Clara’s POV
The night air is cool against my skin as I walk away from Jonathan’s house, the quiet glow of the streetlights above casting a soft glow on the pavement, and though I should feel embarrassed or disappointed or something in between, I find myself oddly amused by the entire encounter, as if I’ve just stepped out of a scene in a romantic comedy that took a sharp turn into farce. I had imagined something different, something warmer, something more intimate, but instead, I found Jonathan flustered, awkward, and so determined to keep his personal space intact that I half expected him to pull out a fire extinguisher and spray me back out the door.
He was polite, of course, always polite, but there was a kind of frantic energy in the way he moved around the room, the way he kept rear
