Chapter 21
Building It Either Way
Andi
Thursday afternoon, and I was standing outside Gavin's office building with two iced coffees and a bag of sandwiches from the deli near The Grind.
Every morning, he called me as soon as he was up, knowing I would already be on the move. This morning he'd sounded frazzled, though. I learned quickly that he was drowning in a project deadline and we likely wouldn’t be able to see one another for the day.
So here I was, showing up at his workplace like a normal girlfriend would, lunch in hand. The thought made me smile as I pushed through the glass doors.
The lobby was all modern minimalism—concrete floors, exposed ductwork, those expensive-looking chairs nobody actually sat in. A receptionist looked up when I approached.
"Hi, I'm here to see Gavin Byrne?"
"Is he expecting you?"
"No, but I come bearing food." I held up the bag. "I'm his girlfriend."
The word still felt new. Foreign. But good.
She smiled. "Fifth floor. I'll let his assistant know you're coming up."
The elevator opened directly into an open office space—drafting tables, computer stations, a few people hunched over screens or blueprints. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded everything with natural light.
Gavin was standing at a desk just outside a glass-walled office, leaning over as his assistant, Gillian, who was on the phone.
Her head was down, leaving only her fashionably silver hair and neck scarf visible from my vantage point.
She covered the receiver with one hand and turned to him, murmuring something that made his stern expression crack into a smile.
Then her eyes lifted and flicked toward the elevator, as she nodded in my direction.
Gavin's head snapped up, his gaze finding mine instantly. The moment he saw me, he straightened and started toward me with purposeful strides. My stomach flipped, initial worry about interrupting his workday dissolving into fluttering excitement.
"Hey," he said when he reached me, and before I could say anything, he pulled me into a quick kiss right there in the middle of his office. He broke the kiss, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his lips curved into a delighted smile. "This is a surprise."
"You said you were drowning. I brought life preservers." I held up the bag. "Turkey on rye and an iced coffee."
The tension melted from his face, replaced by a smile that reached his eyes. "You're perfect."
"I'm really not."
"To me, you are." He took the bag and the coffee. "Give me about five minutes? I just need to finish getting some information from Gillian for a call with the contractor and then—"
"Gavin!" a voice called from inside the conference room next to his office. A man in his fifties appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand, looking impatient. "We need those revised elevations."
"Two minutes, Richard," Gavin called back. He turned to me, apologetic. "I'm sorry. This project is—"
"Go," I said. "Do your thing. I'll wait."
"Grab a seat." He pointed to his office. "Make yourself comfortable. I promise this won't take long."
"Take your time. I brought a book." I pulled out my phone. "And by book, I mean I'll probably just scroll through the socials like everyone else."
He grinned, kissed me again quickly, and headed back to his office.
I watched him go, then looked around. Gillian had a folder for him that he grabbed as he walked by. She looked my way and grinned as I approached. "Brought him some lunch? You're going to spoil him."
"He sounded stressed this morning. Figured he needed it."
"Stressed is an understatement. That Seaport project is eating him alive." She gestured toward Gavin's office. "Go on in. He'll wrap up in a few minutes. You know where everything is."
I smiled at Gillian and slipped a wrapped sandwich and pickle from my bag, placing them on her desk as I passed.
"Is that for me?" she called after me, surprise in her voice.
"Can't let you starve while he gets fed," I said over my shoulder. "Everyone needs lunch."
Behind me came the crinkle of butcher paper and then her muffled voice around what I guessed was already a mouthful: "You're a lifesaver!"
I headed into Gavin's office, leaving the door cracked.
The space still felt new to me, even though I'd been here a few times now.
Clean lines. Organized, but lived-in. That massive window overlooking the harbor that made me understand why he loved what he did.
And in the corner, his drafting table—always covered in papers, always in controlled chaos.
I set my coffee and the sandwich bag on the small side table by the guest chairs and looked around.
The framed building photos on the walls—projects he'd completed.
Modern apartment buildings, a sleek office complex, that library in Cambridge he'd shown me pictures of before it was built.
His bookshelf, crammed with architecture texts and code manuals, some with sticky notes jutting out at odd angles.
And on his desk, a sweet photo of Charisse at eight years old, gap-toothed and grinning.
I could hear Gavin's voice, patient but firm. "Richard, if we cut corners on the foundation inspection, we're setting ourselves up for major problems down the line... I understand the timeline. I do. But I'm not signing off on anything that could compromise structural integrity."
I smiled. He was so good at his job. So careful. So thorough. And so hot.
The drafting table drew my attention. Blueprints were spread across the surface, some rolled up and secured with rubber bands. Pencils in a cup. A scale ruler. Post-it notes with reminders stuck to the edge of the table.
I moved closer, curious about what he was working on. The top sheet made my breath catch.
Grind Coffee - Patio Expansion Project
My heart stopped. I glanced back at Gavin through the glass wall between his office and the conference room—still on the phone, gesturing as he talked—then pulled the paper toward me, careful not to disturb the others.
It was my building. My coffee shop. Detailed architectural drawings showing the back corner, the narrow alley, measurements and notations in handwriting I'd recognize anywhere.
