Meet Me in the Middle

"Well — " she started to say.

"Or I could meet you somewhere near where you live," he offered.

She thought about what wasn't being said. His place? Had he been thinking about more than lunch? Some kind of third-date-rule thing? Suddenly, it clicked: Ellen was probably working the restaurant on his day off and she realized she had put him in an awkward spot. She said hesitantly, "I guess your place would be fine."

"Great! You can meet Charlie."

She smiled to herself.

"Dad says you're a police woman."

"Yes, I am."

"Do you carry a gun?"

"Most of the time."

"Can I see it?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Have you ever shot anyone?"

"No."

"Do you have a siren in your car?"

"In my work car."

"Do you have handcuffs and stuff like that?"

"In my purse."

"Have you ever caught a robber?"

"With some other police officers, yes."

He thought for a moment, "Cool!" and ran off.

Richard looked on affectionately. She gave him a bemused look and he laughed. "Sorry," he said.

"No, don't be."

They had a good time. The conversation was light and amusing. Charlie was running around them most of the time. After a couple of hours, Charlie came up and said, "Dad, when are we going?"

"In a bit, kiddo," he answered. "Go clean up." He turned to Miranda. "I promised I'd take him over to a friend's house this afternoon," he said regretfully.

"Then I'll go," she said lightly. "Have fun!"

He walked her to her car. When they got there, she turned back and there was an awkward pause.

He smiled, "Charlie might be watching."

She smiled back, "Yeah. Thank you for a nice afternoon. Take care and see you around."

"Hey, Randy?" He stopped.

"Yeah?"

"Umm," he said hesitantly, "would you be free next Sunday evening?"

It sounded odd to her. He hadn't been diffident about expressing interest before. "I'm afraid not. I already made plans to go to a party that night."

"Monday?"

"Sorry, it's Memorial Day weekend and I'm covering for someone who's taking the day off then I have a barbecue in the evening."

"Oh, I see. Okay, then."

"Maybe some other time?"

"Sure," but he seemed a little off.

"Is everything okay?"

"Sure, no problem. Some other time, then."

Actually, everything wasn't completely fine. Most of the time, Richard had come to terms with the changes in his life. The past was the past, and there was a lot of life to enjoy.

Two days, however, still left him feeling melancholy: May 29, the day he had married Ellen, and August 19, his birthday and the day his marriage to Ellen ended. His friends, David and Frank and their wives — and sometimes Mike and Ellen, though he wasn't sure how he felt about that — usually had something planned for his birthday. However, his former anniversary tended to go unremarked.

He had thought the distraction of a date with someone he liked would be a good way to break the pattern.

For her part, Miranda was pensive as she drove home. She didn't give much thought to Richard's demeanor, figuring he might have just been wondering about whether he was pushing for too much. But she did need to take stock about other things in her life. She hadn't felt so comfortable and relaxed in a long time.

Richard stopped into the restaurant on the Sunday of the long weekend to pick up the day's deposits.

"Any plans for the rest of the weekend?" Ellen asked.

"Nah. I'll just watch some games, maybe hang out with some of the guys down at the pub. Honestly, I'm so tired of crowds after yesterday's rush that just sitting and drinking beer will seem like heaven," he replied, laughing.

Ellen knew him well, probably better than he realized, and she could hear the tight, false lightheartedness in that laugh. She was also pretty sure she knew the reason but the unwritten code of silence he asked for stopped her from saying anything about it.

The evening found him sitting in Larghie's, his third Macallan in front of him. If asked, he would have described his mood as low, and he was trying to decide whether calling it a night or full-out drunk was the best plan when he felt someone climb onto the stool next to him.

"Any idea if they can make a good Gin Gimlet here?" she asked Richard. "Or do they just splash lime juice in with the alcohol?"

"I don't know. Patrick," he called to the bartender, "can you make a really good Gin Gimlet?"

"Absolutely!"

"Absolutely," Richard said to her.

She laughed and held out her hand, "Caitlin. Who are you?"

"Richard," he said and shook.

When her drink arrived, she took one look at it and complained, "Hey, what's this cucumber doing in here? Where's the lime?"

Patrick laughed, "You said really good. If you just wanted good, you'd have gotten Tanqueray and a lime. But really good is Hendrick's with cucumber garnish. Try it!"

