My knees begin jiggling the moment work ends. From my right, Jack casually glances at the exit. To random bystanders, we are merely coworkers who don't interact outside of work. To us, we're preparing to go on our first fake date. 

I subtly point to the bathroom and Jack understands, swiveling back to his screen. I walk to the women's restroom, look in the mirror, and give myself a pep talk. 

"Isla, you got this," I say confidently. I begin pulling out makeup products and lining them on the counter like a professional makeover shop. I mull over the products, before going with subtle eyeliner and cherry-red lipstick. "Think of this date... like an interview." 

A perfume bottle hidden in the back catches my eye. I hesitate, gaze lingering on the label: Seduction in Red Heels. I'm wearing black heels, but I spray on the perfume anyway. I survey myself critically in the mirror. I'm in a white button-down shirt, tucked into a black pencil skirt. After debating for a few minutes, I finally tug off my tights and ball them into my purse. 

I exhale, send one last look in the mirror, and then walk out of the bathroom. Jack is leaning against a wall, arms crossed. He hears my heels and frowns. "Took you long enough," Jack says, irritated. "I was beginning to think you fell into the toilet." 

"I would never," I say. 

"I don't quite believe that," replies Jack, glancing up. 

I watch his eyes trail across my outfit. His lashes lower, casting seductive shadows across his cheekbones. Jack's gaze burns like starting a wildfire and my stomach flips as he finishes his scan of me, finally meeting my eyes. 

"What are you looking at?" I bark. 

Jack is not saying anything and that terrifies the hell out of me. "Jack," I say, snapping my finger in his face. "You doing okay?" 

He jolts out of his stupor. "Yes," he replies. 

"Okay," I say doubtfully. "You seem out of it." 

"I'm not," Jack tells me. "I'm fine." 

He walks towards the exit and I scramble after him. "You're walking so fast." I'm breathless and it makes me realize with horror that I'm very out of shape. Even just speed walking with Jack makes me physically exhausted. "You know, on real first dates, you should be considerate and follow your date's walking pace." 

Jack frowns at me. "You're just slow." 

"I am not slow," I argue. "I am a regular speed walker. Ask anyone at work." 

He scoffs. "They'll lie, of course." 

We walk out of the building and an autumn breeze whips past us. Silence drenches the air between us and I gaze out at the horizon, trying to calm my jittery self. The evening sun drizzles skyscrapers and buildings with its ethereal glow. A newspaper blows past us and traffic fills the streets. 

"Are you nervous?" I venture a wild guess and instantly regret it. 

"No," Jack bites back, looking like I just viciously stabbed his pet goldfish with a fruit knife. "Why would I be nervous?" 

I stand my ground. "I don't know," I say with a shrug. "You've been single for a very long time. Anyways. Just think of this date like an interview." 

Jack shoots me an odd look. "Is that how you're seeing this date? An interview?" 

"No, of course not." My voice betrays the lie and Jack's expression morphs into something completely unreadable. "Okay, when you put it that way, it sounds bad." 

"Yes," Jack agrees. "You know, you're a very odd person." 

"Tell that to your parents," I quip. "First date. Isla caught my attention with her interesting behavior." 

An eyebrow raise. "'Interesting' is such an... interesting way to spin the story." He shrugs. "We'll run with it, though. We should begin our interview-like date because we're taking up so much space." 

He gives me a cynical glance, to which I respond with a sarcastic "ha-ha." I try to quell the nervousness in my stomach, poking it with a needle so that it pops like a balloon. As we board a taxi, I remind myself over and over that it's not an actual date, that this is Jack the Asshole we're talking about, that I'm merely doing this because of our contract. 

Still, my little outfit stunt does not help with my case. It doesn't help either, when the taxi makes a sharp curve to the left and Jack accidentally brushes against me, warmth encasing my exposed skin. 

My palms have gone sweaty and my heart is beating alarmingly fast. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I should not be going on a date—even a fake date—with someone involved with murder. 

I sneak a peek at Jack, who's looking out the window. He looks so normal in his office clothes, his mouth in a neutral line with his gaze focused on the whirlwind of city colors, that even I forget he's helped me with murder and paid for the dead body to be taken away. 

I shiver and Jack glances at me. "What, am I supposed to give you my jacket?" 

"No," I snap back. "I don't need nor do I want your jacket." 

The taxi finally pulls over and we step out. My mouth drops when I take in our surroundings. "Our date is at... Starbucks?" I squeak out in disbelief. 

"No," Jack tells me. "Unless you want to." 

We watch as toddlers run around, screaming their heads off. Preteens saunter in and out, holding ice lattes and teas. Someone accidentally drops their sandwich and begins picking up swiss cheese from the ground—only to have their dog eat it. 

"Um, that's alright," I say, eyeing another dog that has run over to eat the remaining sandwich pieces. "What did you have in mind?" 

"That." Jack points behind Starbucks. "I hope that's alright." 

It's a quaint little cottage-like restaurant, with soft lanterns hanging loosely from the wooden walls. Flowers grace the pathway to the restaurant and I stare in disbelief. "Where did you find this?" I ask. "It's so pretty." 

"Roxie recommended it to me," says Jack. "He goes there weekly to watch couples. Not because he's lonely, Roxie said, but because he needs inspiration for his romance novel." 

