Jane pulled off her coat completely and sat forward. “What did you do?”
“I walked out.”
“You didn’t say anything?”
“Not a word. Just left. I had half a cappuccino and a full sense of betrayal. That was enough.”
Jane winced. “Lizzy...”
“I know. But seriously, whojoins their own appanonymously and doesn’t tell anyone? What kind of dealer uses their own stash?”
Jane snorted. “I think you mean gets high on their own stash.”
Elizabeth waved a hand. “Whatever. It’s sketchy. He built the app. Why is he dating on it?”
“Because maybe he believes in it?” Jane said. “I mean, I’d take that over one of those telecom CEOs who claim their phone is revolutionary but still tweet from an iPhone.”
Elizabeth scowled. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m just saying, it’s not criminal to use your own app,” Jane said gently. “You signed up to prove it didn’t work. Maybe he signed up to prove it does. I mean, who doesn’t want to find love?”
“On an app? I know plenty,” Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes.
“Come on, Lizzy. The two of you strike me as not so different from each other as you think.”
“We are not the same.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t build a billion-dollar matchmaking platform and then match with the one person who roasted me in front of the tech elite.”
Jane leaned back, clutching her tea. “That is... specific.”
“Of course it is.” Elizabeth threw up her hands. “If I didn’t know the ego of people like him, I’d say he matched with me on purpose. Just to mock me.”
Jane frowned. “You know there are actual ethics to all this tech stuff, right? He wouldn’t do that.”
“I know.” Elizabeth wiggled in her seat, childishly annoyed. “And now I don’t even know what to do. I was going to write this sharp, measured takedown of the whole concept—Algorithms vs. Actual People, or something equally scathing—but now I’m the plot twist.”
Jane tilted her head. “Do you want to delete the app?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “No. Not yet.”
Jane raised an eyebrow.
“I kind of want to see what he says next,” Elizabeth admitted. “And… I want to see if Wickham replies.”
“Wickham?” Jane blinked. “The guy who commented on your Substack?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Still no word from him. But now that I know who Mr. F really is? Ireallywant to hear what Wickham has to say.”
“You still really think he knows Darcy?”
“I don’t know. But he clearly has something to spill. And if there’s even a five percent chance it adds context, I’m not ignoring it.”
Jane picked up a throw pillow and hugged it. “So let me get this straight. You’re chasing a ghost who claims to have tea on a man you stormed away from mid-date. What’s the plan here?”
Elizabeth sighed. “There’s no plan. Just tea, bad decisions, and an idea-stage article that’s now emotionally compromised.”
