So I was scrolling through Pinterest and saw some writing prompts, and I'm home sick with the inability to speak, so I thought why not? This will be a two-shot; the second part will be out shortly after this! Also, this is my first fanfic for the TMI fandom, so I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments.

Clary

"I have to go, Simon," Clary said as she stood and grabbed her coat from the back of the couch. "Besides, it's date night."

"But didn't you guys have another fight?" Simon asked in confusion, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Clary sighed, shrugging on her coat and flipping her fiery hair out of the collar. She took her time putting on her shoes and checking her phone even though she knew there would be no messages. There hadn't been any for the past three days.

"We had an argument, yes," she mumbled.

"And you're still going on a date? I didn't think you spoke to each other for at least a week after one of your blowouts," he said, his eyebrows crinkling.

"One of our blowouts?" Clary repeated, sporting an amused grin. "What, you have it labeled now?"

Simon stood and walked over to her, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Clary, I'm serious. Why on earth are you still with him?"

Her smile faded. "I don't remember this being the topic of conversation," she said, suddenly annoyed.

"Well, now it is. Why are you still with that scumbag, Clare?" he asked sharply.

She scowled at him. This wasn't the first time they had had this conversation. "Sebastian is my boyfriend, Simon. He has been for two and a half years. I think I owe it to him to try and work things out, and going to date night is a necessary gesture if I want to do so."

"Clary, he has cheated on you! Not once, not even twice, but multiple times! And those are only the times we know about!" he added exasperatedly. "You should have broken up with him a long time ago, but you continue to forgive and forget and go crawling back to him like some sad soap opera! And how do you know that he won't stand you up again? How do you know he won't be out with some other girl tonight instead of you?"

Ignoring the sinking realization that her best friend was right, Clary sucked in a breath. "So, what? It's not like you haven't cheated on Isabelle before! You cheated and she forgave you and now you love each other more than ever!"

Simon's eyes widened, and he pointed a shaking finger at her. "That was different," he said, his voice wavering.

"How?! Was it the fact that you had just had a fight? Was it the fact that you were drunk and couldn't control your actions? Was it-"

"We broke up that night, Clary!" Simon exclaimed, his chest heaving. Then he stiffened in surprise, stumbling backward and collapsing back onto the couch. Suddenly feeling extremely guilty, Clary slowly approached him and sat next to him, temporarily forgetting about the time as she took in his shaky hands.

"Why did you never tell me this, Si?" she whispered.

"I wasn't proud of it, and neither was Izzy, so we both decided to keep that to ourselves," he answered monotonously.

"Oh, Simon," she murmured and laid her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Simon took in a deep breath, slowly releasing it to calm himself down. He unclasped his hands and slid an arm around Clary, squeezing her shoulders. The simple gesture caused tears to form in her eyes, and then she was crying. Simon snapped into action, quickly wrapping both arms around her and bringing her comfortingly into his chest.

"I just want what you have," she said miserably. "And we had that once, Sebastian and I. I guess I'm just so caught up in what we were that I don't want to see what we are now and to acknowledge that means that I just wasted two and a half years of my life on someone who I never should've spent time with at all."

"Hey," Simon murmured, pushing her back and looking her dead in the eye. "You're only twenty-two, Clary. You'll find it someday. I know you will. And maybe Sebastian really is the one for you and you two just need to have a long sit down to work things out. But you can't let him keep treating you like this, Clare-bear. You deserve better."

Clary took a deep breath and wiped away the remainder of her tears. She tried her best to shoot Simon a smile. "Thank you, Simon. You always know what to say."

He smiled back at her, helping her up and walking her to the door. "Promise me something, Clary."

"Yes?" she asked as she exited into the hallway.

Simon quickly grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "If he stands you up, leave him. It's time you gave him an ultimatum."

Her chest constricted, but she did her best to hide it as she nodded and ran off, leaving the concerned pair of chocolate brown eyes behind her.

Ring, ring, ring.

"It's Sebastian. Leave a message and I'll call you back."

