You there, Butch?

She was on normal patrol when she got the call. She and Matt got the call.

"Butch and Matt, we've got a domestic situation. Two twenty-six Atherton Court."

Siren on, she was headed toward the disturbance, whatever it might be. She hated domestic situations as they were so unpredictable. It might be a simple, loud argument. Or, it could be someone with a gun, ready to kill their mate ... or her. Her heart began to pound, her palms a little sweaty when she heard the radio again.

"Butch, Toby and Jamir are on their way too so you're clear. Your jewelry store alarm is sounding again," the radio blared at her. She headed for Doyle's one more time, remembering one of her first visits to a jewelry store. After the divorce, she'd decided to hock her engagement ring. When she took it in, she found it wasn't quite what she had thought it was. A zircon instead of a diamond. She'd expected at least a thousand dollars but got fifteen instead. Chris.

She pulled up outside, glancing through the window as she did. She could see Barry, and it looked like he had two customers with him. She parked, jumped out of the cruiser, and went inside.

As she came through the door, staying away from the others, she heard Barry Doyle's voice, loud and clear.

"Ah, Officer Timson. Good to see you again."

"Good evening, Mr. Doyle. I'll just look around for a while."

A big smile from Barry. "Help yourself." He was back with his two customers.

She wandered around for about ten minutes, amazed at the beautiful jewelry sparkling at her from the glass cases. Before too long, she became aware that the man and woman were leaving.

"Did you get another alarm call, Officer?" he asked, heading toward her, a gigantic smile on his face now.

"We did, Mr. Doyle. And, from that smile on your face, I'd guess those two were good customers." Her turn to smile at him.

He looked from left to right, obviously about to divulge a secret. "Thirty-five thousand dollars worth," he whispered. "Don't get too many of those."

"Congratulations, then, Mr. Doyle."

"Listen, please call me Barry. No sense being so formal." His smile hadn't diminished one bit, piquing her interest just a bit.

"It's just what I'm used to ... Barry." It seemed awkward, but he did have a nice smile. Doubly nice tonight she decided.

"See, not so hard." A concerned look replaced the smile. "That couple," he said, gesturing toward the door, "came in and started looking at bracelets. Very ... expensive ... bracelets. I may have gotten so, well, excited at the prospect of a big sale that I neglected to use the override switch."

Eileen smiled. "Shit happens, I guess. Over ninety percent of alarm calls are ... false alarms. Ninety-five percent in some places. At least your system doesn't seem defective, and you can pinpoint what's causing the problem." She gave him a hard stare as she said that.

A little chagrined, he replied. "Guilty as charged." The smile returned. "A little change of subject. I've never dealt with a female police officer —"

"Don't go there," she interrupted, possibly too soon. It was a subject that lit up her sensitivities instantaneously.

"Go where?" Barry asked, a surprised expression on his face.

"I'm just a police officer."

"On the contrary, you're very much a female too," he countered.

For once in her life, Eileen had no quick reply. His smile was just friendly and, she could sense, his reply was just an observation ... about her. At least it seemed that way. It was something she didn't hear too often.

"I'm not trying to be obnoxious ... I'm just curious. You're very much a female, and I just wondered what it was like being a police officer too?"

If he'd seen her last night, when she knocked the car thief into the garbage cans, she wondered how his questions and responses might differ. But she was surprised at how his simple reply had warmed her. That, she was certainly not used to.

"I just try to be a good officer." She shrugged. "It's not easy sometimes."

Barry had settled onto one of the counters and was watching and listening, obviously fixated on what she was saying.

"How's that?"

"You mean, why isn't it easy?"

"I'm not naive enough to think everything is equal, and women have the same chance as men. What do you weigh, one-twenty-five, one-thirty?"

She hadn't come in here expecting to answer personal questions but Barry's posture and the look on his face told her it wasn't just idle conversation. He was interested.

"One-thirty-four two days ago," she replied.

"See, I'm one-eighty, and the last cop I had dealings with had to be two-twenty. That's not equal opportunity."

She sighed. "The opportunity is equal, sometimes the equipment isn't equal though. So, you have to compensate, work hard in other areas to overcome the ... shortcomings. It's possible."

"Obviously, or you wouldn't be Officer Timson."

"My one-thirty-four could hold its own with your one-eighty," she laughed, willing to parry a bit with this unusually friendly guy.

