Page 105 of Maverick

I run a hand through my hair, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "Shit, Cady. I've been so caught up in this idea that I'm changing the world, one case at a time. But you're right. I'm not really changing anyone, am I?"

Cadence reaches across the table, her fingers intertwining with mine. "Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. What you do matters, Maverick. You're helping people, protecting them."

"Yeah, but..." I trail off, struggling to articulate the disappointment settling in my chest. "I guess I've been fooling myself. Thinking I was some kind of catalyst for real change when all I'm doing is slapping Band-Aids on bigger problems."

She squeezes my hand gently. "Why does it matter so much to you that people change?"

I pause, caught off guard by her question. It's something I've never really examined before. "I don't know. I guess... I've always wanted to make a difference, you know? Not just push papers around or make rich people richer. I want to leave the world better than I found it."

Cadence nods, her eyes full of understanding. "That's admirable, Mav. But maybe you're putting too much pressure on yourself. Change doesn't always happen overnight, or even in ways we can see."

"Maybe," I admit reluctantly. "But it's hard not to feel like I'm falling short somehow."

"Can I ask you something?" Cadence leans in, her voice soft. "Why do you think changing people is the only way to make a difference?"

Her question hits me like a punch to the gut. I open my mouth to respond, then close it again, realizing I don't have an answer.

I lean back in my chair, mulling over Cadence's question. It's not something I've ever really thought about before, and I find myself struggling to articulate an answer.

"I... I don't know," I admit finally, running a hand through my hair. "I guess I've always equated making a difference with people being different. Like, if I could just make them see things differently, act better, then everything would fall into place."

Cadence nods, her eyes soft and understanding. "But you're already making a difference, Mav. Every case you take on, everyperson you help - that matters. Even if you're not fundamentally changing who they are."

I let out a long breath, feeling something shift inside me. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. It's just... I've been so focused on this idea of transformation, you know? Like if I couldn't completely turn someone's life around, I wasn't doing enough."

"That's a pretty heavy burden to carry," Cadence says gently.

"Tell me about it," I chuckle, but there's no real humor in it. "I guess I've been so caught up in this picture, that I might have been missing the smaller victories along the way."

Cadence reaches across the table, her fingers intertwining with mine. "Those smaller victories add up, Mav. And sometimes, they're the ones that matter most."

I squeeze her hand, a little tendril of peace unraveling in my chest. "How'd you get so wise, huh?"

She grins, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Lots of practice listening to dogs, remember?"

We both laugh, and I feel some of the tension drain from my shoulders. As I look at Cadence, I'm struck by how easy it is to talk to her, how she seems to see right through my bullshit and still likes what she sees.

"Maybe I need to start looking at the world the way you do." It would probably feel a hell of a lot better if I did.

Just then, John emerges from the kitchen, followed by Abby and two servers, all carrying trays loaded with pies. No one can stay quiet anymore, looking at the beautiful golden crusts. They look like heaven, and I want one, right fucking now. Course, I'm going to stay in my seat like a good boy, because, well…John.

"Stay in your fuckin' seats while I get the plates," John growls, his voice gruff but with an undercurrent of affection. It's something that I'm getting used to, that undercurrent of peace and happiness, even when he has to deal with all of us. His buttons still get pushed, and he sometimes stomps off, cursingat us and threatening to move to an island and never cook for us again. But most of the time, he sees how much we appreciate him.

And his food. Can't forget about the food.

Zach, Kade, and Micah try to subtly inch their chairs closer to the pies. The scraping sound echoes through the restaurant. They all frantically shush each other, fingers over lips, shoving and yeah, a bit of slapping. I glare at them, willing them to keep fucking cool, to not blow it for everyone.

John returns with the plates, and we all reach the end of our patience. Jonas, Kade, and Declan are all offering their opinions on the best way to cut and serve the pies, trying to convince John to cut them bigger slices. Or in Kade's case, 'I don't need a plate. Just slide that whole fucking thing over here and give me a fucking fork'. John ignores them all, methodically slicing through the crusts and placing slices on the plates with care.

"Ladies first," John announces, his tone softening as he turns to the women. He actually manages a real smile for them, while his eyes send a big 'mind your fucking manners' to the rest of us. "What'll it be?" Abby gets the first slice, because she's John's, so of course he's going to take care of her first. Then he invites the rest of the women up to choose their slices.

I watch as Cadence deliberates, her nose scrunching up adorably as she considers her options. She finally settles on a slice of cherry, and the look of pure bliss on her face as she takes her first bite makes me groan. Some of it is jealousy, because...pie. But mostly because my brain goes straight to wondering if she would make that same sound in my bed, in my sheets.

She would look incredible, sprawled across my mattress, her hair fanned out on my pillow, eyes closed in ecstasy as I worship every inch of her body. My mouth dries up at the thought of trailing kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and lowerstill. I can almost feel her body under me, her arching beneath me, gasping my name as I explore her curves. I have to forcibly drag my mind back to the present before I embarrass myself in front of everyone.

As John works his way around the room, Colton starts getting worried. "Are you getting apple? Is that apple? Are you sure you wouldn't like something else instead? What about the blueberry? You like blueberries right?" His voice rises in pitch, sounding more and more worried.

When it looks like the last slice might go to someone else, he lets out a pitiful whine. John's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he brandishes the pie cutter like a weapon. I don't think he'd actually try to carve Colton up with it, and that's not what Colton's worried about either. He's worried about missing out on pie.