Chapter 73 I Appreciate the Compliment
They turned— hands still clasped— facing the small crowd of people who mattered most.
The celebrant raised his voice— joyful.
“Ladies and gentlemen— Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Lock!”
The applause swelled again— louder, warmer.
Maggie leaned into Andrew’s side— his arm around her waist— her head resting briefly against his chest.
Noah stood— slow, deliberate— walked to them.
He stopped in front of Andrew first— extended his hand.
Andrew took it— firm grip.
Noah pulled him into a quick, strong hug— patting his back twice.
“Congratulations son-in-law.”
Andrew’s throat worked— voice rough. “Thank you, Mr. Moon.”
Noah turned to Maggie— cupped her face gently— kissed her forehead.
“I’m very proud of you,” he said— quiet, thick. “You've made me so happy.”
Maggie’s eyes shimmered— she hugged him— tight, longer than she had in years.
Noah stepped back— looked between them— smiled.
“Now—let’s go celebrate.”
The small crowd rose— chairs scraping sand— people moving forward— hugs, handshakes, laughter.
Andrew and Maggie stayed where they were— hands still linked— watching their people come to them.
The sun climbed higher.
The ocean kept breathing.
And under the rose-twined arch, two people who had found each other stood together— married, whole, beginning.
'DAYS LATER— NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA. 6:07 PM'
The honeymoon suite at the Hotel Monteleone overlooked the French Quarter— balconies dripping with ironwork, jazz drifting up from the street below, warm evening light slanting through tall windows. The living area was spacious— deep velvet couch, marble coffee table, a flat-screen mounted above a faux fireplace. Maggie sat curled in one corner of the couch—l egs tucked under her, oversized hotel robe loose around her shoulders, hair in a messy topknot. On the screen: Money Heist, season one, episode three— Tokyo’s voiceover sharp and urgent.
Andrew stepped out of the bedroom— black T-shirt, grey joggers, barefoot— hair still damp from the shower. He crossed the room, bent over the back of the couch, pressed a soft kiss to Maggie’s forehead.
She tilted her head back— smiled up at him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He lingered— nose brushing her hair— then glanced at the TV. “What’re you watching?”
“Money Heist. It’s new. Really good.”
Andrew chuckled— low. “I can see you’re into it.”
Maggie nodded— eyes still glued to the screen. “Very.”
He straightened. “I’m heading out— quick stroll through the Quarter. Want to tag along?”
Maggie shook her head— slow. “No. Maybe some other time. Unless you’re willing to wait till I finish this episode.”
Andrew smiled— soft. “Don’t worry. Enjoy the show.”
He turned toward the door— crossed the room— reached for the handle.
Maggie’s voice stopped him.
“Hey— if you see an ice-cream shop, get me vanilla?”
Andrew glanced back— grin wide. “Alright.”
He pulled the door open— stepped into the hallway.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Maggie settled deeper into the couch— smile lingering— then turned the volume up one notch.
The Professor’s voice filled the room— calm, calculated.
Outside, New Orleans hummed— brass horns, laughter, the low rumble of streetcars.
Inside, Maggie watched— content, warm, waiting for vanilla ice cream and the man who always brought it home.
Ten minutes later— 6:19 p.m.— Andrew strolled down Chartres Street, hands in pockets, taking in the city: iron balconies dripping with ferns, musicians playing on corners, the smell of beignets and bourbon mixing in the air. Tourists wandered, locals moved with purpose. He smiled— easy— content.
He turned a corner— narrow sidewalk, crowd thickening near Jackson Square.
A young woman— early twenties, brownish-blonde hair loose around her shoulders— stepped backward from a street performer, laughing, not looking.
Andrew didn’t see her in time.
Their shoulders collided— gentle but sudden. Her iPad slipped from her hands— clattered to the pavement.
“Watch where you’re going!” she barked— sharp, automatic.
Andrew winced. “Sorry— sorry—”
They both crouched— reaching at the same time. Their fingers brushed— brief, electric. Both froze. Looked up.
Her eyes— hazel, wide— met his— brown, startled.
A beat.
Then she smiled— polite, softening. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”
Andrew shook his head— quick. “Nonsense. I’m the one who should apologize. Wasn’t looking where I was going.”
They rose slowly— Andrew towering at six-seven, her petite five-three looking up at him. The smile stayed on her face— warm now, curious.
Andrew glanced at the iPad in her hand. “I hope I didn’t break it.”
She looked down— checked the screen, flipped it over. “Doesn’t look broken.”
“Thank God,” Andrew said— gentle, relieved— eyes still on hers.
She tilted her head— smile lingering. “I’m Amelia. A fitness coach.”
“Andrew.” He extended his hand.
She took it— firm, brief. “Are you on IG?"
"Are you into working out?”
Andrew laughed— soft. “I'm not a gym bro. But I do visit the gym once in a while.”
Amelia’s eyes swept over him— hungry, deliberate. “With this body? You clearly train often.”
Andrew’s smile was steady, assured. “Thanks. I appreciate the compliment.”