Page 22 of Flirting with Forever

“And to answer your question, I have not mentioned to my mother that I’m dating again. First of all, she’s horrified by the idea of me dating anyone younger than I am. Oh, theindignityof it.” Mary rolled her eyes. “And second of all, she’d give herself a heart attack finding me acceptable suitors. She’d have me on the train up to Connecticut every weekend for stodgy dates with men who have roman numerals after their names. Pass.”

“Yeah. That sounds...not fun.”

“I’m headed there tomorrow for the night, though.”

“In the middle of the week?”

“It gives me an excuse to get back here faster. I have to mind the shop.” Mary sighed. “Which is just another thing my mother refuses to understand about my life.”

“What does she have against your shop?”

“Oh, it was Aunt Tiff’s before it was mine, and she never approved of Aunt Tiff living alone in Brooklyn and running a ‘hippie store.’” Mary rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t like the decor that I stock either. She thinks I’ll get wrinkles working there. She thinks men aren’t attracted to women who work for a living. She thinks it pulls my attention away from finding a husband and making babies. Take your pick. The list goes on.”

“And I thought I had problems.”

Mary laughed and raised her eyebrow. “What problems do you have, Seb?”

He opened his mouth, thinking for a second while he caught a few metaphorical flies, and then clapped it closed. “Actually, now that you mention it, all’s good in the hood.” He sat back, looking a little bemused. “Wow. I honestly never thought I’d be able to say that again after Cora died.”

Mary was grateful that Sebastian was at a place where he could bring up Cora in a casual way. There’d been a long time when they’d barely been able to say her name aloud. The best friend and the husband, both of them feeling like half of themselves had been beheaded after Cora’s death. So many things had changed in Mary’s life after that. They’d never really gone back.

It encouraged her to see that though Seb’s life hadn’t gone back to the way it had been either, he was happier than ever. He’d become a more dynamic, kind, thoughtful person because of the pain he’d endured.

Mary only hoped the same could be said for her.

IFHERAN,as in sprinted, he’d have time to grab a falafel sandwich from a halal cart before he had to jump on the F to the Q100 to make it to Rikers. Technically, if he took a cab, he’d be reimbursed, but public transportation was just as fast, and this way he didn’t have to worry about the fossil fuels he was wasting.

John bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited in a crowded elevator of the Supreme Court building, resisting the urge to shoulder past his colleagues and various anonymous jury members whose time was apparently sweeter than his. Finally, the way was clear, and he sprinted in his dress shoes across the lobby, nodding to his friend Carlo, who worked the long, snaking line of security that all visitors had to pass through to get in.

John had his cash in hand and soon had a falafel sandwich in his life. He attacked his lunch like a raptor pouncing on a wounded triceratops as he strode back into the building to grab his bag and paperwork from the meeting room. He’d just met with an ADA for a blistering three hours, trying to slog their way through plea deal negotiations.

“Jeez, John, give it a chance to defend itself,” Richie said with a laugh as he jogged to catch up, his messenger bag bopping his hip and his ramen knotted up into a neat take-out bag.

“No time,” John said through an entire falafel ball, scraping food off his mouth with a napkin. “Gotta make it to Rikers by three. Got a client on limited visiting hours.”

“Shit, man, you gotta run!”

John raised his eyebrows and turned to do just that when a sunny laugh echoed down the visitors’ section of the security line, sounding very familiar.

John craned his head around to look as he flashed his clip-on ID to Marguerite, the security personnel member who handled the staff line. He’d taken three more steps when he saw her. Richie careened into John’s back when John abruptly came to a halt.

Lettuce and tomato and hummus slopped to the ground with a wet splat from John’s wrap.

“What the hell, John?”

Just then, Mary looked up from her conversation with Carlo, who was looking like a man who was exactly where he wanted to be at that particular second, and spotted John, mouthful of falafel and all.

“Look! There he is!” she crowed, pointing a finger at John and looking utterly delighted. “John! Come over here and prove you know me.”

John strode forward, wishing he were eating carrot sticks or a hot pretzel, anything but this messy glob of food. He felt Richie at his back still, curiosity pulsing off of him in waves.

“Mary. Hi,” John said, scraping at his mouth with the napkin again. “What’re you doing here? Jury duty?”

She laughed and, as usual, it freaking sparkled. Her hair was brushed to a high shine, she smelled like coconut sunscreen and there were large, bug-eyed sunglasses in her hair. She looked like a different species than the bored, irritated New Yorkers who were staring at their phones and inching up the security line.

“No! Ha. I’m not here for jury duty. I’ve never been selected. Though I always wish I would be. Sounds like fun.”

“Fun,” Richie said dimly, standing beside John. He was apparently as dazzled by Mary as Carlo was.

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