John wasn’t sure that he’d ever had reason to talk to someone like her before. Women of her caliber were rare and exotic, spotted occasionally hailing cabs in DUMBO or brunching in Park Slope. Everything from the gold of her hair to the cut of her dress had screamed money. No. Not screamed it. Screaming implied gaudiness and she was anything but gaudy. No, Mary’s appearance merely whispered money. It was the quiet, soothing melody behind her entire countenance. People as rich as Mary seemed to move through the world with their own soundtrack.

He was obviously not worthy of the brilliant gold gloriousness of someone like Mary Trace. He’d known that the second she’d walked into that restaurant. And he’d known that she would know it soon enough as well.

But he’d have liked to have lasted more than a single sentence before he’d ruined his chances. Pleasant conversation and a good-night kiss on whatever picturesque stoop led up to her home would have been nice. It wouldn’t have been long before she realized that dating a defense attorney who lived in a studio in Bed-Stuy meant weekend trips to see his aunties in the Bronx, not ones that landed them on the beach in the Hamptons. She was sharp, so it wouldn’t have been long before she realized that his desire to cook for her would have been fueled mostly by his inability to pay for fancy Brooklyn brunches. She would have no doubt tired of waxy carnations and started to wish for lilies and orchids.

His phone buzzed one more time and he ignored it again. Texting her back when he was in this mood was a bad idea. No. Better to just leave it alone.

No question the whole thing had been doomed from the beginning.

Still. He wouldn’t have minded that good-night kiss.

“GOT ANYBODY GOOD on the line?” Mary’s best friend Tyler asked from where he lay on his living room floor, a couch pillow under his blond head and his feet crossed at the ankles. He had his eyes closed, so Mary wasn’t positive how he’d even known she was texting someone.

“No. Just struck out again, actually. My friend set me up with this guy, but apparently he’s a drug dealer.”

Tyler cracked a navy blue eye. “Some friend.”

Mary laughed and waved a hand through the air. “She’s well-meaning. Just a little...out of touch. I think she’s probably late fifties and a little bit on the optimistic side. She’s one of my artisans.”