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I’m holding my breath waiting for a reply. I’m about to give up when she finally asks, “Why do you keep wanting to hang out with me?”

I speak the truth. “Honestly, I haven’t figured that part out yet. You’re just so wildly . . . tolerable.”

Her hand flies to her chest. “Oh my God, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“No promises.”

I point a finger at her. “You better be careful, you’re going off script a bit tonight.”

She arches a brow. “Were you hoping for more brooding in silence?”

“A little.” The corner of my mouth twitches. “That was part of your charm.”

“We could role-play?”

I look over at her. “I can’t tell if you’re easy to flirt with or if I’m just turned on by your mysterious tragic backstory.”

“Aw.” She bats her lashes. “Would it be too forward if I told you my parents died when I was a teenager?”

“On the first date?” I gasp, turning toward her while clutching invisible pearls.

“Did my dead mom give you a boner?”

I bark out a laugh. “God, no! It was your dad.”

This time it’s her turn to laugh. “Not again!”

“Has anyone ever told you how hot your mental anguish is?”

“All the time.”

I laugh under my breath. “I’m really into that distraught, tormented-soul type. You’ve already revealed you’re a lonesome homebody. Next you’ll tell me you read Sylvia Plath for funsies.”

“Ooh, is that what we’re doing Monday?” she asks. “Reading depressing poetry and yearning in silence?”

I shake my head. “No, I actually thought we could spiral a bit. Maybe share an existential crisis if you’re nasty—preferably while staring out of a rain-streaked window. I still need to check the weather.”

“Hm. Big window?”

“Floor-to-ceiling,” I answer.

“High up?”

“Obviously.”

“Perfect.” She nods. “I want to experience the call of the void while staring into the empty, nihilistic abyss.”

“Dirty girl! Buy me dinner first.” I bump her lightly with my arm. “Okay, so Monday . . . We’ll go do something fun, maybe grab a bite. Keep it low key—how’s that sound?”

“Sure,” she sighs. “I guess so.”

“Love the enthusiasm. What time should I pick you up?”

“Five?—Oh wait, I can’t on Monday, that’s when I do my meal prep.”

Normally I’d suggest a different day, but instead I challenge her. “Can you do it on Sunday instead?”