There aren’t many fictional books out there that have a main (or even secondary) character with my name. A quick online search didn’t produce many options. There’s Andrea in My Weird School children’s series by Dan Gutman. Being a teacher, I’ve read a couple of the books. The main character in Karin Slaughter’s psychological thriller series is named Andrea (who goes by Andy), but I haven’t read them nor have I watched the Netflix show they were made into. There’s a thriller called Ask for Andrea, which I haven’t read either, but to my understanding doesn’t actually have any character by that name. The main character of The Devil Wears Prada is named Andrea (although I think she goes by Andy). I read it ages ago, so I don’t remember much about it. According to my Goodreads account, I gave it only 2 stars. I’ve watched the movie, too, but don’t remember much of it either. Not exactly an exhaustive search, but still you get the idea.

It’s been a while since I last wrote any fiction, so here we are. I set out to write a short story with a character named Andrea. This one is a little longer than my other short stories I’ve published here. It is a work of fiction. No one has officially edited it, so there might be grammar errors and such. Hopefully not too many. Shoutout to my cousin Jen for providing feedback and ideas! She’s awesome! I keep trying to convince her to write a guest piece here on my blog, and I hope one day she will agree. Oh, and if anyone thinks up a good title for this story, please leave your suggestion in the comments. Thanks.

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“Excuse me, but I think you have my coffee.”

I looked up from my laptop, where I was looking at my wish list of travel destinations, and into the most stunning eyes I had ever seen. My brain registered that this guy was hot, like actor Glen Powell hot, but a bit more rugged. Still playing through my headphones was a song by Phoenix, so I was momentarily in sensory overload. Delicious aroma of coffee, amazing travel scenery, great song, and a hot guy saying something to me. I took off my headphones.

“Pardon?” I asked in my awkward, old-soul way. It was better than “huh,” but probably made me look like someone who was into Jane Austen cottagecore. Not that there was anything wrong with it.

“I think you took my coffee. I’m Andy, and see, the cup says ‘Andy’ on it,” he said, pointing to my coffee. His modest biceps peeked out from the sleeves of his black t-shirt. I swear, angels started singing in my head, but I managed to look at my cup, and sure enough it did say ‘Andy.’ That wasn’t really any surprise because my name is Andie, short for Andrea. The barista likely just spelled it the masculine way. It happens sometimes.

“No, I’m pretty sure this is my coffee. My name is Andrea, but I go by ‘Andie.’ They must have spelled it wrong.” I was definitely winning him over with my clever and witty banter.

He was smiling politely, but now looking just a little bit annoyed. “Okay, but that’s my drink. I ordered a toasted marshmallow latte with cinnamon.”

At that exact moment, the barista called out, “Toasted marshmallow latte with cinnamon for Andy.” We both looked at each other. He looked as confused as I must have looked.

“I’ll be right back. This mystery needs solving.”

As soon as his back was turned, like lightning I yanked the scrunchie out of my hair, grabbed some lip gloss from my purse, and thanked my lucky stars for wearing a decent outfit today. I didn’t believe in horoscopes and all that, but I was suddenly pretty curious what mine had to say about today. Maybe something along the lines of Be sure to go to Morning Jolt today. You will have a mysterious encounter with a handsome stranger.

Andy returned with a coffee in hand and an amused smile on his face. He turned the cup toward me. Plain as day, written above the shop’s logo and in the swirly handwriting of the barista was my name: Andie.

Oh, shit.

“Oh my God, I did take your coffee! I’m such a jerk,” I said, trying not to turn beet red and yet failing miserably. I put both hands on my face to hide my shame and could feel how hot my cheeks were in an instant. Not cute. He didn’t look angry about the coffee mix-up. In fact, he smiled.

“Let’s start over and make some sense out of this. Hi, I’m Andrew, but I go by Andy. Would it be alright if I joined you?” he asked, gesturing to the empty chair across from me. Sparks zinged through me. Charming bearded men were my weakness.

“Pleased to meet you, Andrew, who goes by Andy. I’m Andrea, also known as Andie. I like taking long walks on the beach and taking other people’s coffee,” I joked. He laughed, and I felt warm all over. He had a nice laugh, one that reached his eyes. It was genuine. Sneaking a peak at his left hand I didn’t see any wedding ring, so the smallest spark of hope began to glow in my heart.

Unfortunately, I knew how dangerous a bit of hope could end up being. The dating world was rough out there, and I had all but given up on finding someone decent. A few bad dates had begun to wreck my self-esteem, making me feel like I wasn’t good/fun/pretty/thin enough.

Andy sat down. He held up his cup and said, “Cheers.” It was so silly and yet so very much something I would have done.

“Cheers,” I replied and gently tapped my cup to his. We both thought it was weird how we had ordered the same coffee. It’s not like it was a common drink. I was pretty sure I invented it, while he was adamant that he did. We both agreed that the marshmallows on top were the best when slightly burnt. Over the course of the next couple of hours, we chatted about so many different things. He was an amazing story teller, and bonus, he loved to read books. Extra bonus, he laughed at my ridiculous jokes!

