New York Rain

Jade giggled.

“I don't have my own courtroom TV show yet, mister!”

“I can make it happen, Judge Jade. I do own majority shares in a major broadcasting corporation, you know,” he said with a wink.

Jade scratched her chin, pretending to consider the notion.

“Judge Jade huh? I think it has a ring to it. It just might work...”

“Might? Nah. Will! Definitely.”

They both laughed at this – and neither of them failed to recognize the invisible heat of attraction building between them. For a few seconds they locked eyes, and a look of such intensity passed between them that Jade was forced to look away. She felt her pulse starting to race and her pulse quickening – and she wondered whether Brenton was feeling this same rush of emotion pulsing through his own veins. If he did, he didn't show it. Instead, he leaned over and grabbed the keys to his Maserati.

“Come on then,” he said with a boyish grin. “Let's get going.”

Forty minutes later they had arrived at the restaurant. It was around eight in the evening, and the streets of New York city were alive with life. Crowds of people were moving about, hustling and bustling; businesspeople coming home from work, young couples out on dates, groups of friends looking for parties, and bands of tourists going sightseeing, bright-eyed at the brilliant lights and color of the city's night lights.

The restaurant itself was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place located in a back alley off one of the main streets; it really was, as Brenton had said, a true 'mom-and-pop' operation. The walls were simply decorated with old, faded photographs of an Italian family in Sicily, and the small tables were covered with simple red and white checkered tablecloths, while in the background old, soothing crooner tunes from the 1950s played on a dusty LP player.

As Jade approached the table they were to be seated at, Brenton hurried around and pulled out her chair for her, indicating with a warm smile and a sweep of his powerful arm that she should take a seat.

“Thank you,” she beamed, feeling her cheeks warming with a blush.

“I'm old-fashioned, sometimes,” he said.

Between them, on the table, a candle burned and flickered, illuminating each of their faces with its gentle glow.

“You really look stunning in this light, Jade,” said Brenton as he locked his eyes into hers.

“Why, th-, thank you,” she managed to stammer.

The candlelight served to bring out Brenton's rugged, handsome features quite impressively as well, but before Jade could say this, an old Italian-American woman shuffled over to them. She looked as if she were at least eighty; her back was hunched over, and her heavily-wrinkled skin looked as thin and delicate as old vellum parchment. On her prominent nose sat a pair of thick coke-bottle glasses, which magnified her large, dark eyes almost disconcertingly.

“Brenton, my boy!” she exclaimed in a warm, husky voice, sounding like a delighted grandmother seeing her favorite grandchild. “It's so wonderful to see you!”

Brenton laughed warmly.

“It's only been four days, Mrs. Stagliano!”

“Four days too many!” she chuckled in response with a wink and a smile. “And who's this lovely lady with you? C'mon, don't be rude now, introduce us!”

Brenton smiled.

“Jade, I'd like you to meet one of my oldest and dearest friends, Mrs. Linda Stagliano. Mrs. Stagliano, this is Jade Gillie, my-”

“New girlfriend?” asked Mrs. Stagliano with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Brenton laughed, but it seemed that he couldn't meet Jade's eyes when she said this.

“No, no. Jade is working with me.”

“Well, she's so pretty that she should be your girlfriend! Take my advice for once, why don't ya?”

“Alright, alright,” laughed Brenton.

“I'm very pleased to meet you,” interjected Jade. “You have a lovely place here.”

“Why thank you, dear! It's been in the family for three generations, you know. And this Brenton here, he's been eating here since before he could even walk or talk. You should try our lasagna Jade, it's-”

“Legendary!” interrupted Brenton with a great, beaming grin. “We'll have two of your special lasagnas, Mrs. Stagliano.”

“Done! Anything to drink?”