Clary took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Sebastian, it's me. Look, I know that we just had a fight and everything, but I'm willing to talk it out with you. I'm willing to talk everything out. The truth is, we can't keep doing this anymore. I can't do this anymore. We go around in circles, never stopping to look back; it's a broken loop that somehow always seems to hurt me more than it hurts you." She sighed. "I'm going to our place tonight, same time as always. If you show up, we can try to start over, have clean slates. If you don't show up...well, then I guess that's...that. But, um, yeah. I should go. Goodbye, Sebastian."

She hung up the phone with shaking fingers as she left her apartment. Her hair was freshly washed, her nails were freshly painted, and she'd only had just enough time to slip her black dress on before she'd had to rush out the door. That left her face bare of any and all makeup—she hadn't even had the time to put on mascara. And as she stood on the curb, trying and failing to hail a cab, she realized that she also forgot her coat.

She hopped from foot to foot in an attempt to keep the cold away. Luckily Isabelle hadn't been around to dress her up this time, so she was able to move a lot more freely from the lack of heels. But there was still the fact that she was wearing a knee-length dress with only lace for the sleeves, which did little to nothing to keep the winter air from biting at her skin.

A single taxi finally noticed her short figure dancing around on the side of the road and pulled up beside her. "Taki's Diner, please," Clary said to the driver once she was inside the yellow cab.

"Got it," the man replied, diving back into the heavy New York City traffic. Clary grimaced. She might be a little late. "Now, why is a pretty thing like you going somewhere all alone on a Saturday night?" the man asked, unusually talkative for a cabbie.

Clary shifted in her seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "I'm meeting up with my boyfriend," she said, being sure to emphasize the 'boyfriend' part of the sentence.

The driver laughed amusedly. "Don't worry, kid. I got a wife and two kids back at home."

She instantly relaxed and smiled shyly at the man. "Sorry. I've had some bad experiences with taxis."

"Well, I can't blame you for being careful. My wife has had her fair share of experiences as well. I take it you've lived here for awhile?"

"Born and raised," she grinned. "What about you?"

"Nah, I moved from Pennsylvania not too long ago. My lovely wife got a great job offer here, I quit mine so we could move, and now here I am," he said with a smile, checking the rearview mirror as he switched lanes.

"What's she like? Your wife, I mean," Clary found herself asking.

"Ah," said the man, and his face lit up. "Julia. She's stunning. Beautiful on the inside and the out. She's smart, and kind, and loves better than anyone else I've ever known."

Clary smiled sadly and turned her gaze to look out the window. She wondered if Sebastian spoke of her like that—but of course that was if he spoke of her to other people at all. And in that case, she wondered what he thought of her, if he thought as highly of her as the man in front of her thought of his wife. Deep down she knew the answer, but it was nothing she wanted to admit to herself.

"Neat place," the man said as he pulled up to her destination. "That'll be ten dollars even."

Reaching into her wallet, she pulled out a twenty, handing it quickly over. "Don't worry about the change. Thank you."

"No problem, kid. Have a good night with your boyfriend."

She smiled at him one more time before she stepped out into the December night, hurrying her way inside the building. As she walked in she automatically scanned for white hair, feeling disappointed when she didn't see any. She inspected the crowded room of red and black booths again carefully, and her heart sank even further when she came up with the same results.

"Excuse me, is there a Sebastian Verlac here?" Clary found herself asking the hostess.

The girl frowned as she reviewed the reservation list. "I'm sorry, but there doesn't seem to be anyone by that name here. But, if you'd like, we have an extra booth open tonight due to a cancellation. If you'll follow me, I can go ahead and lead you to it," she offered.

Clary's smile faltered slightly. She thanked the girl anyways and followed her to a black booth in the corner of the room. A few gazes flicked over to see the newcomer before going back to their conversations. She slid into one side of the booth—the side that hopefully fewer people could see. If Sebastian didn't come…

No. She wouldn't think like that. She had to believe he was coming.

"Can I get you something to drink while your waitress finishes up with another table?" the hostess asked.

"Two glasses of water, please," Clary said with a convincing smile.

