When Misty Friggin’ Quigley asked you out, you honestly didn’t know what to expect. You’d worked with her at the care home long enough to know she was… different. Misty was quirky to the point of downright unsettling at times, with those wide, unblinking stares and that habit of knowing things about you that you’re pretty sure you never actually told her. She was the type to show up at odd hours and somehow always know just a bit too much about the residents—and sometimes, about you.

But Misty was also sweet in a weird, slightly obsessive kind of way. She remembered things about your favorite meals, she noticed when you’d had a rough day, and she always seemed genuinely interested in whatever you had to say. And let’s face it, she was the first person who’d shown even a flicker of interest in you since your divorce.

So when she invited you out, you figured, why not?

Now here you are, sitting across from her in this surprisingly fancy restaurant, surrounded by candlelight and quiet music. Misty seems completely in her element, rambling on about something with a level of intensity that borders on terrifying yet strangely endearing. She’s leaning in close, her hands moving as she talks animatedly about some true crime documentary she recently watched, rattling off obscure facts and throwing in her own theories about unsolved cases.

“So then, obviously, they never found the weapon—did you know only 7% of murders actually involve poison, but it’s like, so common in fiction? People just love the idea of a slow, meticulous plan, don’t they?” she says, eyes bright. “Anyway, what about you? Any true crime favorites?”

You blink, caught off guard, because you just realized you’ve spent the last few minutes entirely focused on her cleavage in that low-cut blouse she’s wearing. For all her quirks, she cleans up well. Really well.