"That was like three years ago and the blog post was about avoiding romantic entanglements in the workplace. I had to give a presentation for human resources."

"And this, right now has been nearly three times as long in the making. Favorite TV shows? Hmm. Well, you've never missed an episode of the Bachelor."

"Morbid curiosity."

Kat cackles. "Right and I only eat chocolate to see if I still like the way it tastes. I'll just go ahead and figure this out for you. Someone who makes her laugh. Check. Strong. Hot. Check, check. Knows how to cook, that's useful. Or at least make coffee. Independent and hard working. Check and check."

As Katya continues to fill out the dating profile, my thoughts drift to seeing Carrick the other day. His broad shoulders and chest, his capable hands, and his lips fill my thoughts as I nervously braid the strings on the throw blanket covering my lap.

"Navy, hello! You're the wordsmith help me come up with a catchy headline."

I snap back to the present. "I thought this was just for research and development. I don't really feel comfortable putting myself out there like that. I don't even have a Facebook page."

"Actually, you do. I made one for you in college. You're single, available, and ready for fun. Password is Navybean." She breaks into a smile at the sight of my complete and utter dismay. "I'm joking. But you'll never find the kind of romance you want if you don't open yourself to it."

"I'm getting there slowly. Like a turtle. I just can't do the online thing."

"No, I guess not." She angles the computer screen to me. "Based on your criteria there are only five datable guys out of two-hundred-thousand something on this site. That won't do." She unclicks a few of the boxes and then says, "I know! Let's go out next weekend. There's this new club I've been wanting to check out. I dare you..."

I swallow hard, our conversation from the early hours spinning back to me like a drunken top.

It must knock Katya in the head because her face lights up. "Wait. I already dared you. Last night. I remember now. I dared you to date the first five guys you see. Come on. Let's get ready."

Katya's phone vibrates. "Dannielle needs me to teach her class. Her daughter is sick. Poor baby."

"Don't you have a hangover?"

"Yoga is the cure for everything. You should come. First five guys. Yoga dudes are usually pretty sensitive and adventurous if you know what I mean..."

"I'm not very flexible."

"Yes, I know." She huffs a breath in the direction of the computer screen. "But you're not getting out of this. First five and you have to give them each a chance."

I begrudgingly change clothes, tucking The Boyfriend Book back in the box and stashing it out of sight.

"Are you ready?" Kat asks, popping into my room.

Where I have I baggy eyes and a puffy face she looks like she belongs on the front cover of a yoga magazine.

While I lock the door behind us, she whispers, "First five."

When I turn around, the door to 7G opens and out walks our neighbor. My boot catches on the carpet and I stumble before tucking the evidence of my embarrassment in the form of flaming red cheeks behind Kat; her height comes in handy for more than reaching the top cabinets in the kitchen.

Talk about magazine cover material: dark hair and eyes. Strong jaw. That easeful, not a care in the world, lounging on a yacht off the south of France kind of posture. He and Kat would be an OTP power couple.

"Good morning," he says in a smooth and sexy voice. I stifle a swoon. Yes, if I let myself, I am a certified swooner.

"We just moved in down the hall. I'm Katya and this is Navy." She jostles me so I'm standing in front of her.

"Navy? What kind of name is that?" He asks with genuine curiosity.

"Old family name."

"Old family?"

I nod. "Carrington," I say, throwing my last name in, not that it means much outside of the insulated circle of Cape Cod, veterans, and American history buffs.

He beams a smile that could summon the sun from the heavens on this cloudy day.

"Tell him," Kat says under her breath.

I roll my eyes and in a flat voice, deliver the speech I've given by way of introduction on other occasions such as this: when Kat tries to get me to chat up guys. "My great-great-great- well, many, many greats-, grandfather was one of the original founders of the United States Navy. He died for our freedom while my great-great and so on grandmother was pregnant. To honor his memory, she named their son Navy. As luck would have it, the first child born to every subsequent generation was a son. Until me. Every single one of them were also esteemed Navy Admirals. Except me." I'm rambling.

"Fascinating." The Guy in 7G clasps his arms in front of his chest and surveys me, up down, inside out. He's like the magnetometer at airport security. However, unlike the nerves that suggest I'm carrying illicit items through TSA, there's a warmer, dare I say hotter, sensation in my stomach, or rather, due south.

"I guess so." And the story is disappointing. I leave off the part about how my parents struggled to conceive and knew they'd only have one kid so Navy it is, carrying on the legacy as the first female.

"She's one of a kind," Kat says, practically shoving me into his arms, which quite honestly I wouldn't mind.

"I'm Spencer. Nice to meet you." He extends his hand and shakes mine. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't feel a zing and a swoop and a sizzle.

Navy extracts me from my wide-eyed-wonder. "We're on our way to a yoga class. Navy is an amazing student. You should see how flexible she is."

I elbow Kat.

He smirks.

"And balanced, compassionate," Kat rattles on as though reading from my dating profile. The dating profile I will promptly delete when we return later.

"I heard you had some friends over last night."

"Housewarming party. I hope we weren't loud."

"I don't mind loud. Mrs. Hess down the hall on the other hand..."

Kat matches his smirk, but then says, "We love entertaining, don't we, Navy."

"Yeah, a whole party for a pot of crazy-roni." My cheeks burn because I have no idea why I said something stupid and random like that. I have no idea how to function as a normal adult never mind a datable one.

