returning her focus to typing on my phone. “Okay, so here’s the plan, Operation First Date with Ben—”

Except he’s not really Ben. He’s some guy I’m supposed to text, only knowing his middle name and that my sister and my friends think he’s great for me. Who is he? And how does everyone know him except me?

Jules pokes my phone, sending it skating across the glass top separating us. “Text him. Today. Talk to him. All week. No outside details, in case it doesn’t pan out. Just you and him. Get to know each other.”

I glance from my phone to her. “You’re serious.”

“Very.” She wraps my hand in hers. “Listen to me. I know romantic love isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I’ve seen you happy and in love before, Bea.”

I flinch, hating the reminder.