His head snapped up at the tap-tap on his front door. John groaned, pressing his fingers against his suddenly pounding forehead. He knew, without having to look, exactly who was at the door. Even her knock was sweet. Two little taps, polite knuckles. God, he wasn’t ready for this. Her words earlier this morning had almost been a kindness. They’d cut him down to ribbons, but at least he knew, without question, where she stood on the matter. He didn’t want her sweetness, her reason. He didn’t want her to be nice to him right now. And he knew, without question, that if he opened that door, she was going to be unbearably sweet to him.

Ugh.

With any luck, she’d heard him asking Ruth for her opinion on financial matters. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top.

Two more knocks, these slightly louder than the last.

Deciding that he wasn’t so much of an asshole that he could hold his breath and pretend he wasn’t home, John stepped around Ruth and dragged his ass over to the door. With grim surrender, he swung open the door.

She stood there, an unexpected expression on her face, her hands on her hips. Her hair was piled up messily on top of her head, still wet from a shower, and she wore no makeup. She was in red shorts and a white T-shirt and perfectly white sneakers. She looked like she’d just thrown some clothes on to run down to the bodega, but here she was, all the way across town, standing at his door.

Apparently even piles of ribbons were capable of stomach-swooping. He wished like heck it didn’t affect him to see her standing there in his doorway. But of course, it did.

John frowned at her. Mary frowned back, her eyebrows knitting forward like her forehead muscles were straining from the position.

“Mary—”

“You’re not attracted to me.” She cut him off, her expression morphing from surly to stubborn.

“What?” It was probably the only thing she could have said that truly shocked him. One hand on the door, practically blocking her from coming inside, John just blinked at her.

She shoved forward, knocking his arm askew and coming into his house. She kicked off her white sneakers to reveal tiny, pink socks. She tossed her purse down next to her sneakers and whirled on him, her eyes narrowed.

Thoroughly thrown off and befuddled, John muscled Ruth back from the open door and closed it behind them. He turned to Mary and mirrored her position. Hands on hips. A scowl for the ages.

Surprisingly, he broke before she did. “You think I’m not attracted to you?”

She stalked over to his kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, chugged it down to empty and slammed the glass down. “I know you’re not attracted to me. That’s what the whole problem is. Has always been.”