Julia is hard at work on a weeknight finally wracking up the billable hours she needs to keep her job in this economic climate. Joel surprises her at work and explains that her mom is watching Sydney and she is coming with him. She points out that she has a brief due tomorrow morning, but he swears it's all taken care of. How could he have taken care of it? He petitioned the court for an extension on her behalf? He bribed a summer associate to write it for her? He threatened a paralegal? Whatever. He takes her for a little night swimming, but when they get there she pouts and says that the pool is closed. He smiles wickedly at her, because that's the point: He has planned her spontaneous act! Some light breaking and entering with a side of trespass will surely shake her blues away! She balks, but he boosts her over the fence. Ah, modern romance.

Speaking of romance, Sarah is hard at work slinging drinks at a very grown up looking bar. Actually it looks like a sad old man hotel bar that you would only drink at out of the sheer desperation that comes with being in a hotel bar in, say, Cleveland or Tacoma. She looks up from a pour to see Mr. Cyr wander into her watering hole. He came alone meaning that he can't even pretend that it was just a chance encounter or a random plan. So he settles almost shyly at the bar, fully aware that he is entering the world of Parental Flirting. He orders a beer and Sarah cards him. She discovers that he was born in 1983 and manages not to gasp audibly at her own indecency. She asks if Amber drove him to drink and he laughs and explains that Amber told him about the paper and gave him a new one. Granted it wasn't nearly as insightful or creative as the one Sarah wrote. Oh god, if anyone ever read my high school English papers and used them as fodder to flirt with me? JUST KILL ME BECAUSE I WOULD ALREADY BE DEAD FROM HUMILIATION. Sarah, poor desperate to be loved and approved of Sarah, however, thinks it is HOT. So she settles down to flirt properly. With her daughter's teacher. Again. But, Mr. Cyr? Just to be clear, he's no Max Medina.