"You'd pound the shit out of me," he laughed. "And if I don't get straightened out with these alarms, you may have to do that. Right?"

"In the twenties, the one-hundred-years-ago twenties, that's how it might have been resolved. Not now though." She had quickly begun to enjoy Barry's relaxed banter with her.

A long warm smile accompanied by ... silence. He was just looking at her and she was ... blushing ever so slightly. She could feel the warmth in her cheeks. That wasn't something that patrolman Timson did very often.

"Another question?"

"Sure." She was enjoying this, maybe even more than she realized. And that was puzzling her.

"You do sports in high school? I'd think that might help you."

"It helps, and yes, I did. Soccer and track." She paused and giggled. "I'd have tried football and wrestling if they'd let me."

For the first time, Barry scanned her from head to foot, causing Eileen to inhale. Police officers weren't used to being "scanned." She knew the squareness of her uniform hid most of her details ... there was a tiny wish today that they didn't. Another puzzle.

"I've seen that some girls wrestle in high school. With the boys." His eyes were back on hers now.

"I've seen that too. I guess mine was just wishful thinking. Back then, I didn't have the gumption to try it."

"Now you would?"

"More likely now, for sure. Maybe."

"What events in track?"

"The useful ones for me now, the one-hundred, two-hundred, and four-hundred. I had the school record in the two-hundred for a couple of years."

"I can see that." Another scan.

"Listen, I better get back to work. Glad the alarm was a false one and not something bad." That's what she was supposed to say, but not what she wanted to say.

"It was something good, you know."

"Um, how's that?" The look on his face gave her a hint of what was coming.

"It got you here."

"Barry, that's not a good reason."

She moved to leave but he stepped out to block the aisle.

"I need to go," she said, a smile crossing her face.

"Not yet," he countered, still blocking her path.

"I have a gun," she said, nodding and raising her eyebrows.

"I'll take my chances," he countered, not moving.

She was eying him warily, certainly not afraid. At least not afraid of her physical safety.

"What shift are you working tomorrow?"

She hesitated, alarms sounding in her brain. "My day off."

"Perfect. You're free to go to dinner with me then."

The alarms were accurate ... now she had to reply, not to a question, but his statement.

"What if I have something else planned?"

"You don't or you wouldn't have said that."

"What if I'm attached?"

"No rings, but you could have a boyfriend." A twist of his head and a questioning look.

There was Nick. They did things together sometimes, more than she'd like in reality. Not much lately. It was almost like she "put up" with Nick, often against her better judgment. They certainly weren't attached or exclusive, or much of anything else. Why not?

"Okay," she said and was amazed at the look of relief on Barry's face.

"Wow," he said. "You're tough."

"You better get out of my way or you'll find out just how tough."

"I'm willing to risk the gun for one more thing. Your cell number."

"Sure."

"I'd get a piece of paper and pen, but I'm afraid you'll rush out if I move."

Eileen couldn't resist laughing at that. Barry took his cell phone from his pocket and entered her number as she recited it to him.

"Do I need to call to make sure you gave me the right number?" He slapped his thigh when he said that, a huge smile on his face.

She gave him her best, "you're in deep shit now" look.

"Forget I said that. Six o'clock tomorrow evening?"

"Six is fine," she said, already beginning to think about what she might wear. She didn't know where they were going so what to wear was a puzzle.

"I'll call tomorrow with more details, probably about noon, if that's okay."

"I should be up."

She slid past him as he moved out of the aisle. She could see his reflection in the front window, his eyes locked on her back, her butt she was sure. She smiled.

The rest of the evening was quiet, giving her lots of time to think. Her thinking was mostly questions, questions for which she had no answers.

In her apartment, she went to the bedroom and stood in front of the full-length mirror. She looked at herself from head to foot, as Barry had done. What did he see that she didn't? Couldn't. Used-up female in a police uniform? One-thirty-four. She wanted to be under one-thirty. Maybe the gym a couple of days a week?

Sure enough, at about 8 a.m., she heard the bell chime. Fucking Nick, she thought, pulling the pillow over her head. It rang again.

"Go away," she yelled, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

He switched to a gentle tapping on her door. The bastard. She slowly climbed out of bed and went to her closet. She got a different robe than the one she'd worn yesterday. It buttoned up the front and she was careful to button the very top button. No chance for peeking today.

