“Already looked there. Okay, so a lot of this is very old and needs to go in the bin.” (She’s not wrong. I used that palette for prom.) “I’ll want to see your clothes at some point too. That’s Week 3 of the Method.”

I lower my voice. “We won’t go into full details of the Sasaki Method while he’s here. We’ll let him sit with us until he gets bored and wanders off.”

“Good plan.” She goes outside. “Hello, Teddy, oh helllllooooo cheese.” They begin cutting into the cheese, squeaking knives and banter aplenty.

“Renata’s revving up the scooter as we speak,” Teddy warns us, assembling a palmful of preloaded crackers for more efficient scoffing. He hands me one with a small flourish.

“I think it would be better if you left,” I tell him as kindly as I can. He reacts like he’s never been so hurt. “This is something that I want to keep private.”

“Aren’t we friends?” He’s got me there. “If you’re worried I’m going to tell my dad or Sylvia that you’re doing this, I won’t. I just want to help.”

“Ah, just let him stay. He’s impossible to get rid of.” Melanie gives me a single sheet of paper. “I want you to sign this first.”

It’s something resembling a waiver.

“ ‘In participating in the Sasaki Method (hereby referred to as ‘the Method’), Ruthie Maree Midona’— ah, so that’s why you asked my middle name— ‘acknowledges that she does so on a voluntary basis and is able to opt out at any point in the process.’ ”

“But I hope you don’t,” Melanie interjects.

I continue reading. “ ‘She waives, releases, and discharges Melanie Sasaki from any and all liability, including but not limited to the following that may result from following the Method.’ ”

I read out loud the following events I am indemnifying her against:

? Hurt feelings

? Unfulfilled expectations

? Emotional turmoil or distress as a result of online dating

? Being murdered by a blind date (Teddy chokes on his mouthful)

? Costs associated with unplanned pregnancy (my turn to choke)

? Miscellaneous expenses incurred from any recommended physical presentation improvements, hereby known as “the Makeover”

? Any costs associated with the inevitable wedding that shall result from participation in the Method

“Initial each,” she instructs.

I hesitate for a long moment on the hurt feelings. “You are a very creative person. Where’d you get this template?”

She watches my pen, halted on the signature line. “I found one online and modified it. The most important part is that you agree that this is voluntary. And down at the bottom you see that I copyright the term the Sasaki Method. I mean, I would if I knew how. What I’m saying is, don’t steal my amazing idea, you guys. I’m getting rich from this one day.”

“I’m happy to sign that,” I try to not sound too dry. “But I want a confidentiality clause.”

“I didn’t make one.”

I look at the son of Jerry Prescott. He’s currently eyes closed, blissful and chewing.

I write an amendment: All information regarding Ruthie Maree Midona’s participation in the Method will remain strictly confidential.

“We all sign. Whatever happens, I want it to stay between us. I’m also adding a clause here that says we will not discuss or participate in the Method during working hours. No resources from the office are to be used.”

Melanie replies, “Whoops, too late. I’ve stolen nine sheets of paper and half a spoonful of ink. Sorry, Teddy, I’ll pay your dad back. But the binder, I bought specially with my own money.”

“Relax, I’m not gonna tell him.” Teddy takes the pen and signs next to my amendments when it’s his turn. It’s a surprising signature, very adult-man, and would look right at home on real estate contracts. “Or am I? Maybe I’m a corporate spy, sent to investigate all the minor paper thefts going on around here.”

I’m starting to notice that he always checks to see if I laugh at his jokes. When I smile, he lounges back in his seat and eats grapes like life is grand. Melanie and I sign the document too.

“Breaker, breaker,” the walkie-talkie squawks. “Fashion Victim incoming, over.”

“I don’t mind this one,” Melanie confides in me. “She makes me feel like getting old won’t be too scary.”

“I’d better get more cheese.”

“There’s more cheese? I don’t have to hold back?” Teddy says with his mouth full and the word TAKE on his cheese-knife hand.

“That’s you holding back?”

