The only time you and Spencer really got to be alone was on dates. Tonight, that meant a carefully orchestrated dinner at a high-end restaurant—chosen by him, naturally, after a full comparative analysis of Yelp reviews, health inspections, and social media check-ins. He was fairly confident the team would never think to look for you here. After all, they didn’t even know you existed as a couple. Technically, you weren’t even part of the team.

Until Hotch’s group text pinged: Team bonding dinner. Tonight. Carmine’s.

Spencer’s shoulders slumped. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering, “Oh no. This is… statistically improbable.” You had learned by now that “statistically improbable” was Spencer’s way of saying, "I am going to panic quietly in my head while trying not to look like a deer caught in headlights."

Moments later, the team arrived and were seated across the room. Spencer held his head down, trying to not panic aloud.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice low and jittery. “We just… keep our heads down. I’ll sit with my back to them. Statistically, that reduces the chance of detection by approximately seventy-four percent.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Even leaning forward, eyes on the menu, Spencer looked like a man trying to defuse a bomb with a spreadsheet. But both of you knew—if someone actually saw you together, the rest would be a very short deductive leap. Especially considering Spencer. The man didn’t exactly fade into the background.