The Real First Date
Saturday, 6:30 PM -
Santos’s Apartment
Santos stood in front of her closet, surrounded by a war zone of rejected outfits. Clothes were everywhere—hungover over chairs, piled on the bed, scattered across the floor.
Santos: “This is ridiculous. I’m a cop. I’ve faced down armed suspects. I’ve testified in court. Why can’t I pick a damn outfit?”
She held up a pantsuit. Too professional.
A casual top and jeans. Too casual.
A cocktail dress. Too much?
Her phone buzzed.
Ramirez: “Leaving now. See you in 30 minutes. Can’t wait.”
Santos: “THIRTY MINUTES? Shit, Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
She went back into her closet with a different mindset. Finally, in the very back, she found it—a dress she’d bought six months ago and never had the courage to wear.
Deep burgundy, fitted in all the right places, showing off curves she usually kept hidden under her uniform. It made her feel confident and sexy without trying too hard.
Santos pulled it on and looked in the mirror.
Santos: “Okay. Okay, you go girl. Yeah this is definitely it”
She added heels—not too high and did her makeup. Not too much. She wanted Ramirez to know she’d made an effort without looking like a clown.
Even though she absolutely had tried too hard.
Her hair was the final battle. After yesterday’s double destruction—courtesy of Henderson’s attack and Ramirez’s mouth—she wash and deep condition it for an hour.
Now it fell in soft curly with waves around her shoulders.
At 6:58 PM, her doorbell rang.
Santos took one last look in the mirror, grabbed her clutch, and opened the door.
Ramirez stood there in dark jeans, a polo style shirt that showed off his muscles, and a leather jacket from the Michael Jackson era. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it nervously.
He was holding flowers—actual roses, not the plastic gas station roses, but a beautiful bouquet that looked expensive and thoughtful.
And when he saw her, his jaw literally dropped.
Detective Ramirez: “Santos… you look… wow. Amazing.”
Santos: “Wow good or wow bad?”
Detective Ramirez: “Wow as in I’m reconsidering our date now. I just want to push you back inside your bedroom and—”
Santos: “Ramirez.”
Detective Ramirez: “—To show you proper respect and appreciation for the effort you clearly put into looking absolutely stunning. These are for you.”
He handed her the flowers, and Santos couldn’t help but smile.
Santos: “You brought flowers. Real flowers too.”
Detective Ramirez: “How am I doing?”
Santos: “Pretty good so far. But the night is young.”
Detective Ramirez: “Are you challenging me Santos.”
Santos: “Maybe.”
She put the flowers in water, grabbed her jacket, and let Ramirez lead her to his car—a black sedan that was exactly what she had expected for a hurricane tongue detective to drive.
Like a gentleman he opened the door for her
Santos: “Wow, pulling out all the stops.”
Detective Ramirez: “Santos, after yesterday—after almost losing you to Henderson—I realized I need to do this right. You deserve more than stairwells and disaster dates.”
Santos: “But those stairwells are pretty memorable I should say.”
Detective Ramirez: “Oh, yes but we will get back to stairwells. First, I want to actually get to know you. The real you. Not just the tongue version of you that’s been driving insane.”
Santos: “Although that version is pretty great.”
Detective Ramirez: “Trust me, I’m aware.”
To be continued……….