Gazing out at the neon-lit skyline, with the sparkling Brooklyn Bridge in the distance, Maguire felt the sudden urge for a cigar.
With a smooth twist of his wrist, one appeared in his hand.
George, standing nearby, was about to speak—but then he caught that fluid, almost theatrical motion.
When his eyes fell on the cigar, his brow creased.
*This kid smokes? And he's brazen enough to light up right in front of me? Doesn't he care about the impression he's making?*
Already slipping into the mindset of a "future father-in-law," George coughed pointedly, signaling Maguire to tone it down.
Maguire glanced at him, noticing the disapproval in his expression.
Without hesitation, he extended the cigar toward George.
"Sorry, forgot you were here."
George froze.
*Is this kid insane? What is he thinking?*
He was about to reprimand him, but Maguire spoke again.
"Go on, take it. Don't be shy."
*What the hell?* George thought, but almost against his own will, he accepted it.
With another flick of his wrist, Maguire produced a second cigar for himself, lit it without ceremony, and tossed the lighter to George.
Catching it clumsily, George stared at him in disbelief.
Maguire took a slow drag, exhaling a ribbon of smoke.
"What a beautiful city," he said, his gaze carrying a weighty, almost world-weary air.
George's eyes narrowed.
*This kid… isn't even the slightest bit intimidated. It's like I'm not the NYPD captain standing here—it's like I'm the subordinate.*
Before George could speak, Maguire gestured toward the cigar in his hand.
"Try it. It's good. Don't tell me I've got to light it for you, too."
Intrigued despite himself, George sparked the cigar and drew in a deep puff.
Surprise lit his face.
He'd smoked many expensive cigars in his life, but compared to this… everything else he'd ever tried was garbage.
Rich aroma, smooth draw, with a faint floral aftertaste that left the mind clear and the senses sharp.
*Where does a high school kid even get something like this? The price must be astronomical.*
"How is it?" Maguire asked with a smirk. "Pretty good, right? Now… what did you want to talk to me about?"
George suddenly felt a strange shift—like *he* was the one being evaluated.
*This is no ordinary boy… he's a man with a story. A real man. I should speak to him as an equal.*
"Tell me, Maguire," George said, "what do you think of Gwen?"
Maguire's face stayed unreadable.
"She's great. Beautiful. Smart. I respect her."
*Mature, level-headed… not bad,* George thought.
Then Maguire continued.
"I get where you're coming from. As a father, you're worried she'll get hurt—any father would be. But you don't have to be so anxious. She has her own path to walk. Your job is to be her strongest support."
George stared at him, stunned. This didn't feel like a talk between a teenager and a protective dad—it felt like two old friends meeting after years apart.
He took a deep pull on the cigar.
"You're right. I'm just afraid of her getting hurt, so I'm always trying to guide her. And… I was a little harsh with you earlier. Don't take it personally. As for you and Gwen—consider you've got my blessing."
Maguire blinked.
"Whoa, hold on. Me and Gwen? You think I'm her boyfriend? No way. We're just friends."
Now it was George's turn to be caught off guard.
*So… I was just imagining things?*
Before either could say more, a sudden flare lit up the distant Brooklyn Bridge.
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