Chapter 27 - Andie
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Andie
The café is crowded with scents of fresh coffee and warm pastries filling the air. My leg bounces up and down, making the table shake. I’m a wreck, a bundle of nerves, and all but ready to throw up at the idea of going through with this.
I’m trying to ground myself, focusing on the smooth texture of the coffee cup in my hands and the smell of the beans. The heat from the ceramic mug feels warm against my fingers, almost too hot, but I continue gripping tightly anyway, like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered.
People bump my chair as they walk past, but nothing registers except the bell hanging above the door, while my legs continue their rebellion against sitting still.
That damn bell is going to give me a heart attack if I continue to tense every time it makes a noise.
My hand unconsciously drifts to my throat, where my ring once sat, but I quickly remember I keep it securely in the safe. I can feel the phantom weight of it, burning against my skin like a personal branding.
The bell continues to have my full attention with quick glances to see who’s walking through the door each time it goes off. Nerves course through me. 8:55 a.m.
Only five minutes until he arrives, what are the odds I can escape through the bathroom window?
Each tick of the second hand cranks my nerves up a notch like a countdown to my undoing. I can’t even tell if I’m nervous about speaking with him or terrified that seeing him will remind me exactly what I’m missing out on.
Great job, Andie. You chose a public place so you wouldn’t make a scene, but now you can’t even bolt without an audience.
The last ring of the bell sends my body into shut down mode as Spencer walks through the door. Legs? They stopped. Mind? Blank. My lower region? Yep, that’s right, burning with the need to straddle him again.
Damn it. I hate how every time I see him my body aches for him, for his touch. Why does he have to look so damn good? This is exactly why I didn’t want him coming over last night. I know myself too well—I’d never get the words out if we were alone.
As he scans the room, finally locking eyes with me, his mouth curves into a perfectly delectable smile. It’s the most intoxicating sight. I remain frozen in my seat without removing my gaze from him. The silence doesn’t faze him one bit as he slides into the chair across from me.
The waitress rushes over to help Spencer with his order. She’s cute, looks to be about twenty. I don’t remember the service being this quick in previous visits. Typically, I sit for a while before anyone notices me, I might as well be part of the furniture or a ghost.
Her gaze locks on him like a single woman who’s lined up to catch a bouquet at a wedding. She leans in so close that I can count the freckles on her breasts as she points out the special. One wrong move and I’m ready to snatch her by her perky ponytail for making advances toward him.
Can she not take a hint? The man is sitting with someone. And that someone is about five seconds away from attacking you with this fork.
I can’t help but deviously smile when she places her hand on his arm, imagining the different ways I can make her disappear quietly.
Wow, this possessive side of Andie is super scary. Why do I even care? We aren’t really an item. I came here to get closure with him. But is that what I really want? Maybe not, now that I have him here with me.
Watching him politely remove her hand from his arm has me smiling for a different reason, a less vicious one. She finally gets the picture when she realizes his eyes haven’t left my face. She hasn’t registered on his radar at all.
“Just plain black coffee is fine, thank you,” he tells her without looking up. “Do you want more of something?”
Lifting my cup showing him it’s still nearly full. “I’m good, thanks.”
The waitress huffs slightly as she realizes she’s been completely dismissed. I glance in time to see her annoyance before she stalks away. I turn my attention back to Spencer as he nods, remaining perfectly still, waiting for me to make the first move.
We sit in silence for a moment longer, just staring at each other.
I take in the familiar features of his face I’ve missed while we’ve been apart—the strong jawline, the way his brown hair is perfectly styled, but it’s his eyes that hold me captive.
Those deep pools of ocean blue irises are filled with emotions.
There’s a genuine concern, as he swallows hard, bracing himself for our talk.
I can see the need for answers written all over his face, the questions he’s dying to ask, but holding back.
Even in his time of distress, he’s putting my comfort first.
I don’t know if I should start or keep waiting for him to make the first move. Spencer decides to throw me a bone and break the awkward silence.
“You look good.”
“Thank you. How have you been?” I ask.
How have you been? What a stupid question. What is wrong with me? Why don’t I just ask him about the weather while I’m at it.