"Will there be another joining you tonight?" the girl asked for clarification.

"Yes, my boyfriend should be here any minute," Clary confirmed, hoping that she didn't just make a humiliating decision.

"Then I'll be sure to have both of your drinks brought out in a jiffy," she said, smiling and turning back to the direction of the kitchen, assumingly to do what she said she would.

Clary fiddled with her fingers as she waited for the drinks, watching the door and windows for any sign of white. It was a peculiar hair color for someone only twenty-four years of age; she wouldn't be able to miss it if she tried.

"Hi, there!"

Clary jumped and trained her eyes to look at the source of the noise. She blushed when she saw that it was just the waitress placing the waters onto opposite sides of the table. The girl smiled as she handed Clary one of two menus, the other going to rest beside the unclaimed water glass.

"I'm Kaelie! I'll be taking care of you tonight! Here are your waters and your menus, and I'll be back in a few minutes to check on you!" the girl enthusiastically said.

"Thank you," Clary replied politely.

She looked at her menu for a few minutes, taking her time to read through each and every option. Every once in awhile she looked back to the front doors where more and more people gathered, eager to find shelter from the cold air. She saw a head of white and straightened up, hope blossoming across her face, only to see a moment later that the white hair was that of an old man's.

"Are you ready to order yet, or do you need a few more minutes?" Kaelie said once she'd returned as promised.

Clary turned to the girl and forced a smile on her face. "Could you give me a few more minutes? I'm sure he'll be here soon. He must have been asked to stay a couple extra minutes at work tonight."

Kaelie's eyes flicked over to the empty side of the booth, and she nodded understandingly. "Of course! I'll be back again soon!"

It was only when she walked away that Clary remembered today was Saturday, and no one in their right mind would be working the Saturday before Christmas—especially at seven o'clock at night. She slumped back into her seat. At least her waitress had been kind enough not to say anything about it.

She looked at the menu items again, reading them extra slowly as if pondering what she wanted to eat, even though she'd already ordered at least half a dozen times in her head.

I'll have the Portobello mushroom chicken with a side of mashed potatoes and green beans, please.

As more time passed and more people filtered in and out of the restaurant, Clary's heart came closer to either ripping in half or beating straight out of her chest. It was now twenty minutes past their meeting time, and she hadn't received a single text from Sebastian saying that he was on his way, that traffic got held up but not to worry because he was okay and he would be there soon.

"Hey, miss?" Kaelie said from the side of the booth. "Do you want to order yet, or do you need more time?"

Clary forced her lip not to wobble as she smiled and politely requested just a few more minutes. "Saturday night traffic can get pretty crazy, you know?"

Kaelie bowed her head and walked away again, leaving Clary alone for the third time. Several pairs of eyes trained themselves onto the small redhead as Kaelie left, and when Clary looked she was bombarded with unwanted looks of sympathy. Most people turned away, embarrassed to be caught staring, but some, like the woman she was making eye contact with now, gave her a sad smile as if she knew what had happened.

Now aware that it was completely illogical for her to pretend she was still reading the menu—she swore she could recite the entire selection by heart now—she set it down and folded her arms on the table, looking down. She bit her lip and felt a sharp sting as the cut reopened, blood trickling down into her mouth.

She had chewed on this particular spot enough throughout the past six months to know that it hadn't ever completely healed. During every stand-up, every cheat, and every lie, that lip had been chewed on and mercilessly left to bleed.

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting; maybe she hadn't been expecting anything at all, and that was why it hurt so much. Because she knew that he wouldn't show up, but she had hoped that he would anyways. For her. For them.

She could see it clear as day—Sebastian, dressed in a nice pair of jeans and button-up shirt, running through the front doors of the restaurant and scurrying his way over to Clary, kissing her quickly before sitting down on his side of the booth and apologizing for making her wait so long. She imagined telling him that it was okay, that she knew he would show up soon and that she held her order until he was there. She imagined the exchange of 'I love you's at the end of their date, the warm lips that would kiss her goodnight, the embrace that made her feel so loved.

But there were too many problems.

