“That you didn’t have a good time. I know. It’s fine, Mary. You were honest with her. And she showed up at my house last night, spitting mad, because she says that Mary Trace always has a good time, no matter what she’s doing, and if she didn’t have a good time, then it must be my fault. And if it’s my fault, then I owe you an apology.” John traced his wide hands outward, palms up. “So, here I am.”

Mary frowned. “Your mother dragged you to my shop to apologize to me?”

He grimaced, and for just a flash, that surly face had the grace to look a tiny bit chagrined. “I came willingly.”

“She had you by the elbow when you came in here,” Mary said, arching an eyebrow.

His mouth turned down. “I wanted to wait outside the shop while you had another customer. My mother didn’t have any qualms about that.”

Mary blushed, embarrassed all over again about James the married man. “Right.”

John glanced out through her front window, his eyebrows furrowed down, though not as aggressively as she knew he was capable of. His hands were pushed into his pockets.

“Look, Mary. You were more right than my mother is. I’m not a nice boy. Although at thirty-one, I like to think I’ve graduated from not a nice boy to not a nice man.”

She cocked her head to one side as she studied him. He seemed older than thirty-one. His dark, neatly parted hair was so shiny that she realized it gave the illusion of silver, but it was actually just a full head of black hair. And the lines around his eyes were more likely from fatigue than they were from age.

He cleared his throat, those bright blue eyes stuck on her face. “I’m busy and grumpy and preoccupied and...rude. But none of that is an excuse for making you feel bad. So, I apologize. Really, I do. I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sorry for the mess I made of the other night. And I’m sorry I was rude.”

Oh. That was actually a good apology. None of that fast-dancing, zero-vulnerability, I’m-sorry-if-your-feelings-were-hurt-by-my-actions crap. That was a real apology. He’d admitted he was rude.

He stood, without moving, in the same spot. His hands were in his pockets, his eyes on hers, his mouth frowning, his eyebrows pushed down and mean.

“Well,” Mary said as she stamped her foot. “It might be easier to forgive you if you hadn’t just seen me strike out like that.”

John smirked, a grunt coming out of him that might have passed for a laugh in another dimension. “Yeah. That was...hard to watch.”

Mary glowered at him. “It’s not my fault he was married.”

“No. It wasn’t.”