Mrs. Rosewater signed up for the pottery class because she wanted a family someday, and families do not start alone in an apartment. Her last breakup ended six months ago. She still ate soda bread her mother mailed with a note that said "for when you're lonely." This year she wanted more than a loaf. She wanted a table with people at it. So she put on her purple dress with rainbow polka dots, clipped Tofu's leash to her navy ribbon collar, and walked out into the evening. Her cousin Anna waited on the steps of Roselight Apartments. Anna set up first dates for a living. She had a ginger pixie cut and a hamburger shirt stretched too tight. She had not smiled since her husband left. She held out a slip of paper. "Table seven," Anna said. "Bald guy. He teaches spin class. He'll talk about his calves." "You could look happier," Mrs. Rosewater said. "You're the matchmaker." "I match. I don't feel." Anna shrugged. "Go. Tofu can wait with me." Mrs. Rosewater handed over the leash. The dog pulled toward the coffee shop across the way, so she followed instead of arguing. She pushed the door open. Warm air, roasted beans, one empty table by the window. A man there dropped his pen. He wore a soft pink cardigan and a yellow bow tie. Papers covered his table, each page a drawing of a fox holding little glass jars. "Sorry," he said. "She's fast." Tofu had wound the leash around his ankle. He crouched to free her. "You're grand, little one. You're grand." The accent stopped her. Same lilt as her mother's Sunday calls. "You're Irish," she said. "Cork. Jim." He stood and shook her hand. "You've a dog who plans ambushes." She looked at the drawings. "A fox with jars." "He collects other people's fears. Keeps them safe." Jim gathered the pages. "Six endings. No publisher wants it. They say kids don't want to think about scary things." "My students think about scary things all day," she said. "They just want someone next to them." Jim went quiet. He looked at her for a moment. "That's the ending I picked," he said. "The fox stops hiding the jars. He sits down beside the boy instead." She forgot table seven. She forgot the spin instructor and his calves. She sat down across from Jim and let Tofu curl under the chair. Her phone buzzed. Anna, outside the window, mouthed one word: Well? Mrs. Rosewater turned the phone face down. She had walked out for a stranger her cousin picked. She had found a different one instead, one who spoke like home and drew foxes that stayed. Outside, Anna watched through the glass. Her bored face did not change. But she pulled out her own phone and typed a note to herself, quick and certain. She would not be sending Mrs. Rosewater to table seven.