For one, Sebastian wasn't coming. That much was obvious.

But even if he did come, if he did decide that Clary was the better bargain tonight, she would be able to sense the faint smell of cheap perfume on the collar of his nice button-up, meaningless to him yet heartbreaking to her.

She would tell him it was okay when he apologized for making her wait while wanting to burst into tears because no, it wasn't okay, she didn't think he would show up at all, and now that he did she wanted him to leave.

She would say those three words again come the end of the night, and he would say them back, but they would be empty—without promise.

And the lips that used to warm her were now cold to the touch, and the arms that had once made her feel accepted and loved now made her feel unwanted and never good enough.

Her eyes filled with tears. He had made it loud and clear:

Sebastian stood her up.

As the first tear fell, Clary grabbed her handbag from the table and dug around for her phone, fully prepared to call Simon and have him pick her up in his hideous-looking van. She'd already been humiliated enough that she really didn't mind if she were to be seen crawling into a badly painted, rusted chunk of metal.

But then something strange happened: a hand dropped onto her shoulder and a pair of lips swooped down to peck her cheek. The warm buzz she felt from the lips forced her to rethink who could be there; Sebastian wasn't one to show affection, even in small gestures like that. In fact, it was the smallest gestures that he had the most trouble with. Startled, she looked up just in time to see the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes on flash her a charming smile.

"I'm sorry I'm so late, babe. I would have called you but my phone died before I had the chance. Who would have thought traffic would be so backed up tonight?"

Not knowing what to say, Clary sat in silence blinking up at the man. He was still smiling, looking at her as if he had known her for years. She knew for a fact that she hadn't seen this person in her entire life—she definitely would have remembered him if she had, if not because of her natural appreciation for stunningly good looks then because of her artist's eye for beautiful things.

Is this some kind of joke?

Before she had the chance to say anything, he leaned forward to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and said just loud enough for her to hear, "My name is Jace. Just go with it. Also, whoever didn't bother to show up is an asshole."

Jace leaned away, wiping the lone tear from her face and sliding into the empty seat across from her all in one swift motion. Still shocked, she stared blankly at the man in front of her. He was dressed in jeans and a simple black tee, his hair windblown as if he'd been running.

Her brain was working overtime trying to process what had just happened. Eventually, she put the pieces together and realized that he must have been one of the ones watching for the past thirty minutes knowing she'd been stood up, and instead of leaving her to be humiliated and heartbroken, he took the role of the standee. And she couldn't have been more grateful.

Silently, she put her handbag back down and looked at the man in front of her—Jace—currently pretending to read the menu. He practically screamed gold: golden hair, golden skin, golden eyes (she'd had no idea that that particular eye color was even possible until now), a golden smile. As she looked closer, she saw different shades of blond on his head—amber, platinum, honey—which, when combined, created the gold effect. But other than amazingly fantastic genetics, there wasn't an explanation for the rest of him. He looked absolutely perfect. Flawless, even.

He couldn't be much older than her, she decided. Probably the same age as Sebastian, if not a little younger.

Jace looked up from the menu. He smirked as if knowing that her stare wasn't just from shock anymore. The look turned her legs into jello and her insides into a warm pool of butterflies. Unfortunately for her, the warmth spread up to her cheeks, turning them a light shade of pink. Embarrassed, she quickly looked down just like the others had done when they'd been caught staring at Clary.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

"I see we finally have our party of two gathered! Are you ready to order now?" Kaelie asked, reappearing at the booth with a large smile on her face. Clary smiled, no longer having to force the corners of her mouth to turn up, and greeted the waitress with a nod.

"I'll have the Portobello mushroom chicken with a side of mashed potatoes and green beans, please," she said quietly.

To get that single sentence out of her mouth was monumental for Clary, no matter how silly it seemed. There had been too many times where her dates with Sebastian hadn't gotten as far as the ordering, and, if they somehow had, he'd always butted in and ordered her a salad or something similar, assuming that was what she would get. If he would have paid attention, he would have noticed the crinkling of her nose and the distasteful downturn of her mouth at the mention of the leafy greens. But he didn't.

