October 19, Monday night. 6:53 pm.
• • •

My fingers fidgeted against the light blue coffee mug as I eyed the raspberry muffin I had ordered. I had hurried home, showered, applied my date makeup, slipped into a pretty floral dress and did my hair. I even sprayed my most expensive perfume. My mother had said that I was going to love this man and even though I wasn't excited about it I was going to show up looking my best.

The cafe that he had chosen was nice and warm, and I've only seen it in passing. It had dark brown walls with white stenciled tulips coming up from the floorboards and beautiful vintage photographs and book covers hanging in beautiful frames all over the walls.

There were three sections, one was divided by a wall, and it wasn't even a full-length wall, which had a large window and counters to set books and pots of flowers on. On one side of that wall was the lounge area; two vintage couches and a coffee table littered with books and two smaller plush lounge chairs that were set over a beautiful oriental rug.

On the opposite side of the wall was the area I was sitting in, it was bigger and had more areas to sit. I chose a small round table towards the front so my date could see me when he walked in.

There were numerous other tables scattered around this area, and many couples were here. They smiled brightly at each other as they gushed over their lives and held hands. I watched them all with criticism. How the hell do they do that? Find somebody?

I sigh and glance down at my muffin and realize I should have gotten the chocolate mint cookie instead. With a heavy sigh and a glance at my watch, I got up and head to the counter. The back wall was painted with chalk paint, scribbled against the harsh black in swirls of white and pale were the flavors and drinks and specials. Everyone who worked here was so laid back and happy. Not the 'I work at Chik-fil-a and love to be happy all day' happy, but the normal happy.

It looked like any other ordinary coffee place behind the counter except for Amy. Amy is a tall, beautiful caramel skinned woman with amazing hazel eyes, a luscious mouth, and dreadlocks. Her hair is pulled into a cute half updo. Thick tendrils of dark hair frame her face and are adorned with beautiful beads and highlights.

One look at her you can see she is of mixed race and as I study her face while I wait to order my cookie I know need to draw her. Her eyes are almond shaped and bright. Her nose is crooked, must've broken it. Her lips move as she speaks and I notice that one side doesn't rise. She must be paralyzed on that side.

When she laughs at the customer ahead of me, I see her teeth and the small chip missing from her front right tooth. Her fingers are swamped with a million and one artsy rings, and her wrist is hugged perfectly by two red strings and a medical bracelet.

It's now my turn, and I step up a bit embarrassed at my ogling, and as she takes my order, I take in her face and remind myself to draw her. Amy says she'll have somebody bring my food to me the moment it's done. We exchanged money and change, and I settle back into my seat pulling out a pen and my drawing book from my purse.

I have a book full of interesting and beautiful people. I sketch anyone that intrigues me. Thinking back on how I used to want to be an artist made me wonder if it was too late to change careers. Even if I liked writing a whole lot better my art for right now was only for me and was shelved on the 'Hobby' shelf along with photography and running.

My cookie was set next to my mug, and I smiled at the barista without looking up. When they sat down across from me and cleared his throat is when I looked up.

"Clark?" I was surprised to see him sitting across from me. He smiled brightly and sipped his mug. From the smell of it, he had raspberry lemon tea. I looked at him puzzled, and he laughed.

"Sorry, you don't mind, do you?" He asked raising his eyebrow. His wrist flicked out gesturing to the table, "I saw you sitting here and thought you wanted company," He explained setting his yellow mug down.

"Oh, I don't mind," I gushed closing my sketchbook and shoving it into my purse quickly, "It's great to see you outside of work,"

He nodded, "You too. What were you reading?"

He had noticed my book. Of course, he did he's a reporter. Reporters are observant.

"Oh, I wasn't reading. I was sketching. Just some doodles," I laughed nervously. Clark looked at me like that was the most fantastic thing he had ever heard.

"They didn't look like doodles to me," He responded smoothly.

I quirked an eyebrow at him, "So you did see what I was "reading," I mimicked air quotes and smiled at him.

