1. Clara

CHAPTER 1

CLARA

C lara Ashford was certain she now knew exactly what it was like to be a hundred years old. In all those paranormal romances she'd consumed as a teenager, she'd wondered how anyone could be ready to just end it all, especially a vampire who was eternally young, eternally dateable. But now? Being eternally datable sounded like a special kind of hell.

She sighed and tried not to look as miserable as she felt, sitting across from her most recent dating app match, listening to him explain non-fungible tokens to her in a condescending tone that was somehow both infuriating and dull. His name was Jeremy, and Clara should have known based on that fact alone. She'd never met anyone she liked named Jeremy. It was some kind of curse, probably. And this Jeremy was no different. He'd started out asking her about her own hobbies, and when she mentioned that she often enjoyed casually investing small sums, the floodgates had opened wide. And what spilled out was a lecture she would have walked out of had she been subjected to it in college — this despite the fact that she paid for her own tuition and hated to waste a dollar of it.

He paused his lecture, which had segued into the virtues of cryptocurrencies, and sipped his beer. "Are you sure you don't want to write any of this down?" He winked. "Or are you coming up with an excuse for a second date."

It took every ounce of self-control Clara had to keep from rolling her eyes. Why did they always assume she knew nothing about cryptocurrency? She knew plenty. She just didn't think it made a sound investment, at least not until it was better regulated. Clara was a careful investor, old school. She liked a slow trickle from a sure bet. She was in it for the long haul — always had been — but somehow, she seemed to attract endless wannabe day traders.

Did Jeremy even work? She was beginning to suspect he didn't. "So, what do you do for work?" she asked, giving him her sweetest smile.

And she could almost hear the screeching sound of all his thoughts coming to an immediate stop. His face went bright red, and Clara bit her lip to keep from laughing. Now he matched his hair, she thought. Had he been less annoying and closer to her age, she might have thought it was cute. In fact, she had thought him cute when she matched with him. He'd looked to be around her age, mid-thirties maybe, red hair, bright smile — you know, fun. But she was beginning to suspect the photo he used on his dating profile was at least ten years old.

Not that she was against dating older men. What she was against was deception and the fact that he was likely in his mid-forties without a clue what he wanted to do with his life. Directionless, chronically online. Dull, dull, dull.

Their waitress dropped by to take their order. "I'll take a cheeseburger," Clara said. Might as well get something juicy out of this date.

"Did you want fries with that?" the server asked. She was young, likely fresh out of college. Clara imagined the waitress had different plans for her life, but good jobs were tough to come by these days, even with a college education. Clara knew because she had tried over ten years ago, but the stress and rejection had gotten to her, and she'd decided to take the time to travel instead of diving headfirst into a career. Of course, travel very quickly became a habit she didn't want to give up, and now it felt all but too late.

She nodded vigorously at the server. "You know I do. Don't skimp on them, either."

Jeremy cut in to ask, "You on a seafood diet or something?" He glanced expectantly between the waitress and Clara.

"Huh?" Clara squinted across the table at him, trying to read his meaning. It didn't make sense. She hadn't ordered any seafood. But when she looked back at the waitress, she saw the woman roll her eyes with a semi-disgusted expression. "I don't get it," Clara said.

"Have him explain it," the waitress answered, gesturing to Jeremy. "It's his stupid joke." Then she walked away muttering, "Not even an original one."

Clara turned back to Jeremy and glared at him. "What?"

His smile was all kinds of arrogance mixed with a pinch of uncertainty, and Clara wanted to tell him he had his proportions all wrong. "You know, you see food and you eat it." He laughed until he realized Clara wasn't joining him. Then he got defensive. "What?" he snapped at her. "It was a joke. Don't you get it?"

"Oh, I get it all right," she said. "I just don't think it's funny."

He shrugged and tried to look like he didn't care. "Why not?"

"Are you seriously making fun of me for ordering fries?"

"No," he lied. "I always appreciate a woman who isn't afraid to put on a little weight. Way less superficial. It's the overly pretty ones you can't trust."

Clara didn't spend a lot of time online, but she wasn't completely ignorant about the subcultures that thrived there. One that she'd learned was a major red flag when it came to dates was the PUA movement. The "pickup artists," they liked to call themselves, as though there was an ounce of art or creativity to simply parroting what you've been coached to parrot. She didn't even try to hide her glare this time. "Are you negging me?"

He scoffed, but his face turned bright red, loudly advertising how right she was and how ashamed he felt at being caught. Rather than apologize, though, the man chose to dig his heels in. "Like I would need to pull a stunt like that to take a girl home. Maybe you're just not used to honesty."

The date had been as good as over an hour ago as far as Clara was concerned, but she'd done her best to be pleasant for the last of it. No one deserved to go home feeling rejected. She'd let him down easy later. But suddenly, she was way less worried about his feelings. She rolled her eyes and muttered. "You're such a child."

Impossibly, Jeremy's face turned even redder. "What? Are you serious?"

She shrugged. "Maybe you're just not used to honesty."

By the time the waitress showed up with their food, Jeremy looked about to pop. Had he been a cartoon character, there would have been steam coming out of his ears. He was full of rage with nowhere to put it since Clara wasn't bothered by any of his opinions, which was a trick she'd learned early in her teens. Unfortunately, he lashed out at the waitress instead. "You call that extra fries?" He gestured at Clara's plate. "That's pathetic. She ordered extra. You're trying to cheat us. If we get charged for this bullshit, you can be sure your manager will be hearing about it."

So, in order to avoid looking like the villain himself, Jeremy had decided to bestow the title onto their server, whose smile instantly dropped. "That's twice what we normally serve," she said.

"And now you're lying," Jeremy snapped. "Perfect. Have you written a book called How to Avoid Getting Tips or something?"

The waitress heaved the most over-it sigh Clara had probably ever heard. "I'll bring some more," she said.

"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."

"It's good advice. I think I'll take it." Clara started toward her car and waved goodbye. She couldn't help feeling she'd made a friend. Maybe Jeremy was good for something after all.