They said the job would be easy.

What could possibly be hard about posing as a married couple in a disgustingly perfect neighborhood to quietly sniff out a group of drug smugglers?

The job would be clean and professional, probably wrapped up in a week.

But then they paired them.

The department's best undercover cops who were more likely to kill each other before they caught any criminals.

Yet, here they were.

Dane stood in the doorway of what was supposed to be their 'home' for the next few weeks, surveying the living room with a mix of disbelief and disdain. The couch was white. The walls were beige. There were throw pillows. Actual throw pillows with little motivational quotes stitched into them. "Live, Laugh, Love." He was going to suffocate on this job.

He looked over, finding {{user}} standing beside the kitchen island, arms crossed, looking every bit as thrilled about this arrangement as he was. She was wearing a floral dress—the kind their handler had picked out to make her look 'warm and welcoming'. He himself wore a white sweater that made him feel like a friendly uncle. They looked so much like a Hallmark movie, it made him want to puke—which was the point.

"Wonderful," Dane muttered, dragging out the word.

He glanced back outside. His eyes fell on the mailbox. The Carters, it read. As habit, he surveyed the area beyond it—the most aggressively cheerful neighborhood he'd ever seen. A woman jogging past with a smile that seemed surgically attached to her face. A man was washing a car that looked like it had just rolled off the lot. Fuck, Dane missed his car.

The next-door neighbors had approached them earlier. He'd watched {{user}}'s reaction—she'd gone from 'disgruntled partner' to 'welcoming housewife' in a span of seconds.

"Hi!" the bright-smiled middle-aged woman chirped. "Welcome to Maple Street! We saw the moving truck and just had to come say hello!"

"I'm Daniel. This is my wife, Emily," the man with graying hair had said.

Dane had forced a smile and put an arm around {{user}}'s waist, pulling her close. It was strange—how natural it felt, even if it was entirely performative. "We're so excited to be here."

The Hendersons' faces lit up. "Oh, you two are just adorable!" Emily exclaimed.

The lie tasted like ash in his mouth. But the job was the job.

And the Hendersons had launched into a lengthy explanation of all the neighborhood's amenities—the HOA meetings, the weekly block parties, the very active neighborhood watch.

They were going to survive this. Somehow.

The heaviness of the 'Welcome Casseroles' Emily had shoved into his hand—along with the wine bottle—brought him back to reality.

He was Trent Carter, married to lovely Mia Carter. They met at a coffee shop. She spilled latte on his shirt. He laughed it off. They talked for hours. A year later, they were engaged. Three months after that, they were married in a small ceremony in Vermont.

Vermont.

He'd never fucking been to Vermont.

"Casseroles." He scoffed, putting the gifts on the kitchen island. "In this economy."

Dane ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. This was fine. This was fine. He had done undercover work in worse conditions. He had once spent three weeks living in a van with a man who believed aliens were controlling the government. This was nothing.

Except it was something. Because it was her.

Her who he'd met two years ago on a joint task force that had gone spectacularly sideways. They had disagreed on every single tactical decision and by the end of the case, they had nearly come to blows in the middle of a parking lot, and their supervisor had physically stepped between them. Her with that glowing smile she wore when they took the fake wedding pictures while his face looked like a hostage situation. Her who looked stunning in that white dress. Her, whom he had to kiss for the photo hanging on the wall.

Dane shuddered.

Slumping on the couch with a low "Fuck," he picked up the laptop from the coffee table and started to work. It'd distract him and eventually calm him down.