He never did.

She hadn't even known the stranger across from her for more than five minutes, yet this date was already going better than most of the ones she'd had with Sebastian, and she'd dated him for two and a half years. Granted, the first two years had been good, but the dates had always fallen a little flat for her, like he was trying too hard to win her over. That should have been the first sign, Clary knew, to get out of there. She had taken his actions for nerves at the time, but looking back on it now, she saw that he was simply setting her up to be walked all over on.

"I'll have the same thing," Jace ordered with an award-winning smile.

"Got it!" Kaelie exclaimed. "I'll put those right in for you! Do you need anything else?"

Jace looked to Clary who shook her head. She wasn't sure why she was letting him do all the talking, but as she listened to his angelic voice politely dismiss Kaelie, she had her answer.

"So," Jace said, leaning forward and taking a drink of water, "now that the attention is off of us, I think we should get to know each other a little better, don't you?" Taken aback by his goodwill, it was all Clary could do to nod. "What's your name?"

"Clary," she answered quietly.

"Ah, so she does speak," Jace replied with another smirk. Clary fought a smile by sipping her own water. "Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage," he said absentmindedly.

"Actually, it's more like Clarissa, but I don't think anyone but my mother calls me that, and even then it's only when I'm in trouble," she easily said.

"You're not the only one," he offered. "My actual name is Jonathan, but no one but my father ever called me that."

Clary didn't miss the use of past tense, but she figured she wasn't really in the position to be asking about that yet. Instead, her eyebrows crinkled as she tried to calculate something in her head. "How did you get Jace from Jonathan?" she asked, finally giving up on figuring it out herself.

"It comes from my first and middle initials—Jonathan Christopher, J.C., Jace." He shrugged. "I've been going solely by Jace for thirteen years now, so going by something else at this point would be strange for all parties involved."

"I like it," Clary said shyly. "Besides, you don't really look like a Jonathan to me."

Jace raised an eyebrow. Clary scowled at the action—she'd always wanted to be able to do that—but Jace seemed oblivious to her displeasure.

"And what, may I ask, makes me look un-Jonathanish?"

"Un-Jonathanish?" Clary repeated, a small giggle replacing her scowl. "I'm pretty sure you just made that up."

"I did not make it up," Jace scoffed, leaning back in his seat. "It's a certified word, I tell you."

"Right," Clary drawled. "To answer your question honestly, I'm not the best person to ask. I have a brother named Jonathan, so I'm probably biased."

Jace leaned forward again, his eyes sparking with interest. "You have a brother?"

Clary nodded, suddenly feeling shy again. She nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear while she spoke. "Only one. He's four years older than me."

"Are you close?" Jace asked.

Clary pondered the question for a moment. "We are now," she finally said.

"Now? What was before now?" Jace asked.

Clary sighed. He was an awfully nosy person, wasn't he? "I was always closer with my mom, him with Dad, and when they got a divorce due to some...complications," she carefully said, not wanting to reveal too much information, "it took a toll on our relationship. Later, Jon learned some details that my father had kept hidden from him and took Mom's side, then he apologized for not having done it sooner. We were able to build our relationship back up, and we've been close ever since."

Jace nodded understandingly. "I take it your father is no longer in the picture, then?"

Clary shook her head. "I haven't spoken to him in years. He calls Jonathan on the holidays and on his birthday, but he doesn't bother to contact me. He resents me, I think, for not taking his side."

"But what about Jonathan? If he resented you for not taking his side, then he wouldn't have kept in contact with Jonathan because of the same thing, right?" he prodded.

Clary pursed her lips. "He assumes Jon only lived with Mom because that's where I was."

Jace frowned. "Do you regret it? Not taking his side, I mean."

"Absolutely not," she said without hesitation. "Maybe I would feel the slightest bit guilty had he attempted to make an effort with his only daughter, but he didn't. Besides, he's never been there for me. I found more of a father figure in my mother's best friend, who I should mention is now my stepdad."

"Any other family? Step-siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins?"

