But there she was, sending him a text that was already two minutes old. Then the meaning of her text filtered down onto John. If she was texting him the name Elijah Crawford, then that meant that his mother was considering setting Mary up with that douchenozzle.

“What?” John whispered to himself. His mother was a reasonable woman usually. What was with this psycho matchmaking thing she was doing?

He typed his response out. Veto.

He tossed his phone back down and got through one more page of paperwork before she texted back.

Why?

John sighed and typed out, Because he intentionally spilled apple juice on the crotch of my pants in third grade, tripped me down the stairs in fifth grade and stole my prom date in high school.

He stared at his unsent words, the cursor still blinking on his screen. A flush of embarrassment rose hot out of his collar as he pictured sending those words to gorgeous Mary Trace. He immediately erased them. He’d botched his chance with her, he was very clear on that point, but that didn’t mean he needed to inform her just how much of a nerd he used to be.

He’s a bully, John texted. He thought for a second and texted another line. And not a good listener. You won’t have fun.

Okay, she texted back a minute later. I’ll tell Estrella I’m busy. Thanks!

As John was reading, one last text came through, an emoji of a shiny, smiling sun, its rays waving at him, reminding him of Mary’s sunny, wavy hair. A weird jolt went through him as he looked down at the little image. It should be meaningless. It was just something she’d absently clicked on and sent. But for some reason, for a split second, John wondered if it was personal. If she purposefully picked it and sent it his way, actively wanting to send him a little sunshine.

He found himself frowning down at his phone screen. It was nice of her to send, he supposed. But what the hell was he supposed to text back? The only person who ever texted him emojis was Richie, and John ignored each and every one of them. Was it rude to ignore Mary’s emoji?

Deciding, on principle, that he couldn’t afford to care, John turned his phone to silent and exited out of the text strand.

Juggling anywhere between thirty and forty cases at a time, John found he didn’t often have the time for indulgences like texting pretty girls. Especially not when he had two separate murder-one cases in his caseload plus that sex trafficking case that was keeping him up at night.