Against all odds, I beat my family home from the police station and managed to rub any emotional turmoil off of my face before they could detect something was wrong. I had raced up to my bedroom to change into something less put together to make it seem like I hadn’t gone out. I was bounding down the steps onto the first floor, my shirt half way down my back as I shrugged it on. Then I took the abandoned hair clip laying on the kitchen counter and threw my hair up. My bluelight glasses and laptop were waiting for me at the table. Just as the jangle of keys sounded from outside the front door, I was seated and typing away at my laptop furiously. 

Julio stepped into the house. He was always the first one home. 

“Hey Mickey,” he said, dropping his backpack on the floor and hanging up his sweater. “Busy day at work?” 

I pried my eyes away from the screen like I was completely enraptured in my work. In all honesty, I couldn’t have felt farther from it. “Yeah.” 

“We’ll be in the same boat soon. School starts this week.” Appeased, the teen went into the fridge and grabbed an energy drink. When his footsteps on the staircase grew quiet, I let out the breath I was holding. 

I could keep this secret from my family. I had to. 

The next day I received a call from Mac telling me I had a coffee date with the undercover cop assigned to my case in an hour. It made things seem more final, like there was no going back now.

"His name is Vincent Pham. He's pretty lanky, thick black hair and a brooding gaze. He kind of looks like he's in pain all the time. You'll know him when you see him," Detective Mac said, on the verge of chuckling. I imagined he had a friendship with the other detective if he felt comfortable enough to describe him like so. 

I hastily began getting dressed once my family had cleared out of the house. I tried to put together something work casual, something that would say "I am a very intelligent, dependable person" without simultaneously saying "I am compensating for the fear that I won't be taken seriously and you'll convict my family of drug trafficking." I settled on a simple black turtle neck since the weather was cool enough for it. 

I spent so much time in front of my vanity mirror rehearsing exactly how I would greet the undercover cop that I was running late. The cafe address Mac gave me was within walking distance but I ended up having to sprint. By the time I arrived at the building, sweat had formed on the back of my neck and forehead. 

It was a rooftop cafe, meaning I had to try and catch the elevator at the back of the building. I saw its doors just begin to close and bolted forward. I could make it if I was given an extra second. 

"Hold the elevator!" I shouted. There was a man inside who stood at the center. He saw me. I knew he did because we made brief eye contact. He probably heard me too but he kept his hands in the pockets of his jacket, unwilling to just push the button to give me more time. My annoyance must have propelled me forward because I reached the elevator soon enough to press the button before the steel doors came to a full close. They opened back up for me and I stepped inside. 

Winded and sweaty, I collapsed against the elevator wall. I checked the time on my phone. I was two minutes late. Then, I glanced up at the rude man who stood opposite to me. 

He was young. Tall and long limbed, his skin was soaked with the sun. His eyebrows were thick and perfectly threaded. I felt kind of embarrassed that they were better than mine. His hair was thick and wet, like he had taken a shower recently. When his eyes landed on me, I realized his jaw was clenched as he scowled. He looked like my very presence in the elevator was a literal pain in his ass. 

Oh. 

You'll know him when you see him, isn't that what Mac said? 

A sliver of recognition dawned on his face. I had an inkling that it was as reactive as he ever was. His face was free of wrinkles like it did nothing but remain solemn. 

"Michelle Morales?" he asked, his voice a deep bass that was shocking to have come from a trim figure. 

"Yes. You can call me Mickey." 

He pried his hand from his pocket and held it out to me. His grip was firm. 

"Vincent Pham." 

I wanted to say something about him letting the elevator close on me to make him feel embarrassed by his rudeness. If he did feel ashamed of letting the doors close on the person he was supposed to be collaborating with, he hid it well. His expression remained unapologetic. 

What a jerk, I thought.                                 

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. He gestured for me to step out first and I walked out into the brisk, late morning air. It was beautiful up on the roof. The tables were a soft oak color with white umbrellas to protect customers from the sun. There were lights strung up around the perimeter. I imagined they looked beautiful at night, competing with the stars in the sky. I wondered if it was Mac or Vincent who chose the spot. 

There was someone waiting behind a counter next to the elevator. He greeted us with a chipper smile, pulling out two menus and leading us to a table along the edge. Vincent went ahead of me to pull out my seat which made me think he must have felt embarrassed about his behavior in the elevator. But then again, the action looked natural on him, like it was a reflex. 

"I'm very excited to begin working with you, Mickey," he said, once the employee had left us. There wasn't an ounce of excitement in his voice. 

"Likewise." I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. Vincent's gaze was like a microscope. His eyes were picking me apart or maybe that was how he was like all the time. I couldn't tell and it was slightly maddening. I fidgeted with the corner of the lamentated menu to give my fingers something to do. 

He inhaled sharply. "So, tell me about yourself. What's your day to day life look like?" 

He had to have read my file. He was probably thoroughly briefed about my past. He must have sat at his desk, reading all about how my father killed my mother. He must have had access to other personal things of mine like my medical records. He knew how long I had been in therapy, all my disagonis's, where I went to school and what my work was. It felt disingenuous for him to be asking me such a question but what else could I do but play along? 