"No. It's always just been my mother, Jon, and I. Even Luke, my stepdad, doesn't have any extended family. At least, none that he's mentioned."

Jace frowned. "Does that get lonely?"

"Not really," Clary said. "I have everything I need, then I also have the best friends a girl could ask for. Plus, I'm a natural introvert, so it doesn't bother me to be alone most of the time."

"An introvert, huh?" Jace inquired, studying her.

Clary fiddled with the hem of her dress, suddenly aware of a loose thread. "Well, not all of us can be raging extroverts like yourself."

Jace chuckled. "No, I suppose not."

Having had enough questions thrown at her, Clary decided to turn them on him. "What about you? Family? Friends?"

"Well," Jace began, "I'm adopted. My family took me in when I was ten years old. I stand out like a sore thumb in their bunch, but they've never cared, or even seemed to notice, really. I credit them with the incredible honor of raising me."

"What happened to your first family? Your blood?" Clary quietly asked, aware that the answer may not be something he was willing to give.

After a long moment of silence, Jace said, "They were killed in a car accident. I was ten when it happened, and neither of my parents had extended relatives, much like yours, so I was sent to live with the wonderful people I call family today."

Clary winced. "I'm sorry for asking."

"If I didn't want to answer, I wouldn't have," Jace answered simply. He took another drink of water.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Clary murmured, eyeing his change in posture.

Jace smiled and tilted his head slightly to the right. "If you feel so bad about it, why don't we make it even?"

"Even...how?" Clary questioned warily.

Jace thought for only a moment. "Why did your parents divorce?"

Clary pursed her lips and looked down, drumming her fingers against the tabletop. It wasn't that the question had overstepped any more boundaries than the one she had asked him had, but saying it aloud would bring back the memories, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that.

"Hey," Jace's voice, suddenly soft, sounded. A large, calloused, yet slender hand rested over her rapidly tapping fingers. She snapped her head up. "You don't have to answer that," he assured her.

Somehow, looking into his understanding tawny eyes and feeling his hand on hers gave her the motivation to say the words. "My dad...he hit my mom, sometimes. She never told anyone. One day I walked into the kitchen to see him taking a swing at her, and when I confronted him he turned on me. He never hit me, but he got really angry and I don't doubt he would have under the right circumstances. That was the last straw for my mom, and she went to the courthouse the very next day to start the process."

She saw Jace tense then relax from where he sat, staring intently at her as if seeing her in a new light. She supposed he could be; sometimes hearing about the ghosts of one's past made them look different, as if there were features about that person that had been missed the first time.

Her cheeks flared up as the time dragged on, Jace's piercing gold eyes still staring with intensity. Clary self-consciously reached up to touch her hair—a nervous habit that had been impossible for her to break. She was saved from the need to awkwardly start up the conversation again by Kaelie's return, who was greeting them both with the same cheery smile as always and placing their food in front of them.

"Thank you," both Jace and Clary said to Kaelie. She nodded, giving them one last smile before going to check on another table.

The food was heavenly. It was even better than Clary remembered it being the first time she had it, probably due to the fact that Jace wasn't looking at her judgmentally like Sebastian had, staring as if he couldn't believe she'd eat anything even slightly filling in front of him.

"So, Clary," Jace said between bites, "what do you do?"

Swallowing quickly and washing it down with a swig of water, Clary looked up from her plate to meet his friendly gaze.

"I'm an artist," she said quietly, expecting the questions to end at that. Surprisingly, however, her answer seemed to peak his interest.

"Really?" Jace asked. "What type of art?"

"It depends on the job," Clary said. Then, deciding to elaborate further, she sheepishly admitted, "I'm freelance."

"Impressive," Jace said, and he sounded like he really meant it. Clary flushed. "Well, what's your favorite media? At least, I believe that's the right term. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"It's the correct term, yes," Clary said, trying to hide her smile. She found it quite cute that he was worried about using the right term—whether it was to impress her or avoid offending her she didn't know, but she didn't think she minded either way. "And, to answer your question, anything with pens or pencils. Mostly graphite, but I don't mind ink. My mother paints far better than I ever could, but I suppose that I'm not too far behind her."

