“I need more than hot dog ties and Georgia,” Samantha says. “I’m good, but come on. Why is he here for the summer?”

“Oh, because of his mom. She’s a lawyer and she’s working a case.”

“Do you know the firm? Or anything about the case?” Samantha pulls out her phone and takes notes on her phone. Screw the app business, she needs to become a detective.

“No times two. But it’s a firm that also has offices back in Georgia. Milton, Georgia! Milton like his uncle who’s great,” I say.

“Is his uncle a great guy or is he a great-uncle?”

“Oh.” I don’t remember. I shrug.

“There’s that summer school brain kicking in,” Dylan says.

Samantha slaps his shoulder. “It’s okay. It won’t matter too much. Anything else?”

I’m too hung up on thinking about Dylan’s comment. I know I’m in summer school, I wake up with that FML tightness in my chest every morning. Summer school is where I have to face my ex-boyfriend and scary future. I’m not someone like Arthur who’s dreaming about amazing colleges.

“Yale!” I say.

“Say what?” Dylan is super puzzled.

“Arthur said he stopped by Yale’s campus. He’s kind of baby-faced, but he can be starting there this fall, right?”

“This is all super helpful,” Samantha says. “I should head back behind the counter in a sec, but anything else?”

I think about all the good stuff that probably won’t be helpful. Like how awkward he was when talking about my “big package.” How he lit up when he realized I was gay too, even though I was in the middle of telling him about my breakup. His enthusiasm for the universe like it’s actually a friend of ours. Then I remember something useful.

“He’s leaving at the end of summer,” I say. There’s no point.

“Incentive to work faster!” Samantha is beaming like she has all the hope in the world, and I wish she would share some because there’s no way that the same universe that locks me away in summer school with my ex-boyfriend will also reunite me with a cute guy. “Okay, I have to run back.” She hugs me. She smells like espresso and scones. “It was so great meeting you, Ben. I hope I can put this puzzle together for you and find your boy. But if not, I have no doubt someone awesome will cross your path and fall for you hard.”

“Maybe that someone has been in your life for years,” Dylan says, placing his hand on mine.

Samantha laughs. “I knew it. I’m totally going to be the third wheel tomorrow.”

“Fear not, future wife of mine. If you get scared tomorrow night, I’ll only tend to you.” He smiles at her.

Samantha isn’t smiling back. She stares at the floor and scratches her head.

I catch the moment Dylan realizes he’s really overshot it with the flirting—that maybe Samantha isn’t about marriage talk after two days.

“I’ll catch you guys later.” She goes behind the counter, puts on her hat, and gets back to work.

“Oh no,” he says.

“It’s okay.”

“It was just a joke.”

“Give her some space. She’s working. You can talk later.”

Dylan leads the way out. “Is it that bad? Really?”

He turns around a few more times, like maybe he’s trying to see if she’s paying attention to him walking out. Maybe he’s getting one last look at her.

Chapter Nine

Arthur

Okay. Fuck Google.

No, seriously, fuck Google. And fuck Kate Hudson and Chris Robinson. Fuck them for getting married and fuck them for getting divorced and fuck them in general. Because do you know what pops up when you google Hudson Robinson? Spoiler: it’s not the boy from Panera.

I sink backward onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I feel wired and on edge, and my room feels even smaller than usual. Sometimes New York feels like a full-body corset.

Five seconds later, my phone starts vibrating. And it’s Ethan.

I stare at the screen. Six weeks of ignoring my texts, and now he’s FaceTiming me out of nowhere. Which isn’t a big deal or anything. It’s just unexpected.

I press accept.

“Arthur!” says Jessie. They’re mushed up together on Ethan’s basement couch. Otherwise known as the group text in video form. But it’s fine. I mean, it’s great. Ethan and Jessie are great, and I love them, and their timing is actually kind of perfect.

I smile. “Hey! Just who I needed to talk to.”

They glance at each other so fast it barely registers. But then Jessie says, “Oh really? What’s up?”

“I found Hudson.”

“Excuse me. WHAT?”

“But it’s not him,” I say quickly. “It’s not the post office guy. But I think maybe it’s the boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend.” Ethan points his finger. “You’re the boyfriend.”

“Pshh. I wish.”

“Soon-to-be-boyfriend,” says Jessie. “Wow. How did you find him?”

I tell them about Panera and the panini and the last name and the eyebrows, but when I finish, Jessie looks perplexed. “Wait, how do you know it’s not just some random guy named Hudson?”

“Because . . .” My stomach sinks. Suddenly, Juliet’s logic seems specious at best. “I don’t know. Is it that common of a name?”

“Devon Sawa named his baby Hudson.”

“Of course you know that.” Ethan nudges Jessie sideways.

“Anyway, nothing’s coming up on Google or Facebook or Instagram or Tumblr or Snapchat or Twitter or literally anywhere, and I hate this.”

Jessie’s expression softens. “You really like this guy, huh?”

I groan. “I don’t even know him. I met him for five minutes. Why am I still thinking about him?”

“Because he’s hot,” suggests Ethan.

“I just don’t understand. Why would the universe introduce me to this boy and then take him away from me five seconds later?”

“Maybe the universe will send him back to you,” Ethan says. “Slightly used, though. A little wear and tear. Mostly good condition.”

Jessie’s silent for a moment, chewing her lip.

“Maybe the universe wants to make you work for it,” she says finally.

“I am working for it! I just spent an hour googling some random dude who likes paninis and didn’t go to band camp.”

“Hmm,” says Jessie. She stands, suddenly out of frame.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I have an idea.”

I look at Ethan, and he shrugs. Jessie’s footsteps thud across the floor.

So now it’s just Ethan and me, and we’re totally silent. He can barely meet my eyes.

“So this is . . .”

“Yup.” He blinks.

“Everything good?”

“Totally good.”

“Okay. Great.”

“Yup.” He presses his lips together and stares at his lap. “So how are M&M?”

Otherwise known as Michael and Mara Seuss. Who I’m pretty sure are on the express train to divorce town.

“Great!” I say. “Perfect!”

This is painful—and there’s no sign of Jessie. I’m sorry, but she needs to pull the plug on this mess right now. Ethan’s still gazing somewhere above the webcam. Would he notice if I texted her? Just a quick SOS. And maybe a tiny threat that if she doesn’t come back this second, I will ruin her. I will track down the video love confession she recorded for Ansel Elgort in eighth grade, and, God help me, I’ll find a way to break into the projection room at Regal Avalon. If she thinks this won’t be the most memorable screening ever of Mission: Impossible 6, she’s—

“Hey!” she says breathlessly, sliding back next to Ethan on the couch. “I think I found Hudson.”

“Wait . . . what?”

“Mmhmm. Oh my god. I’m just—Arthur, I’m so proud of myself right now, you don’t even know. This is—like, this is actually happening. Are you ready?”