Chapter 62 Come In
"Good," she said, her smile widening.
"I'm also hoping I finally get those painting lessons you promised," Andrew added teasingly. "I've got a blank canvas that's been mocking me for weeks."
Maggie tilted her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Lessons? From a pro? Only if you’re willing to pay the instructor’s fee."
Andrew grinned. "I already told you, that’s no worries. Name your price."
"We'll negotiate later," she laughed. "Are you heading back to the dorm now?"
Andrew nodded. "Yeah. I think I need to relax, sleep for an hour, and find something to eat before I come over to your place. I'm running on caffeine and drained energy right now."
"That sounds like a solid plan," Maggie agreed.
"What about you?" Andrew asked. "Heading home?"
Maggie gestured back toward the other end of the hall where Lily was still chatting with a group of classmates. "Lily and I still have a few things to wrap up on campus— library returns and some club stuff— before I can head out."
"Fair enough," Andrew said. He looked at his watch. "You'll be done with all that before seven? I don't want to show up while you're still busy."
"I'll be ready," Maggie promised. "Seven o'clock sharp."
"Alright," Andrew said, stepping back but lingering for a second.
"See you at seven then."
"See you then," Maggie replied.
She watched him turn and walk away, his tall frame cutting through the crowd with an easy grace. She waited until he turned the corner before she pivoted on her heel and headed back to Lily, a much lighter spring in her step than when the exam had first ended.
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'LATER IN THE DAY'
The streetlights outside the main campus gate burned a steady amber at 7:02 p.m., casting long shadows across the crosswalk and turning the asphalt into a slick, reflective ribbon. Andrew stood on the curb opposite Maggie’s building— black long-sleeve crew neck hugging his shoulders and chest, sleeves pushed to his elbows, dark jeans, black sneakers. No jacket; the October chill hadn’t quite bitten yet. In his left hand he held nothing— no flowers, no takeout, just the quiet certainty that he’d already been invited inside.
Traffic rolled past in slow waves— students on bikes, a delivery scooter, a couple of cars with windows down blasting music. Andrew rocked once on his heels, breath fogging faintly in the cool air. His phone buzzed once in his pocket— he ignored it. The light changed. Engines quieted. He crossed in long, even strides—seven steps to the other side— then pushed through the glass doors of the building.
The lobby smelled of polished stone and faint citrus from the diffuser on the concierge desk. Marble floors gleamed under recessed lighting; the elevator bank glowed softly ahead. Andrew didn’t pause. He veered left toward the stairwell door— steel with a push-bar handle— shoved it open, and started climbing.
Each flight echoed— sneakers slapping concrete, steady rhythm of his breathing. First floor. Second. Third. The door at the landing opened with a soft hydraulic sigh. He stepped into the corridor— long, quiet, lined with matte-black doors and brushed-nickel numbers.
He pulled his phone from his back pocket, thumbed it awake. Maggie’s last message glowed:
Apartment 15. See you at 7.
He muttered under his breath—“Apartment fifteen”—and slid the phone back into his pocket. His eyes swept the doors— 11, 12, 13, 14…
15.
Matte black, no peephole cover, a simple illuminated doorbell beside the handle. Andrew stopped in front of it. Cleared his throat— once, quietly. Ran a hand down the front of his shirt— smooth, unnecessary. Rolled his shoulders once. Then he exhaled— long, slow— and pressed the bell.
Inside the penthouse the chime sounded— soft, melodic, two rising notes.
Maggie was curled on the sectional in the living room— legs tucked under her, oversized cream sweater slipping off one shoulder, black leggings, bare feet. The flat-screen glowed with a wildlife documentary: slow pans across golden dunes, a camel’s long lashes blinking against the wind, narrator’s calm British voice murmuring about thermoregulation. She’d been half-watching, half-lost in thought, when the bell rang.
Her head snapped up. A smile broke across her face— sudden, bright, unguarded. She sprang to her feet, sweater falling back into place.
“I’m coming— give me a sec!”
She padded across the hardwood— quick steps, almost skipping— muttering to herself, “That must be him.”
At the door she rose onto her toes, pressed one eye to the peephole. Andrew stood there— tall, shoulders filling the frame, black shirt clinging just right, small nervous smile tugging his lips. Her own smile widened— eyes crinkling at the corners.
She twisted the deadbolt— click— pulled the door open.
“You’re here,” she said, voice bright with delight, meeting his gaze.
“I am.” Andrew’s smile deepened— slow, warm, voice low and smooth like dark honey. “Right on time.”
Maggie stepped back, sweeping one arm inward. “Come in, come in.”