He shakes his head, obviously aggravated with my response and wanting that promised explanation.
“How do you think I’ve been, Andie?” Frustration evident but not raising his voice.
Wincing at his tone, I’ve never heard him upset before.
I feel like a child whose parents just told them they were disappointed in them.
“I’ve been trying to contact you for a week now.
But you’ve been dodging my calls and texts.
Maddie kicked me out because you locked yourself in a bathroom and wouldn’t come out.
” He takes a breath, running his hand through his hair, gripping it at the base for a moment.
So, I’m gathering you haven’t been well. Not the time for sarcasm.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to be calm and collected, but Andie, I’ve been miserable waiting for you to talk to me. Do you realize I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again? How that makes me feel?”
The water behind my eyes starts to fill, but I refuse to let a tear fall. I’m strong and I can handle this. I’m an adult, and his words don’t have to make me cry. No way am I going to be that girl, you know, the one crying in a coffee shop, making a scene.
“I know—I know. I’m sorry.”
“Just tell me what went wrong that night? Was it something I did? I thought we had an amazing night. I mean, by far one of the best nights of my life, then you stop talking to me with no explanation. What changed? Why are you shutting me out?”
I shut my eyes, hoping this is all a dream, and I’ll wake up with a much better excuse than the truth. He’s not yelling, but the hurt in his voice is enough to make my heart ache. I have to tell him. He has to know. There is no way around this.
“Cody.”
The name slips from my lips, like I’m betraying him just by speaking about him to another man. Confusion paints Spencer’s face. His forehead wrinkles a little as he tilts his head, trying to understand the meaning of my word.
“What? Cody? Who is Cody?”
My eyes open, staring directly into those beautiful, hurt-filled eyes. His eyebrows are doing that cute, furrowed brow thing they do when he’s lost.
Not the time to notice that Andie.
“Cody is my husband.” I pause, correcting myself. “I mean . . . was my husband.”
Spencer leans back in his chair shaking his head. I feel myself losing him. Seconds away from leaving. He may have wanted answers, but this was one he wasn’t looking for.
“Cody was my husband. He is . . . was . . . I don’t know” What tense do you use when you still love someone, but they are no longer with you?
“Doesn’t matter, he’s the love of my life—”
Spencer’s face goes pale as he starts to push back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor as he begins to stand. “Andie, I—”
“Wait! Please don’t leave,” I say in a panic, reaching across the table for him.
“Please, just let me get this out.” He freezes halfway up, conflict swimming in his eyes.
For a brief moment, I think he’s going to walk away.
Then slowly, he sinks down into his chair keeping his distance from me as he leans back.
“He died, Spencer. Cody died.” The words tumble out in a desperate attempt to save the conversation. It’s small, but the shift in Spencer’s body language gives off a concerned but attentive vibe, so I continue.
“Before I shut down, as you so eloquently put it, I had a dream. One similar to the night before he died. I’m sorry, I freaked out.
” I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes again, trying to force myself to finish the whole story.
“I didn’t know how to handle the guilt. It felt like I was cheating on him by being with you, and so I panicked. ”
I open my eyes to see his face fill with sympathy.
Fuck I hate that look. The one that tells me I am broken.
“I’m sorry, Andie. I can’t imagine how that felt for you.”
“No, Spencer, stop. Please stop . . . I don’t want your sympathy. I just want you to understand what happened so that you can move on.” A natural reaction has me now starting to gather my things to leave before it can get worse.
Bolt like you always do when it gets too hard Andie, good move. I see we are making real progress.
“Move on?” His hand catches my arm, the touch itself was like pushing pause on the remote, causing me to stop mid escape.
“Andie, I don’t want to move on. I want to be here.
I want to be with you.” This man can’t be serious, but the look he’s giving me tells me he’s not joking around.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I don’t want you to shut me out. Talk to me. Let me in.”
Where did this guy even come from? No one is this patient, this understanding. His reactions are like hitting the lottery.
“You make it sound so easy.” Like ordering off a menu. Yes, I’ll take one serving of emotional vulnerability with a side of not freaking out, please.