An L-shaped deck wrapping around the back.
Sixteen tables with exact spacing measurements.
A mock up on the next page showed overhead string lights and wood beams. Planters positioned at each intersection without blocking the flow.
There was a ramp that went from the street along the back side, and his blueprint showed gradient notations.
Every single detail rendered with professional precision.
Holy shit. He'd designed a patio for my shop.
My hands trembled as I flipped to the next page. Material specifications laid out in neat columns. Cost estimates with multiple supplier options. Pros and cons of different decking materials. Everything annotated in his handwriting with notes like:
Comp decking - weather resist, 20yr wrnty. Best value: TimberTech. Ask Andi re: color preference.
Railing system - $40/linear ft. Modern cable rail vs traditional posts - Ask Andi
Tables - restaurant supply. Budget option $200 ea. vs premium $500 ea. Ask Andi re: aesthetic.
String lights - LED - Lantern? Modern? Ask Andi
Every note referenced me. My preferences. My input. Like he was designing this with me, not just for me.
I could barely breathe as I flipped to another page. Sketches of different table configurations. Lighting layouts comparing various options. Notes about sun exposure and shade patterns throughout the day.
And then I saw the permits.
Clipped to the side of the stack. Official stamps and signatures. City of Boston letterhead.
Permit Application Submitted: April 23
Permit approved: May 18
My vision blurred. We'd been together then. That was even before being labeled his friend. These permits were from before everything fell apart. He'd been working on this when I was still his secret.
I felt my thoughts scrambling to keep up as I flipped through more pages, my throat getting tighter with each one.
Notes in the margins asking questions he'd need to research.
Contractor recommendations with phone numbers.
A timeline showing the construction phases.
Cost breakdowns that proved he'd price-shopped every single element to get me the best value.
Estimated construction time: 4-6 weeks
Best time to start: Sept/Oct - after summer rush, before weather turns
Note: Coordinate with Andi's fall schedule/conflicts to minimize disruption
Even in April, he'd been thinking about September. Months of work. Hours and hours of research and planning and care. And he'd never said a word.
"Okay, Richard, I'll have those revisions to you by end of day." Gavin's voice cut through my thoughts. "Yes, I'm aware of the deadline. I'm on it."
I looked up and saw him moving from the conference room back into his office. He walked through the door and closed it behind him, flipping a switch on the panel by his side that turned the office walls from transparent to frosted glass.
"Sorry about that. Sometimes we get stuck talking through—"
He stopped mid-sentence as he realized what I was looking at.
"Oh."
I couldn't look away from him. I couldn’t even blink. My trembling hands were still on the blueprints, tears blurring the vision of the man standing before me.
"Andi?"
I took a shaky breath.
He stood frozen just inside the door he’d closed behind him, his expression caught somewhere between hope and fear. Like he wasn't sure if I was about to yell or cry, or walk out.
"What is all this?"
"Um. It’s uh—a patio for The Grind." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You did all this?"
"Yeah." He didn't move closer. "I did."
"The permits are dated April."
"Yeah."
"We were together then."
"We were."
My throat felt so tight I could barely speak. "How long have you been working on this?"
He finally moved, leaning against his desk but keeping distance between us.
"Started sketching in March. You mentioned wanting outdoor seating one night—just in passing, you probably don't even remember—and I couldn't stop thinking about it.
" His voice was soft. "How to make it work with your building layout.
What permits you'd need. Materials that would last through Boston winters. "
"March," I repeated.
"I submitted the application in April. Got approval in May." He ran a hand through his hair. "I was going to surprise you. Take you to dinner, spread these out on the table, watch your face light up when you realize what they were. I had all these plans."
"But then?"
"But then I called you my friend in front of Jake and destroyed everything.
" He gestured at the plans. "And these just... sat here at first. But then I started the mock up. I thought if we were going to break up. If I’d really fucked it up that badly, then I still wanted to do this for you.
So I started making calls the next week to get the material quotes. "
The tears spilled over. I couldn't stop them.
"Hey, no—" He moved toward me but stopped himself. "Please don't cry."
"I'm not—" I wiped at my face with the back of my hand. "I'm not crying because I'm sad."
"No?"
"I'm crying because you’d done so much." I touched the blueprints again. "Going back so far. Before everything fell apart. You were really doing this. Really with me."
"Of course I was." He closed the distance between us, his hands coming up to cup my face. His thumbs brushed at the tears on my cheeks, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine.
"Andi, I was always serious about you. I was just too much of a coward to show it the way I should have."
I looked up at him, our faces so close I could feel his breath against my lips.
All those hours of work. The permit dates proving he'd been thinking about my future even when he was scared to claim me in his present.
And then continuing even after everything fell apart, just because he wanted me to have it.
"This matters," I whispered.
"Yeah?"
"You were building something for me either way."
His forehead touched mine. "One day at a time," he murmured.
"One day at a time."
Then his lips found mine, and everything else disappeared. The blueprints, the office, the world outside those frosted glass walls. Just this kiss. Just us. Just the quiet certainty that sometimes love showed up in the work nobody else saw.