"Crazy-roni?" Spencer asks.

"It's a secret family recipe." Kat winks.

"Are you sisters?"

I look up at Katya Aphrodite Kalonje, my Greek-Kenyan-Indian-Russian bombshell of a best friend and shake my head. If we were born from the same litter, I'd be the runt.

"Best friends. She's going to be the maid of honor at my wedding. The dress is going to be stunning on you-" she says, turning to me. Then to Spencer she adds, "Actually, she hasn't added her plus one to the list so..."

"Navy, maybe we could have dinner some time," he says and I'm sure it's to spare me further embarrassment. "Or a yoga class."

Katya elbows me this time.

"Oh, yeah, that would be great," I say, swallowing a mouthful of awkward.

"Why don't you exchange numbers? Or even better, arrange to meet. Wednesday night there's a couple's yoga class in the Village. I know the teacher. She's fabulous and there's a fantastic farm-to-table restaurant nearby. You'll love it."

Spencer smiles at me. "What time is the class?"

"Six to seven."

"I'll make reservations for seven-thirty."

He watches us, or at least Kat, walk away.

When we're on the elevator I ask, "What have you done? A couple's yoga class? Dinner?"

"I set you up on a hot date, sister."

"I have to cancel. I'm not going to be able to walk by his door without being humiliated. And your wedding? What wedding?"

"I never said when my nuptials are. Someday, duh. I'm hooking a dude with a yacht. Though I guess dudes probably don't have yachts."

"I beg to differ," I say, thinking of Carrick and the family flotilla.

She briefly debates dudes versus gents-the former being more fun, the latter having better manners. Carrick was a dude in a gent's clothing: a player in high school with the outward evidence of being a well-heeled member of the upper crust.

Then she says, "Have you not seen my Pinterest boards? Someday I'll exchange vows; I just never specified when. You'll be the maid of honor of course and will turn heads when you walk down the aisle. Well, until I appear." She grips my chin in her gloved hand. "Navy, when you don't scowl you look gorgeous in anything, anywhere, hung over, whatever."

I glimpse my reflection on the brushed metal wall of the elevator.

"Do I really scowl?"

"Most of the time."

"Why have you never told me? That's like walking around at a party with spinach in my teeth and no one discretely mentioning it."

She shrugs, but her shoulders don't relax as we both brace against the cold. "I didn't know why until last night. It's as cold outside as your broken heart, but it's time to warm that thing up. You thought it was part of your identity, but it's not. Your smile is."

"If this is operation cheer Navy up, it's not exactly on track."

"This is operation double dare. First five guys. Five dates. Tori and everyone else were my witnesses. There's no getting out of this one."

"What if I contact everyone and have them rescind the dare."

"After you passed out we made a pact."

"I didn't pass out," I answer.

"Everyone wants you to keep them posted on your dates." She stops, redirecting the foot traffic around us like damming a stream. She clutches my shoulders. "You should start a blog."

"Absolutely not."

"The Boyfriend Book Blog. Password Navybean."

"You're more cuckoo than cocoa puffs."

"But you love me."

That I do.

After we cross the street, we pass a hefty man pushing a shopping cart laden with dirty plastic bags.

"Not a candidate. Moving on," Kat says, pulling me alongside her.

We're on the corner across from the studio, but she checks the time on her phone before detouring us down another block.

"Where are we going?" I ask, averting my eyes from all passersby.

"I said yoga is the cure for all, but if I stand any chance of pulling off teaching a class, I need more coffee."

She pulls me into the short line at the cafe. I rub my hands together, warming up. After she places her order and a deep voice asks, "Anything for your friend?" I glance over at her and catch her mouthing the words a hot cup of you.

Man-bun-barista smiles from beneath a few days of unshaven scruff and his dark lashes blink lazily.

I sputter.

If he saw or has a talent for reading chattering lips then I'm mortified. Thankfully, my cheeks are already pink from the whipping wind outside and from our encounter with Spencer.

Kat says, "Surprise her."

He smirks. Of-flipping-course.

The line behind us has doubled so there's no time for her to set me up on a second date, but while we wait for our coffee she says, "Date number two."

"Why are you so intent on finding me someone to date? Or five someones? It's not like you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Just me, a friend-friend."

"Your arguments are weak, young Padawan." Her voice is mystical, Jedi-like. "Go to the movies you will. Watch the new Star Wars installment with a hot guy you must." She juts her chin at the Man-bun-barista who wears a black T-shirt that says thread geekery. "He seems like he'd be into that." His eyes are as dark as the earrings plugging his earlobes. He's wiry with, like, zero-percent body fat and a smattering of random tattoos on his forearms.

I've always thought you can tell a lot about a person by how they take their coffee. Espresso versus cappuccino for instance. The former are ready to get shit done, are on the go, and tend to blend one word into the next in an attempt to say ALL THE THINGS.

On the other hand, Cappuccino drinkers are more inclined to sit and enjoy their morning beverage over a long philosophical conversation over the luscious meal they had the night before as they take precious sips of their frothy drink.

People who take their coffee black tend to be moody and broody. And those who take their morning cuppa light and sweet often use a straw so they don't mess up their lipstick.

Katya never orders the same thing two days in a row, which is fitting since she's rarely dated the same guy twice. Apparently, I take mine with a guy's number scribbled on the side.

I try to read it as we exit.