She took a sip, rolled it around in her mouth for a second and then pronounced, "You are forgiven."

Caitlin and Richard fell to talking. He admired how she looked. She was attractive in that blonde, generic way that he associated with cheerleaders and any girl from California. She was wearing a dress that was slightly sexy but not over the top. It fit her figure nicely with a neckline that showed just an inch or so of cleavage. The hem was high enough to show some nicely-tanned legs without any risk of giving a peep show. Her makeup said she was out for a night on the town, and she was certainly easy to talk to, keeping the conversation rolling without effort despite the fact that he had a little buzz going.

There was a pause in the conversation after about twenty minutes. She put her hand on his arm and looked him firmly in the eyes, saying, "Would you like to go somewhere private?"

Richard was caught off guard. Talking to her had lifted his mood, but his mind hadn't traveled beyond the conversation. "Private?"

"Private is wherever you feel comfortable, hotel or your house. It's $300 for an hour or $1,500 for the night."

He stared at her for a second and then laughed a deep belly laugh of real humor.

One of Miranda's colleagues caught up with her as she was coming in on Tuesday morning.

"Hey, Miranda, got a second?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Well, I've heard that you've been seen with that guy who owns the restaurant."

"Did my dating life suddenly become fodder for office gossip?"

"Hell, no!" he laughed. "There's nothing sudden about it. We've talked about you since you came here."

"You're an asshole, Matt!"

He grinned, then sobered. "Look, really none of my business, I know, but there's this thing."

"Go on."

"I saw him in Larghie's with another woman the other night. Thought you might want to know."

Miranda wasn't entirely pleased to be hear this but, then again, she wasn't upset either. She had no reason, or right, to be. "There are no strings, Matt. We just went out a couple times. Nobody promised undying love."

"Yeah but, well, if it matters, she was a pro, Miranda."

"Oh! You mean...?"

"Yeah."

"Did he leave with her?"

"Well, not arm-in-arm, but he paid both bills and left within a minute or two of her."

Miranda was quiet for a moment, then said lightly, "Well, let's hope that, for the sake of any future conquests, Mr. Mason is well-acquainted with condoms."

"Hey, sorry to be the bearer, et cetera, but I didn't want anything to come from your blind side."

She cut him off. "Forget about it. It was a just a date or two. He wasn't Prince Charming. Thanks for having my back."

Richard called her on Wednesday. "Hey, Randy, I was wondering if we might get together this weekend."

"I'm sorry, Richard. I really can't make it this weekend."

"Oh," he said. "Maybe some time during the week for dinner?"

"I don't think so. I'm usually exhausted after work and just want to put my feet up. Thanks, though." Her voice was cool.

"I see," he said quietly. "Well, maybe I'll give you a call next week and see how the following weekend is going."

"Sure. I may be going to see my folks but we'll see." If anything, her voice became even more distant.

He hung up, knowing that things had gone south but not having the slightest idea why. That Sunday he stopped by The Mason Jar in hopes that it had just been a bad moment for her but she didn't drop in for brunch.

"No sense beating a dead horse," he thought. It wasn't his first rodeo and, while he had liked her, life had made him a pragmatist, or so he told himself. He didn't want to admit that he hadn't felt this depressed in a long while, maybe even three years. "I thought it was going well," he said to himself. "I guess I was clueless as always."

When Ellen came in to take over that afternoon, she noticed that the recent spring in his step was gone.

Friday morning found him sitting in a booth going over the week's figures. Maria sat a customer down at the next booth. "Stacy will be right with you."

Richard looked over and realized it was Ed Wallace.

"Officer Wallace," he said, nodding a greeting.

"Mr. Mason."

"Oh, not you, too. Please call me Richard. I'm done being a suspect."

Ed smiled cordially. "Richard. Call me Ed."

Stacy was new and hovered in the background, uncertain if she should interrupt. Richard turned to her, "Go ahead. Though I suspect the answer is coffee, black, two eggs poached, wheat toast, home fries well done, side of bacon burnt."

Richard smiled at the look of surprise on Ed's face. "You come in here almost every Friday, usually with another guy, and you always order the same thing. He orders a western omelet with white toast and likes his coffee sweet and light."