Serious-eyed, he swallows and says, “Will you marry me, Ruthie Maree?” And I hate to admit it, but my heart hears the words, and it’s gaping-blushing-starstruck.

Melanie pretends to pack up her folder. “My work here is done. Remember, lilac bridesmaid’s dresses.”

“Even the cheese I thought would be gross isn’t gross,” he’s telling her when I go inside for more snacks. “It’s walnuts in cream cheese with honey. I’ll get a lilac tie to match you all.”

I lean on the kitchen bench to privately regroup.

“Don’t you dare try to be Ruthie’s husband,” Melanie scolds him. “We’re going to do a worksheet on it, but I already knew the moment I saw you. You’re not the right type for her.”

He smiles with wicked white teeth, judging by his tone. “I’m everybody’s type.”

“The fact that you think so just confirms you’re definitely not hers. Maybe you’re the next candidate for the Sasaki Method,” Melanie fires back at him, and I feel a moment of real, actual fear as I look in the fridge. Teddy out in the world. Teddy dating, being funny and charming. I mean, he always has been. But I know him now, and I don’t think I want him to. Oh no.

Then Melanie makes the feeling worse. “I just assumed you don’t have a girlfriend. If you do, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“If I did, do you think I’d be curled up on a sixty-year-old mattress in the middle of nowhere? Eating”— crunch, crunch, crunch— “stolen handfuls of tortoise lettuce?”

I’m walking back out with replenishments when Renata rounds the corner with a bottle of wine in her scooter’s basket and a single empty glass in her fist. “I’m here. Open this bottle,” she tasks Teddy seamlessly.

“Hi, Fashion Victim. I think your wig’s on sideways,” Melanie says and she’s right. Renata has wispy bangs over one ear.

“At my age, sideways is good enough.” Renata edges her scooter up to the table, not planning to dismount. “This is most civilized. What have I missed?”

I reply, “You missed out on me signing a very creative waiver, and we’re about to start on Week 1 of the Sasaki Method. If Mel will actually explain what that means.”

Melanie seems to compose herself for a moment, taking a new sheet out of her secret folder. “Week 1, of an eight-week program,” she announces like an infomercial, but then falters. Renata’s presence has knocked her confidence. It’s understandable. The woman could make a billionaire CEO stare into a mirror.

“It’s okay,” I encourage her.

Melanie turns through the pages. She says quietly, “Just a reminder that I’ve never done this before.”

“Pitch it,” Renata instructs. “Sell it.” Big cracker crunch. In this moment, she’s young again, at the head of a board table as her quivering staff present a mock-up of the next HOT OR NOT magazine cover.

I say to Melanie, “Just explain it to me.”

She begins. “When I thought about Ruthie, I decided that she needs to ease into this. So with that in mind, we will do different weekly activities, with a real date with a guy being the goal at the four-week midpoint. By the end of the eight weeks, I’d like to see her happily dating a really nice guy who’s into her, and she won’t need the Method anymore. Look at my first worksheet.” We all lean over it. “Ruthie will write down all the qualities she wants in a man, the sorts of things she’d enjoy doing on dates and any deal breakers. There’s a bunch of columns and lists for her to fill out here. We know she’s good at that.”

“Four weeks? Eight?” Renata is unimpressed. “What about now?”

I make eye contact with Teddy. He’s giving me that same feeling as I had at the gas station when he looked me up and down: like he’s squeezing, pausing, assessing.

Melanie’s printed out a calendar. “We’re here. By Week 6, Ruthie should have a date to the Christmas party. And by Week 8, it will be New Year’s Day. She might be waking up with somebody.” She winks, smirks, laughs. All of the above.

I ask Teddy, “Well, what do you think? Is eight weeks achievable?”

“Too achievable.” He scowls darkly and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “What if you get ahead of schedule? Don’t forget about our thin wall.”

“You’ll be long gone,” Melanie says to him dismissively. “What do you care.”

“I guess I will be.” To have the actual timeline of our remaining neighborly arrangement laid out for me in project software is quite daunting. All the more reason to lean into this process with diligence. There’s got to be one single guy in this entire town who isn’t planning on leaving ASAP.