“I just haven’t been having much luck lately,” she says defensively. “I’m sorry, Ruthie, but it’s a jungle out there.”

“He saved you a lot of time, revealing himself as a jerk up front. Don’t change anything about yourself. You can have my yogurt.” The spoon I hold out is snatched by a desperate hand.

Melanie throws the banana skin at the bin and it sticks to the wall above. “Thanks, Mom and Dad, you’re the best.” She goes to the fridge. Silence fills the office, apart from rhythmic scraping, swallowing sounds, and mmm. When she’s back at her desk, she makes a decision. “I’ll read out Ruthie’s profile, but only because I want a decent guy’s perspective.”

That’s troubling for him. “Find someone else then.”

“Twenty-five-year-old cute-as-a-button brunette— ”

I hold up my hand. “Objection.”

“Overruled,” Presiding Judge Theodore Prescott says. “So far very accurate.”

Bananas mixed with yogurt are a hell of a drug. Melanie is getting some color back in her cheeks. “Just let me say the whole thing. No interrupting. Twenty-five-year-old cute-as-a-button brunette seeks old-fashioned soul mate to set her world on fire. No casual hookups, weirdos, little dicks, broke dudes, or fugs.”

I am aghast. “Melanie. Take that last bit off.”

“I loaned her some of my dating profile,” she says to Teddy with a grin. “It’s too good.”

“Well, it rules me out.” He hauls himself to his feet when he hears a scooter. “I’m sure you’ll debate that in my absence.”

“Broke dude,” we both say in unison to his departing back. “He’s also a weirdo,” Melanie adds. I cut her off with a headshake before she can ponder the rest.

“I am feeling so much better, but I need some air,” Melanie says when Teddy walks in holding the delivered takeout. “Why don’t I walk these up to the girls. I want to talk to Aggie about careers. Did you know she was a fancy lawyer?” She detangles the bags out of his hand and walks off up the hill.

The light leaves the room. This is traditionally the time that makes me feel like life is over, but it’s just beginning, because he is here. The zesty lemon flecks in his eyes are the only bright things.

This is it. Another moment I’ll look back on one day with either a headshake or a mental high five. I had a gorgeous, single next-door neighbor, a risky one for sure, but I am a champion at guarding my feelings. I have been training for this big, tattooed mistake all my life. If I ask him to just give me the last few weeks he has left, what would he say?

Before I can take this chance, he lifts his phone and says, “Here, I’ll take your dating profile photo. Oh, man,” he says in despair to the screen.

“Show me.”

He holds the screen up. For a dating profile photo, it’s not the best. I’m at a desk with glasses around my neck and yes, brown and cream is not my best palette, but I look like someone who has integrity, clear skin with a flush, a light in her eyes, and a fond softness to her mouth.

“I look like a pretty little dweeb. At least it’s truthful advertising.” My joke doesn’t make him smile. He sinks down lower, staring at the screen, polishing a smudge off the glass with his thumb. His chest rises and falls on a deep breath.

I’m going to take a page out of his book. If I say it light and joking, he won’t know that it’s serious. “I’m worried I won’t remember how to kiss. I haven’t kissed anyone since Adam. My prom night feels like a long time ago now.”

He’s momentarily dumbstruck as he considers the length of my drought. He leans forward, elbows on knees. “Don’t worry for a second. You should see your mouth when you talk. When you smile,” he adds when I do now. “I think you’re a good kisser.”

I wonder if I could possibly convince him to test the theory?

I look across at the time. “Would you like to come over for dinner on Friday night, after I go clothes shopping with Mel?” The mere mention of food has him nodding. He rubs his palms up and down his thighs. I wonder if this is a little underhanded, having a kiss-related motive. I should be up front. “I think I should tell you that I will probably try for a good-night kiss. For purely scientific reasons.”

He’s gaping at my boldness, and laughing, and concerned. “That’s not a good idea. My self-control around you has been pretty impressive. We don’t want me falling back into old patterns.”

I stay brave. “I wouldn’t mind. So knowing this motive, are you still coming to dinner? I can’t exactly invite myself over to your nuclear bunker. It’s really a shame your dad couldn’t fix you up with a cozier abode.”

