Andy leveled an even gaze in my direction, an eyebrow lifted subtly as if she knew exactly how much her prolonged silence tortured me.
She knew. She knew, and she liked it.
“Maybe I’ll go with you. But I reserve the right to eat nothing, criticize everything, and drink a lot of beer.”
I always knew the serious, composed woman working beside me each day was only one iteration of Andy Asani, and along the way, getting past her poised veneer turned into another one of my missions. It also seriously threatened my mental health.
“That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
Just book the padded cell for me now.
*
We were inan odd lull with many of our projects, and Friday was miraculously free from site visits that would put us side-by-side in the car all day. It was no surprise to find Andy seated at the drafting table when I arrived, her long legs tangled around the stool like dark, sexy vines.
We exchanged silent pleasantries, and I knew enough about Andy’s concentration to know she needed quiet. I admired her preference to go all in when she was designing on paper, shutting everything else out and allowing her instincts to guide her. It was tempting to offer constructive criticism while she worked but my obsession was too deep, and I couldn’t focus on the lines without wanting to touch her.
And kiss her.
And breathe in her scent.
And feel her body against mine.
I stayed away, promising myself I would get my Andy fix over the weekend, and as usual, email beckoned. An hour passed before putting a sizeable dent in my inbox. Andy was lost in her focus, and didn’t notice when Matt’s chime sounded on my phone.
09:51 Matt:Widow, incoming.
09:51 Matt:she’s locked and loaded.
09:52 Matt:bunker down.
Glancing up, I saw Shannon’s hair flashing in the doorframe. “You haven’t been to Wellesley.”
Shannon stormed into my office, slamming the door behind her. Andy roused from her headspace but kept her eyes on the table. Though I knew she heard most everything, Andy excelled at seeming to ignore the endless stream of visitors into my office.
“Good morning, Shannon. It’s nice to see you too,” I replied.
“If you’re not going out to Wellesley today, I’m going,” Shannon said. “But I’ve looked at your calendar, and you have time. I’m scheduled to meet with our accountants to make sure everyone gets paid on time. Would you rather I do that, or go to Wellesley?”
“Fine.” I closed my laptop and tucked it into my messenger bag. “I’ll go.”
“Take Andy. I don’t want you going alone in case there is a pack of pit bulls, or something.”
“Right. Better for us both to be attacked by the pit bulls.” Andy looked up, our eyes met, and I shrugged.
“I hear pit bulls can be quite friendly,” she offered, shrugging in return. “All depends on the upbringing. My mentor at Cornell, Charlotte, used to foster pit bulls and none of them killed her. A few attacks, maybe, but she’s alive.”
Andy delivered with the sardonic banter. Every time. Her dry wit ran to the bone. It came through in our lunchtime chats and long discussion of all things architectural at the bar, and her social media posts commenting on pop culture, politics, and mundane things offered a covert glimpse.
“Exactly. These would be the worst pit bulls imaginable.”
“No,” Shannon replied, drawing the word out. “You can go in, fight off the pit bulls, and Andy can call 911 from the car if you lose a leg. Andy, we’d like to keep. You, we can do without.” She pointed her finger at me. “Do it today, and don’t think you can be all disgruntled later and skip the party.”
Shit.The party.
“Fine,” I repeated. “Anything else, Shannon?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her lips pursed as if she was holding back on the stinging commentary.