"Holy cow! Do you know what everyone orders?"

"Well, the long-time regulars if they're consistent. But with you, Randy made a joke about it when I had poached eggs one day and now I just notice you guys."

Ed's head tilted at the statement. "You must be closer than I realized."

Richard's looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, forget about it. Not many people call her Randy."

"Oh." Richard shrugged. "We went out a couple times. I guess we just didn't click. I haven't seen her since before Memorial Day."

"It happens," Ed said neutrally.

"Did you have a good holiday?" Richard asked.

Ed rolled his eyes. "Hell, no! I pulled shifts the entire weekend so I could have July 4 off. I ended up conking out on the sofa both Sunday and Monday. My friends think I'm an old man."

"I have friends who say the same when I have a tough day here," Richard agreed. "Maybe you had the better plan, though. I did go out Sunday and Monday and all I had to show for it was a wicked hangover. Except for one moment of excitement it was, all in all, a weekend to forget."

"What happened?"

"Well, maybe not the most cop-friendly story in the world but ..."

He finished the story, saying, "I started laughing and couldn't stop. I mean, here the two of us are, thinking the other person knows what the score is and that our evening won't be a waste when, actually, we weren't even playing the same game. Clueless, that's me!"

"So, did you?" Ed asked.

"Nah. I mean, I'm not a monk and I confess to a few meaningless encounters, especially right after my divorce. But, well, I may not be Ryan Reynolds but I don't scare kids away and know how to treat women nicely. I own my own business and can hold a conversation. I can get laid if I want to.

"I don't really have a problem with what she does. But, frankly? It would be just a little too emotionless for me no matter how much she faked it. Plus, I'm scared of what I might catch."

"What did you do?"

"I picked up her bar tab and told her I'd buy her dinner to make up for the misunderstanding, but she passed on it. I think she wanted to drop her line back in the water. I assume she headed for another bar, and I just headed for home.

"Anyway," he continued, standing, "I need to get some orders called in. See you next Friday."

He turned back, "Hey, Ed, I guess I'd prefer you didn't repeat that story around. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

"No problem," was what Ed said out loud. "Of course, I'm going to repeat it," was what Ed said in his head.

"Hey, Randy," Ed said when he saw her on Tuesday, "The scuttlebutt is Matt told you about Mason and the prost and then — "

"What the fuck, Ed? Don't you guys have anything to talk about other than my private business?"

"Well, yeah. Sometimes we talk about other people's private business." Ignoring her glare, he proceeded to tell her a story.

Thursday, Miranda stopped by The Mason Jar after work.

"No, I'm sorry. He's already left. He comes in early and leaves once dinner is going," said Ellen.

"Ah, okay. Makes sense."

"Here's your coffee. Do you want that in a bag?"

"No, thanks."

"I'll let him know you stopped by."

Driving home, she wondered if she should call. She had given him a pretty definite brush-off signal — and that on top of turning him down for Memorial Day weekend, which hadn't been a brush-off at the time but would have looked like it after the fact. A phone call of, "Hey, how's it going?" would look like she was mentally unstable. A casual conversation would soothe the troubled waters a little better. Perhaps he'd call her once Ellen gave him the message.

He didn't.

She came for a late lunch on Sunday. She knew Richard often stopped by after the morning rush to take the receipts to the bank. However, even dragging out a second cup of coffee didn't yield an appearance.

"I guess I missed him again," she said to Ellen as she paid.

"Oh, he was here a bit ago. I saw him in the back. I guess he grabbed the deposits and scooted."

"Oh." Miranda signed the credit card slip and left.

Ellen had seen the little moment of disappointment in her eyes before she turned away. There was no one else waiting to pay, so she asked Maria, "Could you cover the register a second?" and stepped outside.

"Officer Patterson?"

Miranda turned back, surprised. "Yes?"

"I don't want to stick my nose where it's not wanted, but ..." she trailed off, uncertain how to begin.

"Is there something you want to say to me, Ms. Bernhardt?"

Ellen still hesitated. There was so much awkwardness surrounding Richard for her, and she knew he wouldn't appreciate this if he found out.