She stumbled to the front door, banging her knee on the couch as she passed it. That didn't help with the greeting Nick was going to get. She opened the door.

He stood there smiling, a McDonald's bag in his hand.

"I felt lazy today," he said, sounding apologetic.

"I wish you'd feel lazy enough to stay home in bed," she grumbled. "All this shit isn't gonna work you know."

"That's my problem," he replied. "I'm very patient."

She opened the door and he came in, smiling as always.

"You limping?" he asked as he sat the sack down.

"Hell, yes. I cracked my knee on the couch; hurts like hell." She glared at him.

"I guess that's my fault now, too?"

"Who else's fault is it? I'd be asleep and not have a fucking sore knee if you hadn't been ringing the doorbell."

"You're clumsy, and it's my fault?"

"I was half-asleep, asshole. I'm not clumsy." She sat down on the couch, holding her knee.

"I give up," he mumbled, emptying the McDonald's bag.

She knew she should tell him to bug off and leave her alone. Somehow that thought, logical as it seemed, never translated into words. Logic didn't seem to work well for her, at least when it came to Nick.

Nick was nice. He was good ... too good. He wasn't what she wanted or needed. She wished she knew what it was that she wanted and needed. She wanted a man. She needed a man. That was the want and the need. That wasn't the problem. It was what she wanted and needed in that man. That was the problem.

"So," she said, continuing the conversation that had been taking place before her knee got involved, "you being patient is supposed to make you irresistible?"

"Come on, Eileen, you know there's a reason you keep letting me hang around, bring you breakfast, and stuff like that."

Now Nick was going to use logic. It wasn't going to work.

"And what's that reason, Nick?"

"Eileen, why the hell do you enjoy torturing me?"

"You think waking me up every fucking morning, when all I want to do is sleep, isn't torturing me?"

"Just trying to help. I know you hate cooking."

"I don't cook my Wheaties," she said, the anger in her voice obvious.

"That's what I mean."

"You just don't get it, do you? It's not about me, it's about you. You don't give a shit about what I want ... or need."

Eileen was frustrated. Nick was working hard to be nice. She was afraid to let him be nice, afraid of accepting it because that would require her to give something back. She wasn't sure she had anything to give back or that she wanted to give back. At least to Nick. She wished he'd just leave her alone, let her decide without him breathing on her, desperate for her answer.

"Sometimes you're a bitch, Eileen. A lot lately."

"So, suddenly I've turned into a bitch. How do you suppose that happened?"

"If I knew, I'd fix it."

She wanted to scream. How could he not see? Why was he so damn patient?

"Some son of a bitch wakes me up every morning, when I've been up late, and calls me a bitch when I don't like it, and thinks an Egg Mc-whatever can fix everything. You're getting to be a joke, Nick."

She could see he wasn't sure what to say, but she wasn't going to stop.

"All you want is to get in my pants. You don't give a shit about me."

"You're just a dumb cop, Eileen. What makes you think I'm after your ass? As if your ass was worth chasing."

Now the subject had changed, and she was on uncertain ground. Why did she think her ass was worth chasing? Chris had wanted that. He told her often enough. That was a long time ago. No one had seemed to want it since the divorce. She had decided a while ago that "Butch" kept her fellow officers at bay. There hadn't been others until Nick had somehow stumbled into her life. He wasn't blatant about it. He never mentioned it. But ...

Nick stood up and stomped into the kitchen, mumbling as he went. She wasn't sure what he was thinking at this point, after what had been said. She knew there was no reason for him to stay. She wasn't sure he'd see that though.

"Why don't you get the hell out, Nick?"

"Good idea, bitch. Enjoy your fucking breakfast." Nick left without looking at her again.

She had expected a bigger battle than that. Maybe Nick was giving up. He didn't have to be too perceptive to see that's what she wanted.

Dumb dick didn't even bring coffee, she thought as she punched the button to warm up her Keurig. It roared at her as the water was heated, and soon she had a cup of coffee. No sense even thinking about more sleep. Besides, the Egg McMuffin did smell good.

