Page 56 of Flirting with Forever

As she slid into her seat, she couldn’t help but smile down at the black coffee and fresh-squeezed orange juice that had been delivered to her place. John had the same at his. “Thanks,” she told him.

“You’re welcome.”

They ordered breakfast, and when Jack handed over his menu, Mary felt his focus shift to her.

“So, Ms. Trace. Tell me about yourself.” He turned those dark eyes on Mary, so unlike John’s, and Mary couldn’t help but feel as if she were on the witness stand. There was something in Jack’s gaze that was complicated. He was reserving his judgment of her based on her answers to his questions, and he wanted her to know it.

“Jack—” John started.

Mary cut in. She wasn’t scared of Jack Whitford. She’d been raised by Naomi Trace, for shit’s sake. She knew how to deal with judgment when it sat down at the breakfast table.

“Well, I own a shop in Cobble Hill that does very well for itself. I’ve lived in Brooklyn for six years. I was born and raised in Connecticut, although I did my undergrad at Rutgers.”

“And you’re friends with my son.” He stressed the wordfriendsin a subtle yet accusatory way.

“Actually, I was originally friends with Estrella. She’s the one who introduced us.”

Just as she’d expected it might, the mention of his ex-wife altered whatever line of questioning he’d been headed down. He blinked at her for a moment. “Right.”

“Whitford,” a voice said over Mary’s shoulder, and Mary craned her neck to see a very attractive man behind her. She blinked in confusion when the man’s face was pointed toward John and not Jack.

It had never occurred to her that someone would refer to John as just “Whitford.” It didn’t suit him at all.

“Willis,” John said in a voice as dry as it was gravelly. He wasn’t happy to see this man. He cleared his throat. “Jack, Mary, this is my colleague Crash Willis. Crash, this is my friend Mary Trace and my father, John Whitford.”

Mary noted that this time Jack didn’t offer his nickname. He merely shook hands with this Crash person and eyed him appraisingly. “Colleague? You’re also a public defender, then?”

Crash shook his head, coming to stand around the side of the table where Mary wouldn’t have to crane her head to see him. “No. An ADA.” He clapped a hand on John’s shoulder. “John’s worst nightmare.”

John slid his eyes over to Mary and gave her a look so droll, so dismissive of Crash, so confident, that she almost aspirated her orange juice. She’d known that John was attractive, but didn’t he know that a look like that was panty incinerating? No, she was certain that he did not know what effect this casual confidence had on Mary as he leaned back and said something snide to Crash.

The three men began talking and Mary found herself in a brief, potent daydream. She’d once imagined John scowling his way around a courtroom, dramatically pointing at the opposing counsel, passionately advocating for the wrongfully accused. But now she realized how ridiculous that assessment had been. John wasn’t the type to strut and dramatize. No. He was too good for that, too confident in his own skills. John’s main weapon, she was sure of it, would be ultimate, careful competence. He would lead the jury by the hand, calmly, confidently, without spoon-feeding them. He’d expect them to make the right decision, to side with him, because where else would anyone in their right mind side?

She imagined his midnight tie against his white shirt, his wide shoulders and wingtips, and his presence. John wasn’t graceful, exactly. He took up too much stocky space for that. But he was incredibly self-contained, aware of his space and energy. And wasn’t that almost the same thing?

Mary desperately wanted to observe him in court. To hear the rise and fall of that two-toned voice of his. She also knew just how dangerous that could end up being. This crush of hers would eat her alive if she ever got to see him work a room like that. Even now, him leaning irreverently back on two legs of his chair, some sly remark on his lips, Mary’s feelings for him threatened to come tumbling forward. She desperately wanted to hold his hand again.

After a few minutes, Crash excused himself, his eyes lingering on Mary for a moment in a curious way, and then he was gone.

“Interesting guy,” Jack said to John. Though he’d said only two words, Mary was certain that he’d actually said a mouthful to his son, à la Naomi Trace.

“Sure,” John replied, craning his head as he looked around the restaurant. “Food’s taking a long time.”

“Seems to have his head on straight.”

John didn’t seem to be able to restrain his sigh this time. “Yup.” He popped theP.

“Has a next step in mind for his career.”

Ah. That was where this was heading. Compliments to this other guy’s career were apparently digs on John’s career. John didn’t even bother responding.

Mary cleared her throat, finally drawing the men’s attention away from one another and back to her. “Did it surprise you when John went to law school?”

Jack’s eyes slid back to John. “No. But it surprised me when he decided to become a defense attorney.”

John’s loose confidence from moments before was dissolving into stiff-backed reserve. Mary intimately recognized the pose. It was what children did to block the judgment of their parents.

“And here we are again,” John sighed in a near-sour tone.

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