Jean-Claude gestures to hand it over. “I’m giving you Miss Right’s number. Juliet has the perfect person for you.”

“I don’t have time to date right now.”

“No one’s asking you to get married and settle down,” he says. “It’s just a date. One date. Juliet already set it all up. You two are scheduled for this Saturday, meeting at the park bench across the street from Boulangerie, ten a.m. sharp.”

I gape at him. “You scheduled a date for me? Before even asking?”

“Well, technically Juliet did that.” Spotting my phone on the charger, which is much closer to him, he lunges and gets to it first.

“Jean-Claude—”

“West.” He punches the number into my phone, adding it to my contacts. “There. Until Saturday, text her. And no talking about other people. Keep it as anonymous as possible.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “In case you don’t connect. Then you can part ways without it being awkward when you bump into each other again.”

“I know her?”

He sips his coffee and gives me an enigmatic look. “If you did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“This makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. Whether it’s someone you’ve met or someone new, you’ll get a fresh start and you’ll have anonymity if it doesn’t work out. Share only about yourself, become familiar with her. You’ll do better that way, texting. No chance of your awkward silences, that stiff way you are in person.”

“Of course. It’s so much better texting, when I have ample time to overanalyze every sentence I write, rather than overanalyze it through in-person conversation.”

He sighs. “I forgot how much hand-holding you need.”

“We aren’t in college anymore, and I certainly don’t need you to wingman for me. I’m simply stating a fact. I tend to come off—”

“Cold? Stern? Exacting?” he offers. “Yes. But once you’re familiar with someone you’re not so bad. Just relax and be yourself.”

“I can’t believe this. You’re giving me a strange woman’s number. Worse, does she have mine?”

“She’s not strange. Well . . . not too strange,” he mutters.

“How comforting.”

He gives me a look. “Juliet has passed along your number and your middle name, shortened. She’ll know you as Ben. Keep it that way until you meet.”

“What?”

“As I said, if you two stay anonymous until you meet, it’s easier to end things comfortably should they not work out. Conversely, if you get along, you clear things up when you meet in person.”

I rub my eyes beneath my glasses, massaging the bridge of my nose. “I already have a headache.”

Jean-Claude slides the phone my way, and my curiosity wins out. I stare at the number, then the name above it. Addie.

“Addie. How does Juliet know this Addie? Or whoever it is for whom Addie is a pseudonym.”