"Your mother is an artist?" Jace asked, cutting off another piece of chicken.

"In her spare time. She could have made it as a freelance, but she'd always wanted to teach the younger generation, so she's now an art teacher at a nearby high school." Clary shrugged. "She's happy."

"And that's all that really matters in the end," Jace said with a small smile.

"It is," Clary agreed, smiling back at him. "So, what do you do?"

Jace made a tutting noise. "I wasn't done asking you questions yet, Clarissa."

She rolled her eyes at the mock scolding but couldn't help but be silently pleased with his interest. "What else would you like to ask?"

Jace looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "What's been your favorite project so far?"

A large smile broke out on Clary's face, and she set down her fork and knife as she began to speak, passion lacing her tone. Noticing this, Jace's eyes twinkled and he put down his own silverware, completely entranced.

"I was called to a children's hospital a few months back to complete a mural in the playroom. They told me that my only guidelines were to make it colorful, so I asked the kids what they wanted to see and incorporated a little bit of each response into it. A lot of the girls wanted to see flowers, rainbows, and princesses while the boys wanted things like dragons and castles," Clary said animatedly, pausing to take a drink of water.

"What'd you do, then?" Jace asked, giving Clary some time to take care of her parched throat without making her feel rushed.

"I gave them both," she said with a grin. "I made a dragon the centerpiece of it all and painted a tower with a princess being rescued by her prince in the background. Everything was painted with a black and white palette. Different types of flowers lined the frame of it—lilies, roses, daisies—and they were all white." She excitedly looked to Jace as if for a cue.

Jace chuckled. "All right, you've got me. What's the catch?"

Lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, Clary broke out into a toothy grin. "I got permission from the staff to use the kids' handprints for the dragon's wings, so I got to talk to each one of them as they dipped their hand in their favorite color and put it up on the wall. That's where the whole colorful part of the guideline came in. Then there was room for future kids in the hospital to be able to add their own handprint, too, whether it was to the dragon's wings or the flowers or the tower."

"You love children, don't you?" he asked after a small pause, a dumb grin plastered on his face.

Clary nodded vigorously, not seeming to notice his obvious adoration. "I absolutely adore children. My favorite projects are always the ones that directly affect them. It's a bonus for me if I get to interact with them." Then, as if just now registering her impassioned speech, Clary's smile faded. She silently picked her silverware back up and played with a piece of her chicken. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to get so carried away."

"Clary, look at me," Jace said, his voice stern. She slowly lifted her head to meet his eyes. He looked irritated, which didn't surprise her, but what did surprise her was that, when she looked closer, the irritation wasn't directed at her like Sebastian's had once been. "Don't you ever apologize for that. You should never apologize for talking about something you love."

Clary's throat seemed to swell shut at Jace's statement, and she angrily fought back tears from entering her eyes.

Kaelie saved Clary from having to reply once again by appearing seemingly out of nowhere. "Could I interest you in any dessert, or are you ready for the check?"

Looking at her empty plate and back down at her lap, Clary tried to avoid Jace's gaze. She'd somehow gotten away with eating more than a salad, and, with someone her size, it was difficult for even her to believe that she'd maybe like some dessert. But she wasn't about to say that out loud.

"Actually," Jace said, "I think we will take some dessert."

"Great! What can I get you?" Kaelie asked, looking at the both of them.

"Whatever she wants," he replied, making Clary look up in surprise. He smirked and nodded to her as if to say, Go on then.

"Um-I...I guess I'll take the coconut pancakes," Clary said quietly to Kaelie, who happily jotted it down before taking off once again, promising that it would be ready before they knew it.

"So...where do you work?" Clary asked in order to restart the conversation, resting an elbow on the table and twirling a red curl around her finger. "You never said."

"I'm mainly a fitness instructor at a nearby gym, but I do occasionally work at my adoptive father's office to help him out. It can get crazy up there from time to time," Jace said.

Clary found herself looking him over, searching his chest and arms for evidence that reflected his occupation, and, as he leaned back and interlocked his fingers behind his skull, she wasn't disappointed.

