Page 52 of Flirting with Forever

“No, no, it’s okay.” Mary waved off his words. “It’s just been a really long day.”

They’d both eaten very fast, so John cleared their plates, found some clean towels and efficiently changed the sheets on his bed.

He tucked some clothes under his elbow and rocked on his heels, his hands in his pockets. “I just want you to know that this building is extremely secure. If you’re worried, though, throw the dead bolts after I leave. And, as I’m sure you noticed, if you yell for me from my apartment, I’ll definitely hear you next door.”

He flashed her a quick, sheepish smile, and it made Mary want to weep. Even stuff that felt good felt bad. She was flayed open, tired and vulnerable and wanting every last drop of John’s goodness right now. He’d sleep with her in the bed if she asked him. She knew it. He was just that kind of friend. He’d hold her hand if she wanted. He’d watch a movie and let her curl up on his lap like Ruth.

Different stages of life.

But it would all be because this terrible thing had happened to her shop. He was a good friend looking for any way to comfort her. She wanted John, wished very much that he wanted her too, but she wouldn’t use this situation to her advantage. She refused to let the men who’d trashed her shop be responsible for her trashing her relationship with her new friend. Because if she took from him tonight, she was certain that things would be awkward tomorrow. She knew it.

And more than anything, she needed things to be okay when she opened her eyes in the morning. She wanted to feel refreshed and relieved to be where she was. Which meant that she needed to lean on John an appropriate amount right now. No matter the fact that his top button was loose and she really wouldn’t have minded pressing her lips to that golden triangle at the bottom of his throat.

“Okay,” she eventually said, somewhat scratchily. She wasn’t sure if she was responding to what he’d said or if she was fortifying herself.

“You don’t mind having Ruth around? She’ll probably sleep up on the bed with you.”

“Sounds nice.”

He cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ll come back in the morning. We’ll get your door fixed.” He lingered at his door for just a beat. “Good night, Mary.”

“Good night, John.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

TURNEDOUT,SHEWASboth refreshed and relieved when she woke up the next morning. After John had left last night, she’d quickly showered, yanked her shorts and cami on and practically face-planted into the bed. She’d been out like a light. Around 2:00 a.m., a noise on the street below had woken Mary from a dead sleep, but then Ruth was there, stretched out along Mary’s side, her tail flicking curiously, and Mary was soothed enough to fall back asleep.

But now it was 7:00 a.m., she had a full night’s rest under her belt, the fog of yesterday starting to recede, and it was fully setting in just where exactly Mary was.

She was in John’s apartment. John’sbed.

It was such a strange intimacy to be in someone’s bed without them. Almost as if they were there, or some shadowy ghost of them was there. Mary knew that John did not lay behind her on the other pillow, but she caught the faint strains of deodorant and detergent and aftershave, and she felt his presence anyhow. This was the ceiling that John looked at each morning. Those were the bonging, reverent tones of the church down the street that John listened to upon the turn of each hour. Here were John’s worn cotton sheets, so soft after so many years of use.

It was like she was swimming in a sweatshirt of his, or wearing his reading glasses for a moment. It was delicious and disorienting.

What she wanted to do was make a cup of coffee in his decades-old Coffee Mate she’d spotted on the counter. She wanted to bring that coffee and sit for a while in John’s bed. She wanted the sheets to pool around her hips. She wanted to pretend that John was just out grabbing some breakfast for them. That he’d be back in a matter of minutes. That he’d slide under the sheets with her and drink half her cup of coffee.

And because she wanted to do those things, Mary got out of bed instead. She knew that daydreaming any longer was bound to be bad for her health and bad for her relationship with John. So, she roused herself, brewed some coffee and took another quick shower. She changed into the dress she’d brought, and by the time the coffee was ready, her hair was already wispily drying, that was how warm it was today.

Mary sipped her coffee and picked up her towels from the bathroom sink. She wondered if he had a hamper or something she could put them in. Maybe some small part of her acknowledged that she wanted to snoop just a little bit, but most of her just wanted to not impose mess on her host’s hospitality. Mary swung open the one door that he hadn’t introduced her to, and sure enough, it was John’s closet.

Her mouth fell flat open. She set her coffee down and pressed one palm to her racing heart. She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her before. She didn’t know how she’d missed this detail, so glaringly obvious now that it stared her in the face.

In John’s neat, organized closet hung three crisply white button-downs. There, on a hanger, was his single midnight blue tie. Folded up on a pants hanger hung two pairs of black slacks. To the right were three small shelves where perhaps ten T-shirts were neatly folded, along with two or three pairs of leisure or workout pants and two pairs of shorts. On the ground was one pair of nice leather sneakers, one pair of running shoes and one pair of sandals that she could not, for the life of her, picture him wearing.

There were two more drawers where she imagined his underwear and socks to be, and she did not investigate to verify. She’d invaded his privacy enough. Mary stuffed her towels into the hamper and closed the door of his closet.

It was so clear to her now. God, she felt so stupid. And she’d internally accusedhima million times of being judgmental! John didn’t dress this way because he was elitist and boring. He didn’t wear the same pair of wingtips every day because he was clinging to the wingtip brotherhood that Mary had cruelly imagined him to be a part of. No. He dressed this way because he was a public defender and living in New York City on a public defender’s salary, and didn’t have money to burn on shoes and clothes and frivolity.

Mary looked down at the colorfully printed Diane von Furstenberg dress that she wore. Swishy, loud, flowery print. She’d bought it one day on a whim, because she’d felt like shopping. And then she’d judged John because he wore black and white every day.

Black and white never went out of style. They always made him look professional. He could wear it to work, on a date and, yes, even to a block party if he didn’t mind looking a little overdressed. He wasn’t boring. He was practical. And Mary wanted to kiss him for it.

JOHNKNOCKEDONhis own door, still in his pajamas. He had his work shoes in one hand and yesterday’s work clothes folded under his arm. He didn’t particularly want Mary to see him in his faded blue pajama pants and undershirt, but he also hadn’t wanted to change back into yesterday’s clothes either. Maybe she’d be in her pajamas still and he wouldn’t have to feel so bad.

Aaaaaaand, no such luck. Mary swung open the door—damn, she looked good in his apartment—looking freshly pressed and sparkly clean. She was all smiles and a hundred bright colors. John fought to not squint against the glare of her. The woman was freaking potent.

And nervous? John cocked his head to one side, still standing in the hallway, as he watched Mary’s eyes track down his clothing, catch on his messy morning hair and skitter away.

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