“That’s not necessary,” Clara assured her.

“Yes, it is.” The woman shook her head. “I’m not dealing with this crap tonight.”

Jeremy chimed in again. “Oh, and rude, too, is she? Fantastic. I’ll be leaving a one-star review for this place for sure. What’s your name, honey? I want to get my facts straight before I publish.”

The waitress tore her name tag off her apron and dropped it on the table in front of Jeremy. “Review away. I don’t care.” She walked away mumbling something that sounded an awful lot like “I’m too old for this.”

Clara laughed under her breath because, on the one hand, she agreed with their waitress, but on the other, their waitress was significantly younger than Clara’s thirty-five years. If anyone was too old for this, it was Clara. Her date had been talking to her about the rudeness of waitstaff these days, and thankfully, Clara hadn’t heard a word of it. She leaned in with a flirtatious little smile and murmured, “I think I have to use the lady’s room.” She tucked a strand of her shoulder-length blond hair behind her ear and clutched her purse tight, faking embarrassment. “Girl problems, you know,” she whispered.

If there was any sure way to prevent a man from asking too many questions, it was hinting at menstruation. Clara had been around long enough to learn that. It also gave her a believable reason to take her purse along with her to the bathroom. She stood to make her escape. Jeremy didn’t even look up from his phone.

The restaurant was a charming place, almost diner-esque with red checkered tablecloths and waitresses dressed like it was the 1950s. Cute place with one major design flaw. The bathroom was nowhere near the front entrance. Clara was going to have a hell of a time slipping out subtly. So she made her way to the back of the dining room and slipped into the bathroom, hoping beyond hope there was a window large enough to squeeze through.

There was. Barely.

Clara took a deep breath, clutched her purse handle between her teeth, and threw her weight into opening the old, painted-shut window. It gave only after she was sure she’d pulled a muscle. “I’ll feel that in the morning,” she muttered, “but it’ll be worth it.”

Her purse still gripped between her teeth, she hoisted herself up and scrambled halfway through the little window. She really was getting too old for this. When she was younger and more limber, she would have hopped through and probably stuck her landing to boot. Hell, she might have done several cartwheels just to add flair. Not anymore.

Now, she shimmied through like some kind of bulldog trying to squeeze through a cat door. The distinctive sound of her shirt ripping on something made her groan. The metal scraped her thighs, and she tumbled down, landing too hard on one wrist and adding a hole to the knee of her pants. Unfortunately, they were not the type of pants in which holes were an improvement. She was dressed business casual, and now she looked like business casual that had just attempted a burglary and come away with nothing but scars and shame to show for it.

As she picked herself up and dusted off her clothes, she heard a woman’s voice laughing. It was their waitress, standing outside with a cigarette between her fingers. “You made it,” she said, chuckling. “I was beginning to wonder whether I should offer you a hand.”

“I’m fine,” Clara grumbled. Then it occurred to her that she was taking her bad mood out on the poor waitress who seemed to have had an even worse night than she did. “Your name’s Kelly, right?” She recalled it from the dropped name tag.

The woman flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette and smiled. “Nope. We usually just wear whatever tag is stuck to the apron we grab. I’m actually Melanie. Mel for short.”

Clara leaned back against the wall beside Mel. The woman’s spunk really was enviable. She was tall with dark hair that was cut in a modern asymmetrical style. She wore layers of necklaces and leather wrist bands that reminded Clara of the old punk movements. Had Mel been the one on a date with Jeremy, Clara was certain she wouldn’t have taken any crap from him. And here Clara was, running away like a coward, knowing full well Jeremy was going to stiff the woman. “Aren’t you worried I’ll tell my date your real name?” she asked.

Mel laughed. “I could tell just by looking at you this was the last time you were ever going to talk to the guy again. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone looking so miserable on a date before.”

“You’re not wrong.” Clara leaned back against the brick exterior beside Mel. “Ugh, he was such a complete bore. Like… he had nothing unusual to say, and he blamed everyone else for all his life problems. I can’t stand that sort of guy. Speaking of which…” She dug in her purse and pulled out her last twenty dollars. “Here.”

Mel squinted down at the money, apparently unsure what it was for. “I’m good, thanks,” she said.

“It’s your tip,” Clara explained. “He’s not going to leave you one. He’s blaming you for the way the date went, probably because he can’t stand any kind of self-reflection.” She rolled her eyes.

But Mel shook her head. “You don’t have to leave me a tip. You’ve paid enough just by suffering through that date as long as you did. It was commendable really.” She gave Clara a charming half-smile and then seemed to remember something. “Oh, hey, how rude am I? Did you want to bum one? I have loads.”

“Thanks, but I don’t smoke.”

“You should take up the practice,” Mel said with a wink. “It repels most men like a citronella candle repels mosquitos.”

“Sounds useful.” Clara held out her twenty one more time. “Please take it. I’m going to feel awful for the rest of the night if you don’t. Really. I used to work in customer service. It’s a nightmare, I know, and tonight had to be a special treat.”

Another half-smile graced Mel’s face. “Well, when you put it that way…” She took the twenty from Clara and stuffed it in her apron pocket.

“It’s a gift,” Clara clarified. “So don’t report it as income.”

Mel just laughed. “Oh, I wasn’t going to anyway. But thanks for the tip… and the tip, too.”

“Sure thing.” Clara smiled, feeling a little better about how the night ended. “I’m heading home. If he asks, just say you saw me puking my guts out and I was so embarrassed I had to leave early.”

“Not a problem,” Mel answered. “Does he know where you live?”

Clara shook her head.

“Good,” Mel said, dropping her cigarette and grinding it into the gravel with the sole of her shoe. “Do me a favor and block him on every platform. Block early and often. That’s my philosophy.”