Our coffee cups had been empty for some time, but the conversation was still going when his phone chimed. Pulling it out of his pocket, he quickly read the text message. His smile dropped and I noticed an eye roll. In fact, his whole demeanor changed from easy going to a bit annoyed. Yikes.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” he said as he stood up, grabbing both of our empty cups. “It was really nice meeting you, Andie.”

“Likewise, Andy” I said, giving him my best smile. He didn’t catch it though because he was already dropping the cups into the trash and heading out the door. He didn’t leave the cups for me to clean up! He was a gentleman!

What was this feeling? Exhilaration? Giddiness? Morgan Freeman’s voice began to narrate in my head. Andie had done it. She had just aced two hours with the hottest guy she’d ever met. His name was also Andy. He was smart. He was funny. He had good taste in coffee and music … And he had just left without getting her number or email.

As the realization hit me, the smile slid off my face. Wait a second, He didn’t ask for my number. Did I miss something? I thought I was a pretty good judge of character, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was already in a relationship with someone and should not have been there talking to me? Maybe I had something stuck in my teeth? A quick glance in the reflection of my phone nixed that idea. Was it something I said? I didn’t want to admit it, but I had to face the fact that maybe it was just me. He didn’t feel the same “click” with me that I felt with him. Which really sucked. Two hours of easy conversation and he didn’t even ask for my number. Maybe today’s horoscope said, Stay home. My heart sank. Unbelievable.

No one would ever admit it out loud, but everyone has Facebook stalked at one point (or “researched” as some people call it), including me, and I knew that neither of us had nearly enough information to find each other. I went through our conversation in my head and realized we never mentioned specifics about where we work or any other personal details that might be helpful. We were too busy talking about music, and the tiny compass tattoo on my forearm, and books, and hiking, and random stuff like honey bees and Saturday morning cartoons. I was so mad at myself for not getting more details. Like a candle nearing its end, the little flicker of hope from two hours ago definitely dimmed.

The next day I went back to Morning Jolt at the same time as before. I told myself it was just because I like their coffee and their mellow vibe, but my stupid heart knew better. I was in full stake-out mode and had come prepared wearing my hair down and even a little makeup. I stayed there for three hours, slowly sipping my drink, keeping my laptop open to a page about local hiking spots, and trying to appear nonchalant as I watched the door every time someone came in, hoping it was Andy. He didn’t show up.

It was a 3-day weekend, so I went again on Monday. I quickly scanned the cafe. Was everyone else hoping to bump into someone they had recently met? Did they quietly hum the Mission Impossible theme song to themselves, too? Nope, that was just me. There were two women who seemed to be enjoying a bit of gossip. Perhaps they were exhausted mom friends who had finally found a matching day in their busy schedules to meet up. A guy who looked like he was in college was typing something on his laptop and listening to music through his headphones. Every once in a while, he would lean back and start tapping his fingers on the table, as if playing the drums. And then there was me. Single 28-year-old who had spent way too much money on coffee (and yummy baked goods–I was a sucker for lemon loaf) the past few days, all in hopes of bumping into Andy again.

I had thought about asking the baristas if they knew anything about Andy, but realized how creepy stalker it sounded. Not cool. He didn’t show up, and so I went back to my small, ordinary life. We’d had an amazing meet-cute and that was all.

Two weeks later, I was at the library, mindlessly wandering up and down the bookshelves. Maybe it has to do something with how quiet they are or how they have that musty-yet-comforting book smell, but I always feel so calm and content at a library. There is something amazing about the rows and rows of differently colored book spines with their titles in various fonts, all vying for someone’s attention. On top of some shelves, there are books set out with their covers fully on display, and I often wonder what makes them get selected by the librarians. Sometimes, I sneakily set out books that I feel are worthy of getting more attention. Travel books on Portugal and Iceland have been covertly showcased by yours truly. A book about photography or the Titanic. Perhaps an old, dusty book that looks like it hasn’t been checked out in years. Children’s books that I read and adored from my youth. If you ever see Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh set out on the shelf, it was very likely me who put it there. I’m such a rebel.

I was in the library’s nonfiction area and was slyly setting out a book about honey bees when I heard, “Excuse me, but I think you have my book.”

I froze. Deja vu. I felt my face flame from being caught and from my sheer awkwardness at being a human, but I slowly turned around and there he was.

“Hi, Andie,” he said.

“Hi, Andy,” I replied.

“That day we met, my brother broke his wrist doing one of his many stupid stunts, which is why I had to leave in a hurry. I felt like such an idiot for not getting your number, though. I wanted to go back and ask the baristas if they knew anything about you, but figured that would make me look like some creepy stalker, which I’m not, by the way,” he laughed awkwardly and a slight pink came to his cheeks.

And that, kids, is how I met your dad.

I hope you liked it. Please feel free to leave your praise or critiques in the comments. As always, thanks for stopping by. ❤