Manny finally found an outlet hidden behind the giant fern behind his chair. He wriggled his way into the small space and stuck his charger in the socket. His clothes picked up some dust from back there and his hair snagged on one branch while another poked him in the eye.

“Dammit.” This was his life now, going on coffeehouse dates with strange, beautiful women and getting bodied by plants. As he pounded away at his keys, Ms. Sarr joined him at the booth.

She slid into the space Damon had just occupied. “Ready to begin?”

“Yeah. Uh… how much do I owe you for the cappuccino?” He held up his wallet.

She smiled and gave a dismissive wave. “Nothing. Can you start by checking the other accounts? At least one of them should’ve answered. Eron or Liani, perhaps.”

“Okay.” Manny connected to the coffeehouse’s Wi-Fi and checked the Facebook accounts first. Still nothing. Twitter, however: Liani had tweeted, I missed night time in Paris, with a picture of her in a white dress walking towards the Eiffel Tower. The fabric billowed out behind her, flowing toward the camera.

The stab of envy hit Manny in the gut again. Damon was right. He wasn’t living. These people, these friends of Aurya’s, were living. Life was dragging him by his neck from the back of a horse.

“Is something the matter?” Ms. Sarr asked, and he realized he’d been sitting there staring at the screen for too long.

“One of your friends posted. The…” His words trailed off when she came around the table and plopped down next to him. He inched a little closer to the wall to give her some space and kept his eyes on the computer screen. He focused on that instead of the apple scent invading his nose, or the way her shoulder brushed against his when she leaned forward.

“They’re not my friends.” Her words were soft, almost inaudible even in the quiet coffeehouse, but they still carried a frigidness. She studied the screen, her eyes inky pools, the opposite of the brightness he’d seen when she smiled.

Manny fidgeted in his seat, an itch prickling at his skin and a tingle settling in his feet. Something about her made his heart pound, and not in a good way. Her eyes seemed to harden as she worked the touchpad to scroll through the comments, and the barest scowl pulled at the corner of her lips.

Maybe she hated these people. He was about to crack a bad joke about French people being stuck up, but the girl from the register came to their table with tray aloft in one hand.

“Cappuccino for the gentleman.” She set the drink in front of Manny. “And hot chocolate for the lady.”

“Thank you, Ash,” Ms. Sarr said, her smile returning.

“Oh, and your spinach dip, and pasties.” She set a silver tray in the middle with a bowl of spinach dip surrounded by chips and a plate piled with pasties. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

The scents of cheese and garlic caressed Manny’s face, coaxed him forward. He’d been forced to skip lunch because of the rush, and breakfast had long since vacated his body. His stomach whined from hunger, begging him to feed his face a fistful of pasties. He settled, instead, for a sip of cappuccino. It rolled over his tongue, hot but not scalding and smooth as velvet. The blend made the coffee at the Morning Bean taste like dirty dishwater.

“Please, help yourself,” Ms. Sarr said as she took a pasty. She didn’t have to tell him twice.

Manny took a pasty with full intentions of devouring it in one bite, but remembered his manners by the time it reached his mouth. He took a bite of the corner. Oh my god. Buttery, flaky pastry gave way to savory filling. Was that shrimp he tasted? Jesus Christ, this was living.

“Good, hm?” Ms. Sarr said. “I love seafood.” When she spoke like that, it was almost like this was a date instead of a business lunch.

He punted that thought from his head before it could turn into something more. “It’s great. The coffee is nice, too.”

“I’m glad.” She leaned back in the seat and sipped her hot chocolate. “So, I was thinking. Can you make me one of those?”

Back to business. “A Twitter? You don’t have one?”

“I’m almost completely clueless where social media is concerned. My students had to help me with Marketplace and I deleted my account after we connected because I’d never use it otherwise.” She shrugged. “I hear them talk about Twitter and tweeting and whatnot, but it’s all useless drivel to me.”

Students. So she was a teacher. But last he checked, they didn’t make enough money to afford brand new Teslas and fancy coffeehouse meals. Unless she taught at one of those exclusive private schools in the Upper Peninsula.