The Way Back | ✓

3.1

London decided to help him out. He had that divorce meeting to get to. She definitely didn't want him having a bad stomach on a day like this. It was a big day. And so she propped open his fridge, scavenged through and found some mayonnaise, cucumber, a half steak and sauce. Cutting a small piece of the steak, she then cut the small portion into tinier pieces before grabbing a bowl from the disher and filling it with mayonnaise, the chopped beef and a few slices of cucumber. She beamed, just thinking of how good it would taste if she had some cheese which was unfortunate since he didn't have that in the refrigerator. A rack of spices had clearly labelled bottles in a precise and neat handwriting. London didn't need labels to identify her spices but Andrew probably did. From the bad tester sandwich she'd already concluded that he wasn't a good cook.

She finished preparing the filling and laid it all out on the two slices of fresh bread, which she spotted on the kitchen counter. As she layered the top of the sandwich with a little butter which she also found on top of the kitchen counter, Andrew walked in.

One look at her and one look at the bitten sandwich he'd made told him that his attempt had been futile. He lifted his sandwich and nodded at the sandwich press which was toasting his bread. "That bad, huh?"

"Well," London dragged out, not sure if she should give him the truth or a tenny white lie. He caught on from her tone.

"I've never really cooked before," he admitted, laughing lightly as he threw his own sandwich in the dustbin. "I even had to ask Talia to help me grocery shop and asked her to label the spices for me." He pointed at the spice rack. Ah, so that explained it.

"Yeah, I figured you were a bad cook. An amatuer could make a good sandwich. It's the easiest thing to do."

"I can do eggs!" he exclaimed defensively.

"What kind?"

"Scrambled. I burn everything else," he laughed, adding the last bit as an afterthought. "Talia loved cooking and she hated when I tried to help. I always burnt something or added too much salt—"

"—Which you did for that sandwich, by the way," she inputted.

Andrew rolled his eyes. "And that's why she preferred me away from the kitchen. I'm good with house chores though, so it was balanced work."

Hearing about how his marriage worked was oddly not all that uncomfortable, not how it was when London found out he actually was married. Perhaps it had a little to do with the fact that he'd made it known to her, just minutes ago, that he was on his way to sign his divorce papers.

"Speaking of Talia," he said, reaching for the kitchen drawer before pulling out a brown bag. "How do you think I look? Presentable enough?"

He placed the brown bag on the kitchen table-top and held apart his hands. His question was a valid one and it was the only reason why she took so long checking to see if he looked presentable. It was the only reason. It was totally not because he actually looked very handsome, with his hair combed, his face shaved, his smile wider and his suit fitting oh-so-perfectly on him. Definitely not.

"Good," she managed to croak out. Mentally berating herself for sounding like she was having something being done to her, she smiled, clearing her throat and repeating, "Good. You look good. Just fine. Absolutely presentable."

He raised his eyebrows at her, silently questioning her words. Did she really sound that breathless? It was probably her imagination. "Thanks," he said at last, a light smile touching his lips. "I should get going. Don't want to give the lawyer any bad impressions."

"Definitely not," she agreed, quickly turning away from him and towards the sandwich press, desperate to gather herself and calm down the blush she was certain had tinted her cheeks. What had gotten into her? Why was she so flustered?

She helped him get his sandwich packed before they both headed for the door. Just as the elevator closed, he dug out his phone.

"It's weird how we keep running into each other," he started, "What would be less weird is if we met up after I called you or something."

"What?" It took awhile for his words to register in her mind. Giggling, she asked, "Oh, you want my number?"

"Er yeah," he said, lifting his free hand to rub the back of his neck. London had observed quite a number of people in her life, especially given her place of work, and it seemed like most men had a habit of rubbing or scratching the back of their necks if they felt nervous or squeamish. She hoped to God that Andrew Cai was not feeling squeamish for asking her number. Though that would certainly have been strange so he must have been feeling nervous.

Her heart fluttered and she quickly told it to shut up.

He was still married.

He still wore that bloody ring.

This was all still so wrong.

So so so wrong.

Why did it not feel like it?

She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. Unlocking it, she opened her contacts and handed her phone over to him. "You can add your number in," she told him and he gave her his phone to do likewise.

They exited the building, parting ways, both having one new shiny contact in their phone.