"Can I see them or are they off limits?" He asked suddenly shy, and his voice dropped a bit, "I mean they were outstanding from what I could make out,"

"Thank you, Clark, and for that compliment and your sneaky ways of getting what you want," I teased, "You can see them. I don't mind,"

He smiled and sat up straight in anticipation as I pulled out my book and slid it over to him. It was leather bound and had a bright red ribbon squished between pages. His eyes widened, and his dark eyebrows rose behind his thick frames. For the first time, I took in his face.

It wasn't frowning or concentrating hard or zoned out like in the office, but alert and fully absorbed in the tinted pages of my book. His facial features are chiseled and striking; strong jaw, a sharp cleft chin, well-sculpted nose, and a mouth slightly lopsided, his eyebrows are broad and dark against his warm skin. His dark hair is curly, a few tendrils falling over his brow as he smiles.

His eyes skim the pages so quickly, and his mouth squirms into smiles and perfect O's as he flips each page. The blue in his eyes is like none other. A piercing blue, almost like those found when peering at the shudders of the sun from beneath the ocean's surface, or from the pulse of a heartbeat, magnified beyond all comparable words and leaving you blind, awestruck and amazed, even if only momentary.

Eyes so blue like fragmented crystals or displayed ice; shattered like a mirror almost to the extent that maybe he too saw the world through a shifted and unnatural gaze. I need to draw his face and soon.

I swallow slowly and watch his large strong fingers grip the corner of the page, his veins popping out along his forearm. Clark is casual and sexy at the same time. I take in the way his crème colored sweater clings to his chest. The collar dips into a v neck, and I notice his chest is well defined even a bit of dark chest hair peeks out.

I smirk and allow my eyes to travel over his shoulders and down his arms, back to his hands. I notice his foot bouncing nervously, clad in a sleek, sizeable polished dress shoe. Double knotted. His dark grey socks peek out from under his dark gray trousers. I bite my lip and quickly quench the need to jump across this table and attack him. My eyes shoot to his a second before he sets the book down and glances at me. I hope my blush isn't too noticeable.

"No need to be ashamed, Annie. These are amazing," He complimented, "I'm a bit shocked honestly," Clark says handing me my book.

"Oh?" Is all I can manage. I'm still a bit bothered, and I smile meekly glad he's writing off my blushing as an embarrassment.

"You're such a gifted artist why aren't in a job that highlights that?" Clark nonchalantly asks taking a sip of his tea. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, and I shudder.

"It's not that I don't like to draw I've just set it aside for now. It's more of my special hobby. I'm not keen on sharing it just yet," I explained.

"Well, I'm glad you shared it with me. Are you going to show Amy your sketch of her?" He asked his eyebrow rising beautifully.

I glance over my shoulder to see Amy wiping down the counter, "I'm not sure. I don't ever show the people I draw sketches of, but that's only because I never really run into them again," I said.

He nods and smiles his fingers reaching for the book in my hand, "May I?"

I nod and let him slide it from my grasp.

He flips through a few pages and beams,"I love the way you captured this one. How'd you do that with the pen?" He asked flipping the book upside down and sliding it to the middle of the table.

My lips tug into a broad smile when I see the picture he's chosen. It's a picture of a woman and her daughter curled up on the bus. The little girl has her hand pressed to her mother's pregnant stomach.

Clark spends the next hour asking question after question about pen strokes and the colors I use. I try to explain as best I can and smile when he acts as he gets it. He asks about the bald guy with the clown tattoo on the back of his head and the woman with the beautiful red hair and yellow and red polka dotted dress.

We talk like old friends, and I learn he loves raspberry tea. His mother used to make it for him, and he doesn't like to ski says he doesn't like the way that it feels like he's flying I explain that it's not that bad and he only laughs at me. Our conversations veer off to so many other subjects and opinions about the world.

We don't necessarily run out of things to say just the need to talk. We sip at our cold drinks and smile at each other from across the small table. That's when the silence of a half-empty cafe leaks into our conversation.

Clark seems to notice too and glances around, "It wasn't this empty a few hours ago,"

A giggle bubbles up my throat and spills out into a luminous cry of laughter as I throw my head back, "Oh my God, it's so dark outside. It's 10:35!" I exclaim.

Across from me Clark chuckles and shakes his head, "Past your bedtime?"

"Not even close," I replied teasingly. It came out a bit more flirtatious then I had intended, and Clark grinned, his eyes dropping to the table and a slight blush streaked across his face.

