Chapter 57 I Like the Shirt
The question hung in the air, heavier than the radiator’s hiss, heavier than the faint footsteps echoing down the corridor. Andrew didn’t answer right away. His chest rose and fell once, twice— like he was weighing the words, testing their gravity.
“I think…” His voice was low, uncertain. “I don’t know.”
Josh turned his head, studying him in the dim light. “That’s not something you should be unsure about, man.”
Andrew shifted, propping himself on one elbow. His grin was gone, stripped away, leaving only something rawer— something that didn’t bother with bravado. His gaze locked on Josh’s.
“I’ve given you the best answer I can. There’s no polishing it.”
Josh’s brow furrowed. “I don’t get it. It’s a simple question. Do you genuinely like her or not?”
Andrew’s lips moved, but the words came out barely audible. “Only time will tell.”
Josh frowned. “What did you say? Didn’t catch that.”
Andrew’s voice rose, sharper now. “It’s nothing.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward— it was charged, alive, as though the room itself was holding its breath. The lamp buzzed faintly, blinds rattled with a passing breeze, and somewhere outside a bird tested the morning with a tentative call.
Josh exhaled, long and slow, before a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “You sound confused to me.”
Andrew chuckled, but the sound was softer now, fragile, almost uncertain. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Josh shook his head, confusion clouding his features. “Hopeless… completely hopeless.”
Andrew lay back again, folding his arms behind his head. His smile lingered— quiet, private. And in a whisper meant only for himself, almost like a vow, he breathed:
“I know what I’m doing. There’s something I want from her, and I’m going to get it.”
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'A FEW HOURS LATER'
The coffee shop Q&S sat tucked against the edge of the WSU quad, all floor-to-ceiling glass and exposed brick, the kind of place that smelled perpetually of fresh-ground beans and warm vanilla. At 11:03 a.m. sunlight poured through the windows in wide, honey-colored bands, catching on the copper espresso machine behind the counter and turning every spoon and saucer into a tiny mirror. Soft indie folk played from overhead speakers— acoustic guitar and gentle harmonies— while the barista called out orders in a calm, practiced cadence.
Andrew stood on the opposite curb, bouquet of red roses cradled against his chest like a shield. Traffic crawled past— students on bikes, a delivery van, a slow-moving Prius— each vehicle stretching the seconds longer. His thumb hovered over his phone screen when it buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out fast.
Maggie’s name lit the lock screen.
I’m here. Where are you?
Andrew’s pulse kicked up half a notch. He swiped the message open, thumbs already moving.
Literally at the opposite side of Q&S. Bout to cross. Just waiting for traffic to clear so I can get over there.
He hit send, pocketed the phone, and rocked once on his heels— loafers scuffing the curb. The roses trembled slightly in his grip; one thorn pricked his thumb. He didn’t notice.
Across the street, inside the shop, Maggie sat at a corner two-top near the window— baggy pink oversized button-down tucked loosely into a blue denim mini-skirt, white Nike sneakers hooked around the chair leg. A tall can of sparkling water beaded with condensation on the table beside her open notebook; straw bent between her lips. She read Andrew’s reply, lips parting around the straw in a small, involuntary smile.
She lifted her gaze through the glass. There he was— tall, shoulders squared, roses vivid against his white shirt, eyes scanning the road like he could will the cars to disappear. Her smile grew— slow, soft, private. She tapped a quick reply.
I can see you.
Send.
Andrew’s phone buzzed again. He read it, exhaled a short laugh through his nose, and dropped the device back into his pocket. The light changed. Traffic paused. He jogged across— long strides, careful not to jostle the bouquet— rose petals quivering with each step.
He pushed through the glass door; the bell chimed once. Cool air and coffee aroma washed over him. His eyes found her immediately— corner table, pink shirt glowing in the sunlight. He crossed the room in eight strides, smile breaking wider with every step.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Maggie’s voice came soft, warm. She removed the straw from her lips, set the sparkling water down. Her smile mirrored his— small at first, then blooming.
Andrew slid into the chair opposite her, setting the roses carefully on the table between them. “Sorry for keeping you waiting.”
“You don’t have to be.” Maggie shook her head once. “I literally just got here. Not even up to five minutes ago.”
Andrew’s gaze flicked down— took in the pink shirt, the denim skirt, the sneakers— then back up to her face. “You look nice. I like the shirt.”