She blushes again, but this time it’s not embarrassment. It’s something else. Pride, maybe. Or defiance.
I keep going. “Full disclosure, I did some snooping. I wanted to see you again, so I looked up your name on the catering staff list, and I figured out your contact info. That’s how I got your number,” I rasp, holding my hands up. “Yes, I stalked you sweetheart. I used my position of power to get information about you.”
She sets her cup down, the porcelain clinking against the saucer. She looks straight at me, blue eyes so clear I can see my own reflection in them.
“I figured that’s what happened. But I wanted to see you, too,” she says, soft but certain. “But I have to tell you something. Before this goes any further.”
My gut tightens, but I nod. “Go ahead.”
She draws in a breath, steadying herself. “Actually, we know someone in common.”
I pause. “Who?”
Andie takes a deep breath and then looks into my eyes. “Stella. Your daughter. I know she’s at Century. I live down the hall from her. Plus, well, Stella knows.”
A cold sweat prickles at the back of my neck. “She knows about what? About us?” My voice is lower now, almost a growl.
Andie nods, once. “Yes.”
“How?”
Andie swallows, the elegant curve of her throat distracting me for a second. “"Well, I told her, sort of. There was a photo.”
My mouth goes dry. “Right.”
Andie bites her lip, then forces herself to say it. “Yes, you remember. I took a picture of you. After, um, the time in the library. I showed it to my friends, including Stella. I didn’t know she was your daughter but then she freaked out when she saw it, and everything came to light.”
There’s a long silence. I stare at the table, fingers tight around the coffee cup. For a moment, I want to smash something. But then, as the logic sorts itself, I find myself laughing. At the absurdity. At the inevitability.
“Well,” I say. “At least Stella didn’t walk in on usen flagrante.” I look at Andie, and she’s laughing too, both of us helpless against the tidal wave of what-the-fuck.
I sober for a moment.
“Did Stella see my you-know-what?” I ask off-handedly. “If I recall, you got a picture of my tool in that photo.”
Andie bites her lips and smiles, cheeks going rosy.
“Yes, and she looked like she was going to puke,” Andie says. “I’ve never seen anyone go so green, so fast.”
I snort.
“I’m sure she’ll recover. Or she’ll need therapy. Maybe both.” The laughter feels good. It burns off the shame, the anxiety, leaves only a raw, open honesty.
We sit there, both of us lighter, the moment charged but no longer dangerous. Our hands inch closer on the table, fingers almost touching.
I relax for the first time all day. “So,” I say, “now that we’ve crossed every possible line, what do you want to do?”
Andie looks at me, eyes dancing. “I want to keep talking. I want to know more about you. The real you. Not the guy who sits on the Board, not the guy in the suit.”
I nod. “Fair enough. But I want the same from you. I want to know who you are, Andie. No filters.”
She grins, a real one this time. “Deal.”
We both reach for our coffees, and this time, our fingers touch. The shock is real, a jolt that travels up my arm and settles in my chest.
For the first time, I feel like I’m meeting her for real.
And I like it.