Quickly, I pulled on my cross body purse and stood up from my seat. My butt was slightly sore from sitting too long, and my knees were tight. Clark stood up with me, and I marveled at his height. Damn, he was tall.

We bid goodbye to the lone barista in the store and headed down the street. Clark's hand was positioned on the low of my back when we exited the building, and I was disappointed when it fell to his side, his hands slipping into his pockets.

We walked in an awkward silence towards the bus stop.

"That was different," Clark spoke up looking down at me.

"Yeah," I breathed.

"I was supposed to be on a date," Clark declared. The words tumbled from his mouth as he looked at me, he seemed ashamed.

"She didn't show did she?"

He shook his head, "No, but that's alright," He smiled.

"If it makes you feel any better I was supposed to be on a date too," I quipped elbowing his arm.

"Really?"

"Yeah, the guy was a no-show. It's better than going on a stakeout for a date," I explained.

"You're going to have to tell me about that one day," He told me as my bus rolled up.

"I will! This is my ride. I'll see you at work tomorrow?" Not sure if I should hug him or what, we did just spend four hours getting to know each other. I stood awkwardly in front of him shifting on my feet. The doors to the bus slid open with a wheeze and Clark took that as his opportunity.

He leaned down and brushed his lips gently against my cheek. Blood rushed to my face as my body grew hot and my palms clammed up. The sensation took me by surprise, and I could only stare up at him as he waved goodnight to me, gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze and walked away, hands in his pockets. I suddenly wished he would squeeze anything but my shoulder. It's not a very sexy body part for me.

"You gettin' on?" The loud, fat, balding driver huffed from his seat. I looked at him and nodded quickly scrambling onto the bus dispensing my fare and sliding into a seat dazed. I leaned my forehead against the chilled glass and hoped to see Clark further down the street. I didn't see him, but a few high school kids jumped and squealed plastering themselves to my side of the bus. One girl brags that she saw Superman and they all fight to get a look at him.

• • •
October 20, Tuesday. 08:35 am.
• • •

We just got out of a meeting, and I was beyond exhausted. Perry and Clark disagreed over what stories Clark should report. Clark wanted to cover the bat vigilante in Gotham and Perry wanted him to write about the football game. I felt for Clark, he seemed set on the vigilante, but Perry wasn't budging.

Lois had come in late, excited to show Perry evidence of a bullet. She went on a whole spiel about how the government was arming the rebels and got a flight for D.C. in the end. I needed to study her tactics.

The meeting was quickly adjourned, and I went back to my desk to work when my phone rings.

"What do you mean he didn't show up?" She must have gotten my email.

"Just that. He didn't show up, mom. I don't know what else to tell you," I quickly moved to the break room, passing Clark who was speaking to Lois as she packed for her trip.

"I'm sorry, honey. I had seriously thought this one was going to pull through. I'll talk to Martha about it and see what happened. You didn't wait too long for him did you?" I could hear her worry and sigh.

"No," I said as I leaned against the counter next to the fridge, "I met up with a friend. We had a good time," I told her.

"Oh, that's great!"

"Yeah, we talked for four hours, mom. It was insane! He even kissed me goodnight," I usually didn't get all girly and gush about dates to my mom. Could I count that as a date?

"He kissed you?" I could practically hear her jumping up and down.

"Don't go naming our four nonexistent children just yet, mom,"

"He didn't kiss you as a proper man should?"
She questioned feverishly.

"Mom! Clark is a nice man. He's not going to do that. We weren't even on a date,"

"Clark? Clark as in Clark Kent?" She asked.

"Yeah..." I responded only for her to break out in hysteria.

"Why the hell are you laughing?" I hissed into the receiver as Bianca, the mail lady passed by the door, and my choice to hide out in the break room was over with.

"Oh, sweetie, Clark Kent is Martha's son. He's the one I set you on the date with,"

"What?" I gasped my body spun around slowly, and I saw Clark sitting at his desk.

My mother was speaking on the other line, but I tuned her out and just stared at Clark. His eyebrows knitted together and he looked around the room as if he could feel me staring. I know I should look away, but his face had me captivated, and Clark noticed me, smiled and waved.

"You have got to be shitting me, right now."

• • •

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