"If you take a picture it'll last longer," Jace said, snapping her out of her reverie. Clary fell back, blushing. "Although, in your case, it'd be much more fitting if you drew one, wouldn't it? If you'd like, I'll sit still for you."

There was no way Clary would ever admit that her fingers really were itching to draw him.

"And here are your coconut pancakes! I'll be back with the check in a few!" Kaelie said as she slid the dessert onto the table.

Clary felt as if she could hug Kaelie. She'd saved her, albeit unknowingly, from awkward responses several times now. She wondered if Kaelie had a knack for that sort of thing or if the world just decided to cut Clary some slack tonight. Maybe a bit of both, considering the slack was the result of the man who looked as if he should be on the cover of People magazine rather than in some random diner in New York—no less with her.

Clary grabbed her fork and immediately dug into the powdered sugar covered pancakes. Jace smirked when she took her first bite, sighing in bliss as her taste buds approved. It was only after her fourth bite that she realized Jace wasn't eating.

She swallowed, looking down at the nearly half-eaten pancakes and back up at Jace. "Don't you want some?"

He shook his head, his eyes shining in amusement. "Not at all. Besides, it looks like you've got it covered."

She blushed once more before continuing to eat, and while she felt embarrassed for not realizing Jace's lack of eating sooner, she didn't feel embarrassed for eating herself. It was a nice change of pace compared to normal.

It only took her two more minutes before the pancakes were gone and her stomach was full. Maybe it helped that she hadn't eaten real food in awhile—she was living mostly off of instant dinners lately due to her busy schedule—but she swore that she had never tasted anything as good as the food had tonight.

Kaelie appeared once again, placing the check on the edge of the table and quickly hurrying off as someone yelled for her assistance in the kitchen. Clary reached for the check but Jace's hand beat her to it, snatching it away from her reach and opening his wallet.

"Jace, no!" she exclaimed in dismay.

"Jace, yes," he easily replied, slipping his credit card into the small book.

"No!" she argued, shaking her head wildly. "You were never supposed to be here in the first place, and the only reason you are is because you're a nice person and felt bad for me! I will not let you pay for the food!"

Jace raised an eyebrow at her—Clary scowled—and handed the black folder to a passing Kaelie, the latter smiling apologetically as she was called elsewhere.

"At least let me pay you back for my half and the dessert," Clary said exasperatedly. "I have the money."

"I don't care about the money, Clary," Jace said with a chuckle.

"But I do!" she stubbornly said. "I care!"

Jace leaned across the table to tuck a loose curl behind Clary's ear, catching her by surprise. "Just so we're clear," he said in a low voice, "I didn't come over here because I'm nice or because I felt bad for you. I came over because I thought you were beautiful and didn't deserve to be stood up."

"You...you did?" Clary whispered, stunned. She hadn't expected this.

"I did," he said, running a finger softly down her cheek before pulling away and taking back his credit card and receipt from Kaelie. Either he had a really great peripheral vision, an amazing sense of self-awareness, or he also had the whole 'good timing' thing.

"I think," Jace said, sliding out of the booth, "it's about time I walk you home."

"You're walking me home?" Clary couldn't help but repeat.

Jace chuckled. "Well, it would be rude of me if I left you to fend for yourself, now wouldn't it?"

"You don't have to," Clary quickly said, not wanting to be an obligation. "I can get a taxi or something. I'll be fine, really."

"Clary," he said, giving her a pointed look that told her it was useless to argue with him any further. The butterflies took off again, making her stomach flutter. "I'm walking you home."

She nodded once, grabbing her handbag and digging through it for some tip money.

"Don't bother," Jace interrupted once he understood what she was after. "It's already on the table."

Clary frowned and glanced upward only to spy the face of Alexander Hamilton that she swore hadn't been on the table before. "Jace…" she said disapprovingly.

He grinned and held out his hand out to her. She sighed and took it, allowing him to help her out of the booth and ignoring the sparks she felt while he did so.

"Off we go," he stated cheerfully.