"He's a great guy, Sam. I promise you'll like him."

Sam sighs, shifting the phone to her other ear as she looks through her closet. "I still don't know why I let you talk me into this."

"Because you have no life," Janet reminds her. "I'm helping."

"Uh-huh." Sam finally digs out a blue dress and decides: it'll do. "Have I ever told you how much I hate blind dates?"

"That's just because I've never been the one setting you up." Janet sounds awfully sure of herself. "Just trust me. You'll like this guy."

Jack hates blind dates.

But Feretti's apparently got a friend-of-a-friend who is (reportedly) smart and hot and funny and (also reportedly) the perfect woman, and Jack had finally found himself out of excuses. Unfortunately, Feretti refuses to accept "I just don't want to."

So now Jack is wearing a jacket and tie, walking into the kind of restaurant he doesn't go to, to meet a woman someone else swears he's going to love.

You gotta trust me, Jack. She's gorgeous and smart and she's got a great sense of humor. Just meet her, okay?

He arrives at the restaurant to find his date already there. That's a good sign, right? The maître d' shows him back to the table where she's sitting, reading through the wine list.

And okay, so Feretti was telling the truth. She's pretty.

Jack squares his shoulders. Could be worse, right?

"Hi. I'm Jack."

She looks up, startled, but her eyes brighten as she realizes he's talking to her. "Oh, right! Louis's friend." She smiles. "I'm Laira."

Pete Shanahan is pleasant and polite and affable and very possibly the most boring person Sam has ever met.

After a dinner during which the most exciting event is her salad arriving with the wrong dressing, he asks if she'd like to go for a walk downtown in the balmy evening air, but she begs off. "I have an early morning tomorrow."

It's not true, but she just can't handle any more pleasantness.

Pete wishes her goodnight, looking for a moment like he's hoping for a peck on the cheek. She smiles and pretends she doesn't notice, waving as he walks off to his car.

Jack settles onto a barstool, loosening the knot of his tie. The bartender, a perky dark-haired woman with pigtails and far too much energy, leans on the bar in front of him. "So what can I get you?"

"Guinness, please."

"Coming right up."

She putters around behind the bar, somehow managing to simultaneously fill four other orders as she goes looking for his, and Jack lets out a sigh. He's had worse dates. But he's also had better ones.

Gotta give Feretti shit for this.

"Here you are, dear." The bartender, whose nametag says VALA in neon pink letters, slides a bottle across the bar to him, setting down a coaster under it. "What's a handsome guy like you doing, moping around here alone?"

He shrugs. "Just looking for a drink."

She folds her arms, eyeing him carefully. "Well, you're dressed too nice to be out for nothing. Date? Oh, it was a bad date, right?"

Jack blinks. "You talk fast."

She claps her hands. "So now you're here, waiting for the right woman to walk in?"

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

He turns to find a blonde woman in a blue dress, looking like she, too, just escaped from something.

"All yours."

She slides onto the stool beside him, and he waves to the bartender. "What are you drinking?"

She thinks for a moment, her gaze falling to the bottle in front of him. "Actually, Guinness sounds good. Thanks."

Vala, who seems to have decided they are both her new favorite pets, beams and starts searching for a bottle. The blonde turns to Jack. "Really, thanks. This is nice of you."

"He just had a bad date," Vala informs her. "Now he's here drowning his sorrows."

Jack looks up at the bartender, frowning in confusion. "Didn't I literally just meet you two minutes ago?"

"So?"

"So why are you suddenly so involved in my life?"

Vala shrugs. "I'm a people person. Here you go, miss."

"Thanks." The blonde takes the glass and tilts it towards Jack with a small smile. "And thank you."

He raises his bottle to tap against hers lightly. "You're welcome."

"Bad date, huh?"

Jack huffs. "Blind date. We didn't click."

"Tell me about it." She smiles into her drink. "I just had a blind date with someone" – she shakes her head – "who definitely wasn't the right guy."

There's a wistful quality to her voice, even over the mellow jazz and comfortable buzz of conversations around them. She traces the bottle's label with one finger, her chin propped on her other hand. She's pretty in an understated, disarming sort of way. Big blue eyes, soft blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

"Blind dates are the worst," he offers. Nothing safer than finding common ground.

"My best friend set me up with him," she sighs. "And honestly? It should have worked. There was nothing bad about him. He was perfectly nice. But it was just –"

"- no spark?" he guesses.

Her eyes meet his, bright and clear. "Exactly."

"Sorry."

She shrugs. "Could have been worse." The corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile. "Some guy just bought me a drink, so the evening might be turning up."

Jack tugs his tie out of his collar, and he doesn't miss the quick, appreciative once-over she gives him over the rim of her bottle. He's certainly not going to complain about getting noticed by someone this young and hot.

He finishes his beer and sets the bottle down, stealing another look at the woman beside him. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, like she's mulling something over.

Vala takes the bottle. "Another one, dear?"

"No, thanks." He looks at the blonde. "You?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, thank you." She turns the bottle in her hands. "You know, there's a bakery around the corner that's open late. They have the best salted caramel cake."

This might actually be the perfect woman.

"I'm a big fan of cake."

She beams at him, and if he'd thought she was pretty before, her smile is devastating. It's bright and quick and her whole face lights up, her eyes sparkling. "Great."

Jack drops money on the counter for Vala and follows her towards the door.

Outside, they walk side-by-side, arms brushing against each other because he's not sure it's okay to reach for her hand. Maybe after cake? That seems more like a post-cake step of acquaintance.

Or maybe once they've exchanged names, now that he thinks about it.

"I'm Jack, by the way."

"I'm Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam."

He'd just about resigned himself to this night being a complete bust, but this woman – he can't explain it, but he's pretty sure this could be the start of something extraordinary.

It might not even be the cake.