That is so Roxie. 

"So are you okay with this?" Jack asks, and I nod. 

We walk towards the restaurant and Jack opens the wooden door. Classical music lingers in the air and the smell of cherries fills the air. An adorable display of desserts is displayed in the front and my mouth waters. 

"Table for two?" the waitress asks, and upon Jack's nod, she brings us to a table. 

I do a quick scan of the restaurant. There are a lot of couples here and my cheeks flush when I see a girl spoon-feed her date. Is Jack going to do that? 

Don't be ridiculous, I scold myself. Upon a second inspection, it appears that the majority are couples except... 

To my diagonal right, I see a person sitting alone. He's short, broad-shouldered, and slightly gray-haired. I squint, before shaking off my nerves. 

"So, what are you getting?" I ask as the waitress brings over iced water. 

"Probably the chicken breast and broccoli plate," Jack answers. "What about you?" 

I'm about to answer when I spot something in the corner of my eye. The man sitting alone gets up and my eyes widen in horror. I let out a squeak of alarm and nearly smack my hand against my cup of water. 

Luckily, Jack rescues my cup. "You're so clumsy," Jack says irritatingly. "The more I hang out with you, the more I'm convinced I'll be the second person you accidentally kill. What are you—"

"Hide," I hiss, grabbing his menu up so it covers both our facial features. "Roxie is here." 

"What the hell?" Jack says, about to look around. I smack his head down and when he rubs his head and glares, I point to where Roxie is, strolling around the restaurant. He's so relaxed, oblivious to the wave of panic battling within me. 

"Why is Roxie here?" I whisper furiously. "He can't see us together. He's going to tell everyone." 

Jack has no response because it's true. The moment Roxie sees us together, he'll whip out his phone and begin texting everyone at work. Even if we managed to break his phone, he'll still begin babbling about us to anyone who will listen. Then I'm completely done for. 

"How about adding a second dead body to your resume?" Jack responds back. "I can always hire Gabriel to throw the body off the cliff." 

I scowl. "Not funny. Also, this is your fault." 

"My fault? Again?" 

"Yes," I say through gritted teeth. "Doesn't Roxie frequent this restaurant weekly?" 

Jack considers this. "Yes, but how was I supposed to know he comes on Thursdays? I imagine people watch couples on Fridays, not Thursdays." 

I'm stumped. Honestly, I imagine Roxie coming here on Fridays, too. I don't voice any of that out loud, though. "So what do we do?" I ask. 

"Do you have any form of disguise in your purse?" asks Jack, and I begin digging through my purse. 

A giant floppy sun hat with purple flowers on the side. Overlarge glasses to look classy. A red scarf. "Yeah, I do—" I stop when I see Jack's expression. "Is he near us?" 

"Yeah," Jack answers casually. "About seven feet away. Five. Four. Three." 

"Excuse me, are you guys ready to order?" the waitress asks, materializing out of thin air. This is such bad timing. "I can start with drinks if you'd like." 

I can hear Roxie coughing somewhere near us and my heart rate spikes. In a moment of desperation, I slam the floppy sun hat onto Jack's head and frantically shove the sunglasses on my own face. I quickly wrap the scarf over half my face and both Jack and the waitress stare at me. 

"Oh, dear me," I squeak out. I'm speaking in that horrible British accent and it's giving me flashbacks from the Restroom Incident. Jack looks embarrassed for me. "I have not had a chance to look at the menu yet." 

The waitress tells us she'll be back in a few minutes and I heave a sigh of relief when she leaves. "Is he gone?" I ask. 

That's when Roxie accidentally bumps into my chair. 

"Oh, sorry," Roxie says, shuffling past me. His gaze lingers on me for a few seconds and for a moment, I think I've been exposed. Then I realize it's because of my interesting accessory choices. He shuffles to his seat and when he sits, I collapse back into my seat. 

"That was close," I say, feeling my soul sucked out of me. 

"Yes," Jack agrees, touching one of the plastic flowers on the sunhat. "Do you want to go somewhere else?" 

"Please," I say. 

Jack goes to the restroom while I exit the restaurant and I longingly glance at the exterior of the building. If it's a random weekday (not Thursday), I might come here to eat. Finally, Jack emerges with a bag. "I brought dessert," he explains, upon seeing my curious look. "For later. Where do you want to go?" 

"Maybe somewhere Roxie for sure won't go," I say. 

"Starbucks?" Jack suggests. "Doesn't he hate Starbucks?"

We end up eating at a Taiwanese restaurant. Jack and I order braised pork rice and it's so good, I feel drunk on the food. "That was so good," I say when we're finished. "I should start coming here more often." 

"Okay," Jack says, amused. We're walking along a path and Jack glances at a stray bench. "Dessert?" 

I always have room for dessert, so I nod eagerly. I sit on the bench, while Jack goes on one knee, tying his shoelace. "I got a tiramisu and crème brûlée," says Jack, handing me two mini boxes. "You can choose whichever." 

I'm about to open the box labeled tiramisu when I hear a scandalized gasp. "Jack? Oh my God, are you proposing?" a voice squeals. 

***

author's note:

sobbing school ends in one day for me and then it's summer. question: who do you think is in the end?