She nibbled away at one of the sandwiches and gingerly sipped her very hot coffee, deciding what to do with her day. She needed to figure out what to wear tonight but, until Barry called with more information, she had no idea what might be appropriate. She might even roam the mall a little, maybe get something new to celebrate having a real "date." She smiled at that thought. It gave her a warm and fuzzy feeling, something she wasn't used to and wasn't sure she wanted.

First asshole Chris, then Nick the jerk, and, waiting in the wings, Barry the jeweler. She wasn't going to allow herself to get too excited about this evening ... there'd been too many disappointing evenings already, and this one with Barry was probably just one more. She remembered the way he'd looked at her. And he'd only seen her twice. Guh.

There was something she wanted to do so she dressed, limped out of her apartment, and drove to the station.

"Thought this was your day off," the Sergeant said, part statement and part question.

"Yeah," she said, gesturing to her clothes. "Just wanted to check something out."

Soon she was at a computer, looking for information about Barry Doyle. The sergeant was glancing over her shoulder.

Relenting, she said, "Got a date tonight. Checking to see if he's a good boy or a bad boy."

"Ah, the advantages of being a civil servant of the safety forces variety. You gonna tell him your name is Butch?"

"Fuck off," she snapped at him, laughing.

" Is that him, Barry Doyle?"

"Yeah, owns a jewelry store. You know him?"

"No, but talk to Clancy. He might have some info for you."

Now that made her a little nervous. Nothing bad about Barry so she shut down the computer and headed to where she knew she'd probably find Clancy.

"Sarg said you might know something about Barry Doyle?" she asked when she'd found him.

"The jewelry store Barry Doyle?" Clancy asked. "And why are you checking? He in trouble?"

"Got a date with him tonight -- Just wondering."

"Super guy. When I was getting an engagement ring he asked me a bunch of questions and then gave me a great deal on a super ring ... then let me pay it off however I could. Really nice guy. That's all I know."

"Thanks," she said, smiling at Clancy.

"Have fun on your date," he replied.

Barry called at ten. He told her he had been debating about where to take her for dinner. He apologized that he didn't know her better, adding that he didn't want to wait to get to know her better, which would have entailed sending more false alarms so he could see her. She couldn't keep from laughing when he said that.

"Good to hear you laugh," he said.

"Police laugh sometimes," she replied.

"Not enough, I'm sure. I'll try to work on that."

Not a jokester, she hoped. She'd see.

"But listen, here's the plan for this evening. To be impartial, I've picked two places. One is formal and the other casual."

"I'm casual," she said quickly.

"Not too fast. We need to find out. Your task is to have two outfits ready, one for each type. When I get there, we'll figure out a way to decide whether it's formal or casual."

"Listen, casual is fine with me. I'm used to that. I don't need fancy."

"I understand. But I'd still like to try my way."

A thought suddenly struck her. She'd bitched just a while ago at Nick that it was all about him and nothing about her. Now, she was trying to do the same thing. Barry was being thoughtful and she was trying to stifle it.

"A compromise?" She had an idea.

"Let me hear it."

"You assign the number one to one of them, and two to the other. I'll pick a number and you can tell me which it is. I'll dress for that and you won't have to wait."

"Ah, very efficient. Maybe I should get some advice from you about the store." He laughed.

"My advice for the store is, no more false alarms."

Another laugh. "I've got your cell number now, so, don't need them."

Her turn to chuckle. "You got the numbers picked?"

"I do."

"Then I'll choose number ... two."

"There you have it. An evening dress is in order."

"What the hell?" she spit out before she thought.

"Not that formal, but I enjoy teasing. Sorry. Will see you at six then."

"Sounds good. I'll be ready. And, since I am efficient," she giggled, "I'll tell you my address is 1245 Kensington, The Royal Arms Apartments. I'm in 309.

"Oh shit. You'd have gotten a frantic call later today. And, Royal Arms, huh."

"Not that Royal," she replied.

They both laughed and hung up. So, he'll be seeing me at six, she thought. She was sure he'd be wondering what he might be seeing. Right now, he wasn't the only one.

Formal. The last time she'd been "formal" had been her senior year of high school, at the prom. Chris hadn't been formal. A clean T-shirt was "formal" to him. She used to sit and wonder how she'd ended up with him, but the memories had gotten too painful and she avoided them now.

How formal was Barry's idea of formal? She suspected he was used to having money and, therefore, would be very comfortable with much more formality than she had ever experienced. The mall was her only choice.