Chapter 69 Trust Me
Maggie stood up, her voice rising in excitement. "You didn't! The Cabernet?"
"Yes, I did!" he called back over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bedroom to change.
By 9:27 PM, the apartment was filled with the low hum of jazz and the aroma of a home-cooked meal. They sat at the dining table, the expensive wine breathing in their glasses. The conversation had been easy— internet trends, gossip about the office and close friends — but as the meal progressed, Maggie noticed Andrew’s attention had shifted.
He wasn't eating. He was simply watching her, his chin resting on his hand, a thoughtful look in his dark eyes.
Maggie felt a flutter in her chest, a mix of self-awareness and affection. She wiped her mouth with her napkin, blushing. "Why are you looking at me that way?"
"What way?" Andrew asked, his smile widening just enough to show his dimples.
"I don't know," Maggie laughed nervously. "That way. You’ve been watching me all night. Do I have sauce on my face?"
Andrew laughed softly, the sound rich and warm. "No sauce. I was just appreciating my woman. Is that a crime?"
They went back to their food for a moment, but Andrew’s gaze remained fixed on her, steady and unblinking. Maggie finally set her fork down, her face turning pink again. "Okay, now I’m actually getting uncomfortable. Andrew, there has to be a reason you’re staring. What is it?"
Andrew took a deep breath, his expression turning more serious, though still tender. "I've been thinking about something. Actually, I've been thinking about it a lot."
Maggie raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"
"I want to meet your dad."
The silence that followed was heavy. Maggie’s eyebrow stayed up, but her smile faltered. "Why? Andrew, you know we don't exactly see eye to eye. We barely talk. You know that."
"I know it's complicated," Andrew said, reaching across the table to cover her hand with his. "But we’ve been dating for over two years now. It’s the right thing to do. You’ve met my whole family— my folks, my brother, my sister. I want the same for myself."
He paused, his thumb stroking her knuckles. "And honestly, Maggie, your dad is the one who secured my internship at the firm. I’m working there because of his influence. I want to thank him— and I want to do it in person, not just over a phone call."
Maggie rolled her eyes, though it wasn't at Andrew; it was at the mental image of the cold, formal dinner that meeting her father would inevitably entail. "Andrew, he’s a lot to handle."
"I can handle him," Andrew insisted, his voice firm but gentle. "I want you to make it happen, Mags. For me."
Maggie let out a long, dramatic sigh, but the corners of her mouth were beginning to twitch. "Alright, fine. I’ll think about it."
"No," Andrew teased. "Don't 'think about it.' Make it happen."
"Fine! I'll call him tomorrow and tell him you want to meet. Happy now?"
Andrew beamed, the intensity in his gaze finally breaking into pure joy. "More than happy."
With the tension broken, Maggie picked up her wine glass, signaling a shift. "Good. Now, can we talk about something else?
Like how Josh almost set his kitchen on fire yesterday?"
Laughter returned to the table, the shadows of the past pushed aside by the warmth of the present.
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'TWO WEEKS LATER'
The apartment bedroom in Bellingham glowed soft gold at 8:03 a.m., morning sun slanting through half-open blinds and warming the white walls. Andrew stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the bathroom door— white long-sleeved button-up tucked neatly into charcoal trousers, sleeves rolled to the elbows, top button undone, slim black belt, polished brown leather shoes. He smoothed the shirt collar one last time, turned sideways to check the fit across his shoulders, then met his own eyes in the glass— serious, determined, a faint nervous tic at the corner of his mouth.
The bathroom door swung open behind him.
Maggie leaned against the frame— oversized blue sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder, black leggings, bare feet, arms folded loosely. She tapped her wristwatch with one finger— playful, teasing.
“We should be on the road by now,” she said. “My dad— the one you’re so pumped up and excited to meet— might not feel the same way about you. So don’t get your hopes up too high.”
Andrew gave himself one final glance in the mirror— small nod of approval— then turned to face her, smile easy but eyes bright with anticipation.
“Well, first impressions do matter,” he said, stepping closer. “And I’m keen on making a very good one. Despite what you think about your relationship with him.”
Maggie rolled her eyes— fond, exasperated. “He doesn’t give a fuck about what you wear. Trust me.”