Yale…

I leaned back in my chair and swiped a hand over my face, glancing at the clock. It was twenty minutes to nine. I had just enough minutes left in the hour to get some decent coffee before the café across from the DA’s office closed.

Chrissy Franco tucked a stray lock of her long, dark hair behind her ear. Her tresses were captured in a twist with two pencils thrust through it to pin it. The sleeves of her cream satin blouse were rolled to her elbows, much like mine, as we were both elbows-deep into the Reeves case.

I couldn’t help but admire her grace and the beauty of her form as she leaned over the table in my office, shuffling through file folders of affidavits, but she was already taken. Taken by one of my club brothers, Youngblood. I smiled, pleased for them both and a bit wistful at the same time. Again, she was beautiful, but alas, that ship had sailed.

“I’m going for coffee.”

“Me, too, please…” she muttered faintly, rapt on what she was reading. I smiled and chuckled to myself, and put both feet flat on the floor from atop my desk, banishing the images I should not be imagining from my mind.

“What do you want?”

“The usual,” she said, a bit of annoyance tingeing her voice, and that is why we would never have worked. Chrissy Franco was a bulldog in the courtroom, and in some ways, just as alpha as me.

“As the boss, I’m not sure why I am always the one running to get coffee,” I stated.

“Because you have the crush on the counter girl at the café,” she said, shortly. She dismissed what she’d been reading out of hand and set it aside. “And don’t think I didn’t just catch you looking.”

“My apologies,” I started, and the word was foreign on my tongue. She raised an eyebrow in my direction. I shut my mouth and smiled genuinely. “Thank you,” I said simply, and she gave a nod, the movement graceful on her long neck. She didn’t appreciate being lied to as much as I didn’t like having to lie, even if it was the politically correct or polite thing to do.

“I know you don’t mean it to be uncomfortable,” she said. “I also know you’re lonely and should ask for the coffee girl’s number.” I stood and went to the door, shaking my head. One of Chrissy’s other qualities I had come to appreciate since she joined the District Attorney’s office as a prosecuting attorney was her willingness to be forthright with me. Add to that, her ability to communicate clearly with me without having to say a word? Well, she was an asset to this office I would be forever grateful for.

Granted, I was more perceptive than most, which made it much easier, but all of that aside, she and I had become quite the dynamic duo the last few months. Our styles complemented one another spectacularly. Another reason that I sometimes let my imagination travel to the land of what might have been.

I banished the thoughts from my fatigued mind and made my way to the elevator. When the doors opened at the lobby level, Youngblood looked up from two coffees in his hands.

“Hey, you seen my wife?” he asked. I smiled to myself.

“You aren’t married yet, and she’s in my office,” I frowned, “Come to think of it, have you even asked her?”

“Not formally; at least not yet, but it’s going to happen. I just like trying the title on for size.”

“Ah, well, in my office.”

“Where are you rushing off to?”

“Coffee of my own!” I called back over my shoulder.

“Ah, yeah, sorry! I just brought a couple for me and her, I didn’t know you’d be here!”

I waved him off over my shoulder and went out the front doors of the aging government building and down the front steps. The air was crisp and clean with the smell of ozone and fresh rain. The ground was wet, darkness rising up from the streets to meet the sky. The fiery orange glow from the setting summer sun was barely a glimmer between the buildings where you could catch a glimpse of the horizon.

I got to the doors of the café and tugged on them to find them locked, muttering, “Ahhh… damn it!”

Movement caught my eye as I went to go back across the street. and I turned. Ally, the morning coffee-girl, came to the door and unlocked it.

“Working late, Mr. Parnell?”

“As, so it seems, are you.”

“Right, yeah… Come on in. I already shut down the till and counted it out, do you have cash?” she asked meekly.

“No, I’m sorry I was going to…” I held up my phone, and she bit her bottom lip.

“That’s okay; I’ll take it out of my tips.”

I smiled as she turned around and set her mop aside. She went behind the counter and began making my coffee without asking. She knew what I liked. I stood, hands in my pockets, and vowed to tip her the cost of the coffee plus more, the next morning.

“How come so late?” I asked.

“Millie needed someone to close, and I could really use the extra hours, so I volunteered to stay and work straight through.”

She poured the shots of coffee into a paper cup and smoothed her hands along her long, baseball tee over a pair of form-fitting black leggings. I let my gaze linger, as she added hot water to the cup to make my Americano.

“How about you?” she asked.

I cleared my throat and tried to decide what to say. The case we were working was horrific. Jordan Reeves, an eighteen-year-old high school student, had buried her baby alive in her parent’s backyard. Her mother had discovered the nineteen-day-old remains when tilling her rose garden. The family had circled the wagons, and their high-priced attorneys were stonewalling. We were in the midst of trying to have some of their motions quashed, and it would, honestly, be a near thing. This case was proving to be a nightmare, and we were barely past arraignment. Still, none of that was anything to burden Ally with, so, “Tough case,” I finally settled on, lamely.

Ally’s face softened, her expression empathetic, green eyes searching mine. “The Reeves thing?” Her voice was soft. Delicate and gentle, sensitive, it was a soothing balm to the burns caused by the utter depravity I waded through on a daily basis.

“You know about that?” I asked, taking a careful sip of my coffee. It was good. I always appreciated how Ally made it.

She leaned a hip against the counter and sighed, hugging herself. Her long, stiff, blonde hair with dark roots fell around her pale face, making her green eyes shine that much more. I didn’t typically like it when women processed their hair, but Ally’s white-blonde hair with their dark roots worked well for her.

“Hard not to know about it, it’s been all over the news.”

“Ah,” I said, nodding. She’d likely seen the press conference on the courthouse steps that morning. I’d had to speak. It wasn’t my favorite thing, dealing with those jackals. The media always left a bad taste in my mouth, one I attempted to wash away with another sip of coffee.

I swept Ally with my gaze and decided that as much as I would like to sully her in other ways, I didn’t wish to defile her with anything pertaining to any one of my legal cases. I smiled slightly, feeling the weight, the mantle of responsibility, return to my shoulders. The scales of justice were attempting to balance and needed my attention. So too, did my scales.

“I should get back,” I said, and she nodded, smiling.

“Good luck,” she murmured, and followed me to the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe?”

“Tomorrow,” she agreed. “Have a good night.”

I nodded and waited until she locked the door behind me. I turned to the curb and waited for traffic to pass, and once I was across the street, gave into the urge to look back. She stood in the center of the café, the chairs up, their seats resting on the table tops, swiping the string mop back and forth across the floor. She concentrated on her task, making sure she was being thorough, and I could appreciate that.

I turned and went back up to my office, those smiling-yet-somber green eyes haunting me.

For some reason, I couldn’t look at Chrissy Franco twice after that encounter. Every time I even tried, Chrissy’s brown eyes morphed to green, her dark hair to blonde, and her olive complexion became kissed by the moon.