“Wait! There’s a girl at A Likely Story Bookstore, you know the one off Fifth Avenue?” “No.” “She also works at the bar across from our apartment. Surely you’ve been inside.” I’ve seen Marcelle’s Martini Bar, but if I’m drinking, it’s at the Baller, a private membership place for athletes. “Never been. Any moles?” “Shut it. She’s perfect. And fun. You need fun.” He hums. “Jeez, what’s her name? It starts with an E . . . Esme? No, wait, I’ve got it—Emmaline Darling. Isn’t that adorable?”