Miranda waited a second then continued coolly, "Yes, I think Richard is an attractive man and I am interested in him. Yes, I was hoping he'd be here today because — well, it doesn't matter why. No, I don't automatically have a problem with the ex-wife. That said, if you're out here to warn me off then I agree that your nose — "

Ellen cut her off. "No! Nothing like that! I'm actually glad that Richard is dating. I don't know you well enough to know if I think you're specifically the right one for him but that's absolutely his business, not mine."

Miranda's expression unbent a little at hearing that.

"Here's the thing," Ellen continued. "I can tell you that Richard is not going to come out of the back office for a cup of coffee with you. If you catch him out on the floor, he'll be polite and then he'll tell you he has something to do in the back and disappear. If you leave him a message that you stopped by, I wouldn't bet on a phone call."

Miranda's face fell. "Oh ... well ... okay, I see."

"No, you misunderstand." Ellen looked away, then dove in. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought.

"Richard has commitment issues. Not," she said hurriedly when Miranda reacted, "with his being able to commit! He's great at that. His issue is if the girl doesn't do the same. If she needs to be constantly chased once the ice is broken, then she's going to find it's a short courtship."

"Is he that unconfident, or is it laziness?" Miranda asked.

Ellen shook her head. "Look, Officer Patterson — "

"Miranda, please."

That brought a smile. "Miranda, it's neither of those things. He'll make the first move and then go what he thinks is half way or a little more in the relationship and then look around. If he doesn't see someone standing on the other side of that mark, he assumes she's not as interested as he wants, chalks it up to experience and moves on. He won't play the hard-to-get game. Actually, that's not quite right ... he doesn't even realize hard-to-get is a game.

"There's backstory that's not mine to tell and, unfortunately, I was the straw — make that the ten-ton weight — that broke the camel's back but, bottom line? He's not willing to invest too much and find out it's wasted. I've seen it a couple of times, with women that might have, eventually, been an okay fit but who wanted a no-strings arrangement."

"Has he been talking to you about us?"

"Not a word! He's said nothing but I know him pretty well and I haven't been blind the last few days. It seems like you're looking to run into him casually, right?" Ellen's tone was questioning.

Miranda shook her head. "My love life isn't anyone else's business, Ellen, no offense intended. But!" she held up a finger and smiled to forestall any irritation. "Thank you for talking to me. I sincerely mean that."

Ellen nodded and turned to go back inside. Then she stopped and added, "I may be biased, but I don't think anyone willing to meet him in the middle will ever regret it. He goes all in for anyone who's all-in themselves."

Richard came home Monday night to a balloon tied to his front door handle with a note.

I think, for whatever reason, I sent some signals that I didn't really want to send. If the offer still stands, dinner after work might actually be a GREAT way to unwind after an exhausting day. PLEASE call but, if you don't, it's my loss.

XO,

Randy

"Hi, Randy, it's Richard."

"I recognize your voice. Plus, we have this new invention called Caller ID." She laughed as she said it to take the sting out. "I'm glad you called."

"Well, you asked me to and, yes, the offer is still good."

"Great! When are you thinking?"

"Wednesday?"

"Oh, I can't. I have CPR quals that evening. Thursday?"

"I'm on closing that night. Friday?"

"Hey, I know we talked about after work some night, and you may have plans or something, but is Sunday dinner possible?"

"Oh!" His voice betrayed his surprise. "I guess I just assumed that was unavailable."

Miranda seemed a little flustered by his observation but explained, "I think I mentioned before that I might go to my parents' last weekend but it got moved to this weekend. I'm going over Friday night but could come home in the afternoon on Sunday. If you don't have plans, that is."

"No, I don't. That would be great. How about six?"

"Perfect."

As they sat sipping their drinks that Sunday, the conversation turned more personal in a way that wasn't totally comfortable for Richard.

"So, have you seen a lot of women since Ellen?"

He got a wary look on his face. "Umm, why?"

"Just curious. You're a decent-looking guy, you're not shy, and you seem to be reasonably housebroken. Yet, I get the sense that there's been nothing serious since her. What's up? If you're carrying a torch for the ex, that's something a girl might like to know up front."

He looked very worried about this line of conversation. "Well ..." he dragged it out, trying to think what to say. She waited patiently.