“He said I could have an empty town house.” He shrugs carelessly. “The Parlonis told me on my second day I could have their spare room. I’ve got some very comfy options. But I’ll stay right where I am.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my neighbor.”

I am utterly charmed and I’m sure he sees it. I stretch my arms over my head.

“Thanks for the profile photo. When Mel gets back, she’s going to push the button. Let the dicks rain down upon me.” I put my face in my hands. “Let me rephrase.”

“Don’t remind me about all those jerks with dicks,” he says in a withering tone. He attaches my photo to a text and a second later his phone chimes in his pocket. “About Friday. I’m gonna be a good boy, so don’t get your hopes up.” I don’t know if it’s the lengthening shadows playing tricks on my eyes, but he seems kind of nervous. Why would he be? It’s just me.

“One of these days I’m going to be a bad girl. Maybe you’ll be around to witness it.” I can’t believe the things I’m brave enough to say to him these days. It kind of suits me. Then I utterly ruin my sexy bad girl aura, but I don’t think he minds. “Now, let’s talk about software packages. What have you found that might suit your studio?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I had to invite them,” Melanie says when we pull up in front of the thrift store, parking her tiny car behind a rather conspicuous Rolls-Royce Phantom. “They were both asking me when and where we’re doing the makeover, and I said here, and this time, and it all just worked out this way. What’s the big deal?” She is breathless.

“It’s not a big deal. Why are you so nervous?” I mean, now I am, too, if Teddy is inside.

“I’ve got a lot riding on this third week,” is all she’ll reply.

When we go inside, we find Renata talking to Kurt, the regular sales assistant behind the counter. She’s saying to him, “Well, how much will you give me for a vintage Hermès riding jacket? I don’t like the buttons on it. I could use the closet space.”

“We don’t buy clothes,” he says in a slow patient voice, like they’ve been through this already. “Haven’t you ever given clothes to Goodwill?”

Renata picks through a tray of rings on the counter, tossing each aside like a parrot rejecting seeds. “If I donated it, how much would you sell it for?”

Teddy says from the back in the men’s section, “It says right there, all jackets are three dollars.”

“Three dollars?” Renata roars. “Has the world gone mad?”

“Donating is not mandatory, but we do appreciate it,” Kurt tells her, gathering up the jewelry. He brightens when he sees me. “Oh, hi, Ruthie. How’s it going?”

Kurt is in his midtwenties and hallelujah, he finally did something about that hair. It used to be a longish bowl cut, tangling in his eyelashes when he talked, but now he’s got a haircut and a forehead. I’d always kind of assumed there’d be some zits lurking under there, but he’s revealed to be clear-complexioned and mildly attractive.

If I’d never felt Teddy Prescott’s vibrations before, I might even think Kurt is cute.

“I’m good thanks, Kurt. Hi, Renata and Teddy, thanks for coming. No Aggie today?” I look to the back racks.

“She’s too weary,” Renata says, eyes down and her lips pressed thin.

I look at the rack behind the counter. Like I knew he would, Kurt turns around and retrieves a small selection of garments. “What have we got?”

“I know you said you don’t wear red,” he begins, “but this is sort of your style. Or is it too short again?”

From the back, an incensed Teddy straightens to his full height with a face like a bull. He’s preparing to charge, but Melanie comes forward instead.

She shakes Kurt’s hand. “Melanie Sasaki, founder of the Method.” (That makes absolutely no sense and he’s weirded out.) “Let’s take a look. Oof, too short. And this one is a big no,” she scolds, weeding out a brown dress. “That’s what the old Ruthie would have gone for. No more brown librarian clothes. But the others are okay. We’re going to have a montage shortly.”

“Don’t be messing with her tidy vibe,” Teddy bellows from the back.

Renata pats the stack of clothes on the counter. “Add them to her dressing room,” she tells Kurt like we’re in a boutique. “Now, explain the meaning of this.” She snaps her fingers at Teddy and he comes forward at me like a mob henchman, pulling out an envelope from his jeans back pocket. It’s the invitation to the Christmas party.