He was an attractive man, the defendant thought. Looking up into his incredibly symmetric face, she saw a deep frown there and, for the first time, felt that, maybe, she had done something wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Why did you use a spoon?” the judge asked, cocking his eyebrow a little and looking her in the eyes. She wasn’t sure, but was that a twinkle of amusement stirring in those glacier-blue eyes?
“My fork was dirty,” she responded, looking down at her hands.
“It’s okay,” the judge said. His voice had changed, so she looked back up at him to find that his deep frown had shattered into a grin. He had never been mad, he had been playing, “we can order another one.”
She smiled back at him.
“Though, the kind of person that kills off the dessert when their date goes off to the bathroom…” he said, his expression once again serious, but this time it was a thin, sheer cloth that didn’t even come close to masking his jovial attitude. “I’ll have to keep my eye on you.”
“Please do,” she responded putting the tip of the spoon to her mouth. She knew that what they were doing was wrong — the judge and the defendant going out on a date — but they got along so well and, besides, it’s not like it was a murder trial.