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Mrs. Chen beams. "Such a dear. When are you going to let my grandson take you to dinner?"

"Still focusing on my career." Vanessa's smile stays warm, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders. She's perfected this dance of deflection.

A group of college students crowds the counter, chattering about midterms. Vanessa handles their complicated orders with efficiency, maintaining pleasant small talk without revealing anything personal. It's masterful, really. She's built walls that look like windows.

My tablet displays my latest field notes, cursor blinking accusingly. I should be documenting this. Instead, I'm counting the times she tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear – seven so far.

"Need a refill?" She appears at my table, coffee pot in hand.

"Always." Our fingers brush as she takes my cup. My skin tingles where we touched – a physiological response I definitely shouldn't be experiencing.

"More student papers?"

"Something like that." The guilt twists in my gut. Every interaction is based on a lie, yet I've never felt more honest than when I'm with her.

"You know," she says, refilling my cup, "most people don't grade with such an intense expression. You look like you're trying to decode ancient hieroglyphics."

I laugh, probably too loudly. "Maybe I am. Human behavior can be... complex."

"Says the guy who took me to laser tag." Her eyes sparkle with amusement.

The warmth in her voice hits me like a physical force. This isn't research anymore. This is something dangerous, something real, and completely outside my mission parameters.

My PerComm buzzes again. This time, stealthily, I check it: 'Report status: Overdue. Explain deviation from standard observation protocols.'

I look up at Vanessa, who's already moving to help another customer, and realize I have no explanation to give. Not one Command would accept, anyway.

I watch Vanessa work through the afternoon rush, waiting for the right moment. My PerComm's warnings fade to background noise as I rehearse the words in my head. When the last customer leaves with their to-go cup, I approach the counter.

"I was thinking," I say, leaning forward slightly. "Maybe we could have dinner at my place tomorrow night? I make a pretty good pasta."

The slight widening of her eyes, the way her hands pause while wiping down the counter – these micro-expressions speak volumes. My enhanced perception picks up her elevated heart rate. Not excitement. Anxiety.

"Oh." She tucks a loose hair behind her ear. "That's... I mean..."

"Too forward?" I ask, mentally kicking myself. Of course it is. Humans have specific progression patterns for intimacy, and I've just violated several of them.

"Maybe a little?" Her smile is apologetic but guarded. "It's not that I don't... I mean, I've really enjoyed our dates."

"But you're not comfortable with that yet."

"Yeah." She relaxes slightly at my understanding. "Sorry, I just..."

"Don't apologize." I straighten up, adjusting my approach. "Actually, I have a better idea. Why don't you choose our next activity? Whatever makes you comfortable."

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. "Really?"

"Really. I'm interested in what you'd pick." This isn't just research talking – I genuinely want to know.

She leans against the counter, considering. "Let me think about it?"

"Take all the time you need." I mean it, even as my PerComm vibrates again with what's surely another warning about mission parameters.

The tension in her face eases. "Thanks for understanding."

"Understanding is kind of my job description," I say, immediately regretting the reminder of my cover story.

But she just laughs. "Right, the anthropologist. Always studying human behavior."