He practically swayed on his feet.

“Long week?” she asked, setting the tacos aside and leaning against the counter.

John’s blue eyes, which had been flitting around the shop, taking in Fin and Via from their heads to their toes, finally landed on Mary, full force. “The longest. And it ended on a real low point.”

She grimaced, absently reaching up to smooth her wavy hair over one shoulder. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t think that your mother’s taco connection was her grown son with a full-time job and better things to do on a Friday night.”

To her surprise, he chuckled. Well, it was more like a forced exhalation of air, but she figured that that was about as close to a chuckle as John Modesto-Whitford ever really got. “I didn’t mean that the tacos were the low point, Mary. I lost a case today. And lost a key witness on another.” He pressed a heavy hand to his forehead and Mary was certain that he had a headache. “And both clients are people I care about.”

“Oh.” Mary blinked at him. In that moment, in her mind, his job stretched and grew wings and became more than his button-down shirt and fancy shoes and the messenger bag at his hip. Her imagination charged forward and his job had an office, coffee in chipped mugs, John standing in the middle of a courtroom and pointing one of his blunt fingers at the real perpetrator. She knew that very little of a lawyer’s life was actually spent gesticulating in a courtroom, but still, it was fun to picture him that way. And more than that, John’s job suddenly had people’s lives in the balance, resting on those tired, wide shoulders of his. His scowl made a bit more sense to her. There were years of people’s lives in that scowl. Their freedom. And not just random people. People John cared about.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary whispered. She wasn’t exactly sure what else to say, but she really did feel sorry.

“Thanks,” John said back in that hoarse voice, his blue eyes looking almost kind in his complete exhaustion. She figured he didn’t have the energy to look quite as off-putting as he normally did.

“Estrella,” Mary admonished, “tell me you at least ordered some tacos for your beleaguered son.”

“I’m not a monster,” Estrella sniffed and made all the women laugh. John, however, just looked more irritated.

“Oh, you did, Ma?” He immediately reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, ancient wallet. “Who paid?”

Mary waved her hand through the air. “I did, but no worries. I’m happy to buy you dinner.”

Now John looked more than irritated. He looked downright angry. His eyebrows were pulling down into that V, his lips were thin, his wide shoulders, even in their fatigue, were pulling back. He opened up his wallet and fished through for bills.