Clara

"See you tomorrow Clara! And good job bringing that guy in today!"

Sending a sloppy salute over to my partner, Luca, I call back, "See? All that cardio comes in handy when someone tries to run!"

He laughs and takes another bite of his cookie. Luca and cardio have always had a tumultuous relationship, but I suspect that lately they might be heading toward an acrimonious divorce. Crumbs fall onto his newspaper showing the latest headline, “Aliens to attend the 2028 Brisbane Olympics!”

I chuckle as I leave the police station and head over to my car. What I really want to do is go to the grocery store, then home and change into my pajamas to binge watch some Netflix.

But for the first time in years, I actually have a date. A set time where I have to be somewhere to meet someone of the opposite sex. Cringe. I'm tempted to blow it off, but it's someone my best friend Stella set me up with and I don't want to be rude.

As I drive home through the quiet streets, first date jitters dance in my belly worse than they ever have. Or maybe I haven't had them in so long I've completely forgotten what they’re like.

It's been a while.

Almost... three years.

My fiancee, Joseph, was a marine. Some parts of the world really freaked out a few years ago when extraterrestrials first made contact with earth. He and his squad were traveling to a riot when they hit an IED. Killed in the line of duty.

And we'd been together for about three years before that...

God.

Six years?

Has it been that long?

Blank despondency numbs my thoughts as I pull it into my space.

But it's not like I swore off men forever. That kind of just happened.

It was so devastating when I lost Joseph that I retreated into myself. Trying to think of another man, another future, couldn't penetrate the grief of losing who I thought I would spend the rest of my life with.

Things only started being semi-normal again last year.

Whatever normal is anyway. I don't even know.

And dating is still the last thing on my mind. For me, just existing is an accomplishment, but Stella insisted.

Getting out of the car, I take the stairs up to my floor, trying to get in some exercise wherever I can. I've always been an active person, but since losing Joseph physical activity has turned into a much needed outlet. Considering the alternatives to drown my emotions, I figure exercise isn’t so bad.

I reach my floor, trying to psych myself up.

When I open the door to my apartment and turn the light on, I realize all over again that I made the right decision to move. My old place would have always remained our old place, Joseph's memory stamped into every nook and cranny. Every piece of furniture, every trinket, every small thing we bought together.

I rub my face, closing the door behind me. It’s been a difficult decision to let go, but I also know he wouldn't want me to live in sorrow. Joseph would've wanted me to to move on, have a family, and be happy.

That's the kind of good guy he was.

He always had a kind word for someone else, always had time to help someone out if they needed it. Always there to support me. Honestly, his memory is the reason I ultimately said yes to Stella when she set me up for what felt like the hundredth time.

But it isn't the only reason.

In the last six months, I've started to miss having someone else around.

Not lonely like right after Joseph's passing. No, that was a gut wrenching, complete and utter aloneness that wouldn't ever allow anyone else in.

This is almost gentle, a soft calling, a nudge towards having another person in my space to laugh with me while watching Archer.

And while it isn’t comfortable, I know it's a sign I'm moving on.

As painful as that is to realize.

I move into the bedroom and quickly take off my side arm, my badge, and my uniform, taking the time to lock up my weapon. I don't have a lot of time left, but I need a shower after running after the guy who decided stealing from a group of Girl Scouts was a good idea.

He was lucky I was the one who caught him and not the little girls he took the money from. The little one looked like a possible biter. I told her we could always use someone like her on the force, never too early to recruit the good ones. She was so cute in her righteous indignation.

I shower quickly and do the minimum amount of shaving necessary, knowing there’s no way this is going anywhere beyond dinner.

Should I wear a dress? Or is that trying too hard?

I settle on a pair of dark wash jeans with a pretty top and flats. It's the most neutral outfit I own, nice but not enticing. Nothing that suggests an invitation. Add mascara, lip gloss, and some blush and that’s as dolled up as I get these days.

I shrug at myself in the mirror.

Good enough.

I check the time. If I don't get going, I’ll be late.

I shove earrings into my ears, wincing because it's been a long time since I've worn any.

Grabbing my bag, I lock the front door and run down to the car.

I make good time driving to the restaurant where we agreed to meet and when I arrive, I'm able to nab a good parking spot.

Turning off the car, though, I don't get out. Staring at the windows of the restaurant, my heart pounds in my chest. Cold beads of sweat run down my back as I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. Gasping, I try to calm myself. I should go in. Open the door, walk in, it'll be fine. Flipping open the visor mirror I take a look at my face, anything to avoid going in for a few more seconds.

I look fine. But I’m still not ready.

It's too late to back out now. I can do this.

"Don't be rude. Just talk to the guy. It's not a big deal," I mutter, flipping the visor back up and unbuckling my seat belt.

I scan the parking lot out of instinct as I get out of the car. Nothing looks out of place. Not that there would be any reason for it to, but it's a hazard of the job I guess.

Deep breaths, calming, relaxing. Inhale deep and let it out slow.

This is nothing. No big deal. I can do this.

It's just a freaking dinner date. Get a grip woman!

I stride across the parking lot, wanting to get this done and over with now that I'm here. Probably not the best attitude to have for a first date but it's all I can muster up.

The sound of muted conversation and the clinking of silverware rises as I open the door. When I reach the hostess, she eyes me while I crane my neck to look behind her.

"Ah, here for a date?" she asks with a smile.

"Yeah," I say, trying to hide the tremble in my hands.

"I think I know who you're looking for. Follow me."

