Page 16 of Flirting with Forever

An annoyed, exhausted, semi-rumpled John stood in the front area of her shop holding an enormous sack of tacos.

Mary realized what had happened all at once. “Estrella, you didn’t!”

“Oh, she did,” John grumbled in that two-toned voice of his, a little more hoarse than usual.

“You sent a civil servant to pick up tacos for us?” Mary gave Estrella a hard time.

“He was a taco delivery boy before he was a civil servant, and my son long before either of those occupations. It won’t break his back to bring food to a group of pretty women.”

Aware of Fin’s and Via’s avid interest in the newcomer, which Mary was sure actually had very little to do with the tacos in his hands, Mary strode over to John, her hands out for the food. He handed it over and took a quarter step backward, like he wasn’t sure if, sans tacos, he was officially invited to be inside her shop.

“John, these are my friends Serafine St. Romain and Via DeRosa. This is John Modesto-Whitford.” She strode back over to the counter and could feel John hesitate before he followed her.

“You can call me Fin.” Fin waved her hand, but Via, having hefted herself off the floor at the arrival of the tacos, leaned over and gave him a handshake.

“Nice to meet you two. Hi, Ma,” John said, leaning down and pecking his mother on the cheek.

There really was something charming about a grown man kissing his mother, despite the fact she’d just cajoled him into delivering tacos.

Mary studied John as Estrella and Via fell into conversation. He really did look exhausted. He was still shaved and trimmed fairly immaculately, but his black hair had started to tumble forward out of its neat side part and onto his forehead. There were dark circles under his eyes. He wore his usual uniform of a white button-down, black slacks and wingtips, but the sleeves were rolled to the elbow and his midnight tie was loosened at the neck.

“Didn’t mean to turn you into a delivery boy,” Mary said in a low voice to John, hoping he could read the apology in her eyes.

He shrugged. “I often pick up food for my mother.”

“Did you really used to be a taco delivery boy?”

“Chinese food. And yes. Paid for a lot of my undergrad that way, actually.”

He practically swayed on his feet.

“Long week?” she asked, setting the tacos aside and leaning against the counter.

John’s blue eyes, which had been flitting around the shop, taking in Fin and Via from their heads to their toes, finally landed on Mary, full force. “The longest. And it ended on a real low point.”

She grimaced, absently reaching up to smooth her wavy hair over one shoulder. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t think that your mother’s taco connection was her grown son with a full-time job and better things to do on a Friday night.”

To her surprise, he chuckled. Well, it was more like a forced exhalation of air, but she figured that that was about as close to a chuckle as John Modesto-Whitford ever really got. “I didn’t mean that the tacos were the low point, Mary. I lost a case today. And lost a key witness on another.” He pressed a heavy hand to his forehead and Mary was certain that he had a headache. “And both clients are people I care about.”

“Oh.” Mary blinked at him. In that moment, in her mind, his job stretched and grew wings and became more than his button-down shirt and fancy shoes and the messenger bag at his hip. Her imagination charged forward and his job had an office, coffee in chipped mugs, John standing in the middle of a courtroom and pointing one of his blunt fingers at therealperpetrator. She knew that very little of a lawyer’s life was actually spent gesticulating in a courtroom, but still, it was fun to picture him that way. And more than that, John’s job suddenly had people’s lives in the balance, resting on those tired, wide shoulders of his. His scowl made a bit more sense to her. There were years of people’s lives in that scowl. Their freedom. And not just random people. People John cared about.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary whispered. She wasn’t exactly sure what else to say, but she really did feel sorry.

“Thanks,” John said back in that hoarse voice, his blue eyes looking almost kind in his complete exhaustion. She figured he didn’t have the energy to look quite as off-putting as he normally did.

“Estrella,” Mary admonished, “tell me you at least ordered some tacos for your beleaguered son.”

“I’m not amonster,” Estrella sniffed and made all the women laugh. John, however, just looked more irritated.

“Oh, you did, Ma?” He immediately reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, ancient wallet. “Who paid?”

Mary waved her hand through the air. “I did, but no worries. I’m happy to buy you dinner.”

Now John looked more than irritated. He looked downright angry. His eyebrows were pulling down into that V, his lips were thin, his wide shoulders, even in their fatigue, were pulling back. He opened up his wallet and fished through for bills.

“Seriously, John, you did all the work of picking them up. Let me at least buy you—Ow!”

Mary winced when Fin landed a swift kick to her ankle. She looked over at her clairvoyant friend and received some very meaningful eye contact. Mary frowned. She couldn’t directly interpret Fin’s wide eyes, high eyebrows, pursed lips, but she had the distinct impression that she wasn’t supposed to be refusing the bills that John stuffed into her hand.

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