On December 15, after our second night of texts, I’d painted something for Jing-Jing. A sheep dressed as a mooncake with antigravity boots, floating past a moon. I’d hidden it under my bed.

Then yesterday, after rereading her application, I’d ordered jasmine oolong tea, her favorite, because I wanted to know what it tasted like. And I ordered it from her favorite tea store. (Insert monkey-covering-eyes emoji here.)

Jason examined me head to toe again. “I’ve never seen you so worked up over a date before.”

I said nothing, scared to give him any clues as to what was really going on.

But it didn’t matter, because the five-star operative figured it out.

“Oh, it’s the upcoming job, not the date.” Pause. “This is the same client as Thanksgiving, right? You were weird then, too. Was she an Inspector Gadget?” (That was our nickname for clients who think they’re helping but actually make the operative’s job harder, either by mixing up facts or by bringing up details that haven’t been agreed upon.)

I shook my head.

“Was she a Katherine Heigl?” (Bad actress. My last client before Jing-Jing, Kristen, had been one of these. She had actually tried to rebook me this Christmas, but I’d given Jing-Jing priority—because of the Katherine Heigl bit, nothing else, I swear. And I did feel horrible for not being able to help Kristen out, though I offered to try for another time in January.)

I shook my head again.

“Were the parents Sherlocks?” Another head shake.

I looked up to find Jason staring at me, eyes wide and boring into mine, while one hand covered his mouth in shock.

“What?” I retorted, mustering all my acting skills to play innocent. But he’d received the same training as me.

“You didn’t!” he gasped.

I wondered how his boyfriend, Marshall, could stand him always figuring stuff out. (Though, since I liked when Jing-Jing did it, I already knew the answer.)

“What about—” Jason started, but I couldn’t hear prerogative, Operative one more time; it had been continually running through my head the past month. (Did it bother anyone else that the two words only sort of rhymed?)

“You got it all wrong,” I lied. “She’s a category all unto herself. A…” My brain flashed through possible traits to latch on to. (I could’ve made something up out of the blue, but it was quicker and safer to base it in truth.) “She’s an Eliza Schuyler—too selfless.” And yet so very strong. “Made it harder, you know?”

Jason raised one eyebrow at me. “Mm-hmm. We all know you have a crush on Eliza Schuyler.”

A garbled scoff made its way out my nose. “She was alive hundreds of years ago; that’s not a thing.”