Page 25 of Flirting with Forever

“Yes, I do. We’ve been married for forty-odd years, and if there’s one thing in this world I understand, it’s your mother. Maze of emotions that she is.”

“I know she’s still sad over Aunt Tiff. Scared that I’ll end up just like her.”

“Sad? Mary, love, sad doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’m not sure she’ll ever be the same.”

Mary frowned. But her mother had been so crisp and curt in the wake of her older sister’s death. She hadn’t even cried at the funeral. There’d been a constant air of so much to do and so little time, and not once had her mother just sat down and grieved. That Mary had seen, at least.

“I think...” Trevor said slowly, thoughtfully, his eyes squinting behind his thick horn-rimmed glasses. “I think that she wants to honor Tiff’s memory by making sure that you don’t suffer the same things that Tiff suffered. And she’s terrified that you want to honor Tiff’s memory by being exactly like Tiff.”

Mary flushed with pleasure. “You think I’m exactly like Tiff?”

Trevor smirked. “Mary, if I hadn’t been in the room at your birth, I might have sworn you were Tiff’s daughter. Your looks, your manner, even your voice. Not to mention your personality. Tiff was just as upbeat as you are. The only difference is that she never let your mother get her down. She’d just laugh and hug Naomi and remind her that there was more than one way to slice an apple.”

Mary smiled fondly, even though a sheen of tears had sprung up in her eyes. That sounded just like Tiff.

“But the thing is, sweetheart, your mother is not naturally inclined to look at the world that way. She’s in the school of thought that there is one right way to slice an apple and all you have to do is figure out which one it is. But while Tiff was with us, your mother was more flexible, kinder about it all, more understanding. Once Tiff died, though...” Trevor sadly shook his head, rubbed his fingers underneath his glasses. “Your mother took it as a sign that Tiff had been wrong all along.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, though! Tiff died of cancer. What does that have to do with Mom’s fears over me being single?”

Her father gave her a brief, meaningful look. “You know that Tiff’s death was more complicated than that. It was more than just bad luck. Just because you agree with Tiff’s choices doesn’t mean your mother has to. Besides, grief rarely makes sense, sweetheart. Your mother drew her own conclusions, and to her, the only way to square all the corners was to decide that Tiff had been wrong all along. An orderly, expected life was the only way to protect oneself against the random pain of the world.”

“But—”

“Are you coming to watch with me?” her mother’s quiet voice cut into their conversation. Mary looked over at her mother and felt an unexpected swell of affection for the woman standing there. Her hair was stylishly short, dyed dark blond at the roots and lighter at the choppy ends. She’d changed into an after-dinner housedress, long and silken like a kimono. With one manicured hand, she clutched the overlapping collar of the robe and looked nervously between Trevor and Mary.

Mary knew that look on her mother’s face. The closest to chagrin and apology that her plastic surgeon allowed her to get. The brandy had softened her, but so had the distance from the dinner conversation. She was regretful of her vehemence, Mary was certain, though not of her message. But still, Naomi didn’t want to sit alone at night in a room watching television by herself, and who did? Mary didn’t blame her.

Who didn’t want companionship?

Mary sighed and gripped her cup in both hands. “On our way, Mom. Be right there.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

ATSEVENFIFTY-FIVEon the dot, just as they’d planned, John watched Mary stride into the Brooklyn Heights restaurant. Mellow was a relaxed, darkened establishment that had a curved, shadowed bar on one end, which was why they’d chosen it. Mary had reserved a specific table near the window where she could see John back in the corner, but Elijah, if and when he showed, wouldn’t likely notice him.

John sighed as he watched Mary speak to the hostess, a huge smile on her face. Of course she’d worn yellow pants. And a buttoned shirt and her hair in a high bun. The outfit was stylish and ridiculous and looked utterly perfect on her. On any other woman, John would have thought it made her look sunny-side up. But Mary just looked...good.

He groaned to himself as he watched her sit down at the table and then immediately peer through the gloom to seek John out. She shot him a little secret smile that made John groan again. Twice in about ten seconds.

“You all right, buddy?” the bartender asked.

“What? Oh. Yeah. Just kicking myself for something. Sorry.” John nodded back at Mary. The bartender looked between them. “There a story there? One worth groaning over?”

For a moment, John considered confiding in this stranger. Maybe it would be a relief to explain it to somebody. But what would he say?I’m a grown man who screwed up a date with a beautiful woman, and now I have a crush on her and I somehow orchestrated a situation where I get to watch her date someone else, when all I really want to do is go sit down in that chair across from her and start the hell over?

It sounded dangerously transparent to his own ears, so he just shook his head and the bartender took the hint, sauntering away.

But now John was thinking.

He’d told himself, and her, that he was here, in this restaurant, playing bodyguard for Mary on a bad date because he wanted to know just how far his mother was willing to take this whole thing. But that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that he’d wanted to go to a restaurant with Mary. Have a reason to see her on a Friday night. She’d been the one who’d suggested that he be her wingman, but hadn’t he been moments away from asking it himself? Wasn’t this exact scenarioalwaysgoing to be the way he made sure it played out? John and Mary in a dark, sexy restaurant on a Friday night in June? Who was he trying to fool? His mother didn’t play into this one bit.

He toggled his knee up and down and risked a glance at her. She was looking out the window of the restaurant, looking a little nervous herself, probably hoping like hell that Elijah Crawford wouldn’t show.

Maybe, John thought, he was making this situation harder than it had to be. He pictured the names John, Mary, Elijah and Estrella all starkly blinking in a Word doc, black on white. He pictured highlighting and deletingElijahandEstrella. Easy as pie. With a few decisive strokes, it could be just John and Mary. No subterfuge, no interferences.

Maybe it was as simple as going to sit in that chair across from Mary, whether Elijah was really showing up or not. Maybe all he had to do was plunk his ass down and say,Mary, I’d really like to kiss you good night.

His pulse beat woodenly at the hinge in his throat. For a man who was regularly brave in the courtroom, he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a real chance with a woman.

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