Page 53 of Flirting with Forever

“Morning!” she said, just a bit too brightly, even for Mary.

“Morning,” he said back, his morning voice even scratchier than usual. “Bless you for making coffee.”

“You want me to pour you a cup?”

Yeah, she was definitely nervous. She was standing in the middle of his living room holding one elbow and playing with the fabric of her dress with her free hand. Her eyes were on her pedicured toes.

“Uh, I’m gonna shower and change first, and then I’ll grab some.”

She nodded, turned on her heel and went to join Ruth on the love seat. John quickly showered and brushed his teeth. He was grateful he’d gotten a haircut this week because his hair parted perfectly and lay smooth. He quickly changed into his usual outfit, rolling his sleeves to his elbows and praying he wouldn’t sweat through the shirt by noon. On a normal Saturday, one where he was headed to Estrella’s house or getting work done at his kitchen table, he might have worn his old jeans and a T-shirt, but Mary looked like she was ready to strut down Fifth Avenue, and John didn’t think his ten-year-old jeans, white at the seams, would flourish by comparison.

He left the steamy bathroom and crossed to the kitchen area, pouring himself some coffee and going to sit with Mary on the love seat. It was a little bit too tight of a fit for two people and Ruth. The cat yowled at him when he sat on her tail. Ruth batted at his sleeve and rolled to her back, rubbing her face vigorously against his knee.

They both laughed, and John absently scratched at Ruth’s belly. He was very aware of the fact that both he and Mary were staring at Ruth, almost as if they couldn’t bear to look at one another. Why was this so intense? It felt like a morning after.

If it was just a feelings hangover, he could understand, Mary had had a hell of a day yesterday, but he couldn’t help but feel like there was even more happening under the surface that he couldn’t quite pin down.

He cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately, making him laugh.

“All right, there’s a few breakfast places around here and—” he squinted at the clock over the oven “—if we go soon, we’ll probably beat the brunch rush. Oh, shit. Shitshitshitshitshit!” John stood up and strode across the room to the kitchen table, where he’d set his phone down when he came in.

“What is it?” Mary asked.

John groaned when he double-checked his calendar, even though he already knew what he’d find. “Shit. I’m so sorry, but I totally forgot to cancel on my dad. I had brunch plans with him. And now he’s definitely already on his way to the place. It’s too late to cancel.” He looked up at Mary miserably. All he wanted was to have a casual breakfast with her. To stuff her full of hash browns and eggs and orange juice. He wanted to fortify her against the world. He wanted to watch her sip coffee in that beautifully colorful dress of hers and know that she’d changed into that dress inhisapartment that morning. Was that too much to ask of the universe? Apparently.

Mary cocked her head to one side. “What’s the big deal? Do we not have time to get there or something?”

John felt something lift off in his gut.We?“You...want to come along?”

“Oh.” She instantly went bright red. “I didn’t mean to invite myself. I just thought—I’m hungry! I’m not thinking straight.”

He chuckled at her flustered expression, her pink cheeks. “No, that’s okay. It just hadn’t occurred to me that you’d want to join us. But sure, yeah. It’s a good brunch spot in Brooklyn Heights, and then we can head over and get your door fixed after.”

“If you’re sure I won’t be intruding?”

John vehemently shook his head. If she was volunteering her company, he was accepting it. Time spent with his father wasn’t exactly the easiest, and John was extremely eager to see how having a Mary Trace buffer would affect the quality of it. Although...

“I should probably warn you...” He cleared his throat. “I’ve never brought anyone to meet my father before, and he’ll probably think that we’re together. No matter what we say.”

Mary traced a line of gray fur on Ruth’s chest, her eyes cast downward, her cheeks still pink. “I don’t mind that.”

John’s mind instantly and ferociously examined that phrase, turning it over, catching every possible light against every possible surface. She didn’t mind someone thinking they were together? She didn’t mind his father being obtuse and stubborn?

Or—God—she didn’t mind the idea of the two of them actually being together? John’s knees went jelly, and his fingers were cold in the pockets of his trousers. Was this an opening? His moment to tell her what he really wanted? What he’d tried to get himself to stop hoping for since the moment she’d walked out of that restaurant all those weeks ago?

“I mean,” she continued with a shrug of one shoulder, “parents are going to believe whatever they want regardless of what you tell them. I’ve already told you how my parents are. Trust me, one suspicious father is nothing I can’t deal with for the length of a single brunch.”

Oh. The thing in his stomach that had lifted off touched back down to earth. Right. She’d meant that she didn’t mind dealing with his dad. She wasn’t over there fantasizing about being with John. She wasn’t going to pretend, as John might have, that the two of them really were together, leaving his apartment on a hot July morning to do their due diligence with a monthly Saturday brunch with his father. She’d probably already forgotten the fact that she’d slept in his bed last night, or at least, she was glazing over it in her mind. She certainly wasn’t marveling over the stunning newness of it, turning over last night in her heart like a stone, trying to figure out if it should be polished to a high shine or tossed back into the river.

He cleared his throat. “If you’re sure, then we should get going.”

“All right!” she said brightly, popping up and striding over to her bag. Her overnight bag. John nearly groaned aloud when he watched her pack her things up. His father was never going to believe they were just friends, not when she showed up on a Saturday morning at his side, an overnight bag on her hip. He was going to be denying Mary’s place in his life for months with his father.

They walked to the train, and John waved through the window at his barber as they walked past.

“Is that where you get your hair cut?” Mary asked, stopping to look in the window.

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