"I work from home as an editor. I get to make my own schedule as long as I meet the deadlines. I usually work Monday to Friday from nine to five," I said with a shrug. "That way my schedule lines up with my family." 

"Whom you live with, correct?" 

I nodded. 

A waitress came over and placed two glasses of water on our table. She asked if we were ready to order, to which Vincent answered yes. I hadn't even taken a glance at the menu's content so as Vincent asked for a large cup of black coffee, I desperately scanned the menu for something appealing. The place had a bunch of weird, creative names for all their items. What would normally be described as a vanilla frappuccino was called a Winter Frost and a caramel, peanut butter flavored iced coffee was named a Mudslide. Not wanting to humiliate myself by uttering any of the wacky phrases, I ordered the same as Vincent. 

My mouth felt awfully dry once the waitress left. I took small sips of my water, fighting the urge to chug it down. A silence had fallen over us and Vincent was making no attempt to fill it. He was staring at the skyline like he forgot I was there. 

"Do you have a boyfriend?" His lips barely moved when he asked it. It took me a second to realize he had been the one to say it and not someone from a surrounding table. 

"Uh, yeah. I do." 

"Hm," he hummed, stirring the water with his straw. "Pretending to be someone you're dating would have been the most convenient cover." 

Even though it was something I couldn't have helped, I felt as though I had done something wrong by having a boyfriend. I was already inadvertently messing up the investigation. 

"What about being my coworker?" I suggested. "We could say we were assigned to edit the same book. It would allow us to meet regularly and give you a natural entry point into my life."  

Vincent sat back in his chair scratching his chin. Unlike his collegue, his face was clean shaven. As I waited for his reaction, I let my eyes drift down to his outfit. With a burst of heat to my ears, I noticed he was wearing a black turtleneck under his jacket just like I was. We were accidentally matching. 

"That might work nicely," he finally said. "Let's do that." 

I fought a groan. If this was how every conversation between us was going to go, stiff and awkward, then I was in for some torture. What bothered me most aside from Vincent's distance nature was how uneven the playing field was. He knew all about me while I only knew his job title. I guess it made sense regarding the nature of our relationship but it didn't mean I had to like it. 

"What about you? Tell me about yourself," I blurted out. I was filled with regret when one of his perfectly formed eyebrows twitched upwards. It was the biggest reaction I had seen on him. The waitress came back with our drinks right that second, setting them down in front of us and then scurrying off. It was like she could pick up on the uncomfortable air around us.

"What do you want to know?" 

I took a sip of my coffee. The bitter, bold flavor invigorated me to drop my walking on eggshell act. Maybe if I loosened up, Vincent would follow suit. 

"What made you want to become a detective?" 

"My dad was in the military and I wanted to do something similar. Police officer was close enough and then the detective test came around. I took it, passed, and decided I'd probably like that better." 

I remembered when I was ten years old and my school had career day. A police officer came by to speak about her job and I thought she was the coolest. I thought she was the closest thing to a superhero the world could have. I imagined that she could have saved my mother from my father had she had the chance. Momentarily, I thought that was what I wanted to do. I wanted to put all the people like my dad in jail where they couldn't hurt anyone else. Then my classmate pointed out the gun the officer's belt and I realized I could never do the job. 

"Do you like it better?" 

"I do." 

He really wasn't giving me much to work with. 

I pressed on. "Where's your family from?" 

"Vietnam. Yours?" 

"My mom was born in Puerto Rico. My dad was from Honduras." Speaking about my parents put a sour taste in my mouth, especially because I knew that Vincent was probably thinking of how one was dead and the other was rotting in jail. I wondered if he pitied me, if he assumed I was broken like everyone else did. 

He must have detected the shift in my demeanor or got bored because he quickly switched subjects. "Let's talk about your job more in depth. If I'm going to be a convincing coworker, I have to know a bit about it." 

He reached into a pocket inside his jacket. Out of it came a pair of glasses. They were tiny, appearing even tinier on his face, and were made of metal instead of plastic. The shape of them was odd. They were a half moon crescent with no frame going across the top half. It was the kind of glasses old men wore as they read bedtime stories to their grandchildren. 

He put them on and they instantly slid down his nose. I was reminded of my uncle, squinting at every food label until he begrudgingly had to fish out his glasses. He was using them to look at something on his phone. I saw he had opened the notes app, presumably to take notes on my job. 

I had gasped a little when he first put them on and he noticed. 

"What is it?" 

I shook my head and took a long sip of my coffee. I was going to drown myself with it if it meant I would get out of this conversation. 

"No, what is it?" His narrow eyes and pursed lips relaxed when he spotted my tentative smile. I may have been seeing things but I could have sworn his lips tugged upwards just slightly. "It's the glasses isn't it?" 

I placed my coffee mug down. The warm liquid slid down my throat and filled my chest with warmth. 

"I've just never seen anything quite like them before." 

He bit his lip, his monotone coutence back. "I've never had anyone insult me so politely." 

This whole partnership thing was going to be harder than I thought.

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