I nod and she leads me through the restaurant. It's a nice place with white cloth tables, candles, and over dressed couples. Imaginary eyes bore into my back as I walk. I'm sure no one is actually staring, but I can't shake the idea. I'm sure it's just nerves.

The hostess leads the way to a man who seems about the right age.

On first look, I'm not attracted.

He has a receding hairline made worse by a severe, slicked back hairstyle. His face looks nice enough, apart from maybe having used a little too much self tanner.

I need to keep an open mind. The superficial doesn't matter. I'm not shallow like that.

The waitress gives me a sympathetic look, but I pretend I don't notice.

"Richard?" I ask, as he stands up and smiles.

His smile is blindingly white against the almost orange tint of his face. Maybe a little too many whitening strips, too.

"Yes. And you must be Clara," he says, holding his hand out for me to shake.

I smile and take his offered hand. It’s bigger than mine and clammy. He grips too tightly and shakes a little too hard. He also clasps his other hand over mine, awkward and uncomfortable. His eyes give a quick dart up and down, not long enough to be creepy but almost. It's obvious that he's nervous. I can understand, I am too.

Pulling my hand free, I sit down in the booth across from him.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," I start, though I know I'm only about five minutes late.

"It's okay. I pride myself on being punctual but I know not everyone is," he responds with a slight grimace.

All right, great passive-aggressive beginning. Now I wish I hadn't said anything about my lateness. I decide to ignore it.

"So, Stella tells me you're an accountant?" I try again as I open the menu.

"Yes, yes I am. People always think it's a boring job, but you learn a lot about people from their finances." He peers at me from over his menu. "Can I ask you what your credit score is?"

I blink.

"My... credit score?" I repeat, I must have heard wrong.

"It's very important to find out these things about someone you're thinking about dating," he says with a frown.

I guess I didn't misunderstand.

Great.

"Maybe. But I'm not comfortable disclosing personal financial information to a stranger," I say wryly.

"Ah. I see. It's probably that cop paranoia, right?" he says with a knowing expression.

Cop paranoia? What is that supposed to mean?

You know- it's not worth arguing over.

"Sure," I answer, staring at the menu.

He nods sagely and opens his mouth and I wonder if he's going to see if he can stick his whole leg into it this time and not just his foot.

Sadly, he's saved by the waitress coming up to take our order.

I’ve already decided I can’t sit through a whole dinner with this guy.

"You know, I was thinking maybe we could just do desserts?" I suggest. "I've had a long day and I need to be up early in the morning."

"No, no! Get some dinner! The salmon here is superb," he says, flashing his distracting, bright white smile.

I don't bother arguing.

"I'll just have the tiramisu, thank you," I say to the waitress. "You can get whatever you'd like," I tell Richard.

He looks put out that I only ordered a dessert, but ends up getting the tiramisu for himself also.

As soon as the waitress leaves, he starts up the conversation again.

Unfortunately. I’d actually rather he was phubbing me.

"So. Have you ever killed anyone?" he asks, leaning forward a bit, a little too enthusiastic for the morbid question.

Is this guy for real?

"I would rather not discuss my job, thank you." I give him a polite, strained smile.

"Of course, of course," he agrees, waving the question away with his hand. "So, you have a gun and handcuffs, right? I've always liked a kick ass woman, which is why I jumped at the chance to meet you when Stella asked. I don't get those guys who feel insecure about it, you know?" His chest puffs out like he's amazingly proud of himself for being so very secure. "Besides, I would think the perks would be amazing. No more tickets and all that bullshit."

"That's very open-minded of you," I say dryly.

He doesn't pick up on the sarcasm at all. I don't bother explaining that I won't shield anyone from a ticket. It's not like he’ll be a part of my life for much longer.

"Well, you know, we're not in the fifties anymore," he continues, like he has to prove just how progressive he is. "Women and men are equals. In fact, I like powerful women," he says, his eyes sliding down to my breasts.

My cheeks warm even though nothing is showing.

Wonderful.

I feel so powerful.

Not.

The waitress interrupts again and slides tiramisu in front of us.

I have the urge to force her to sit down with us so he'll stop his incessant blathering, but I hold myself back.

Barely.

"How does Stella know you?" I ask, really wondering now.

No way does she know this guy well. She would never set him up with me otherwise.

"Oh, I do her friend's taxes sometimes. We met at a party a month ago. So, where do you keep your handcuffs?" he asks, undeterred from his line of conversation.

He takes a big bite of his dessert, some cream smearing across his chin.

"What!"

"Your handcuffs," he reiterates. "Do you keep them in the bedroom?" he asks suggestively as I stare at the whipped cream.

That's it. I’m out of here as fast as possible. I open my purse and take out my wallet, opening it I throw money down onto the table.

"What are you doing?" he asks, eyes wide like he has the gall to act surprised.

"I'm just paying for my half."

"Don't even worry about it. I have this."

I give him a strained smile. "I insist," I say, standing up. "It was very nice to meet you, Richard but I don't think this is going to work out and, as I said earlier, I have an early day tomorrow. So, I'm just going to leave."

He frowns as he stands. "Not going to work out? You haven't even given us a chance to get to know each other!" he argues. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. "Is this because of your fiancee? I heard what happened to him, but that was years ago. You need to give someone else a chance, you know. It's not like you're getting any younger."

My mouth drops open as my hands fly up to my chest. Stunned, I can't believe I heard him right. Perfect. I knew he was a jerk but damn.

"Good night." I turn and walk away, ignoring his calls for me to come back.

Whatever I imagined my first date in years would be like, it was no where near this bad.

Maybe I'm not ready yet for the dating scene.

Especially if this is what's out there waiting.