Andy brushed his hand nervously through his hair as he watched the traffic go by. He knew that Andrew wouldn't talk unless he, Andy, started a conversation first...
and right now, Andy's focus was on trying his best not to puke from the butterflies in his stomach.
He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, clearing his throat. He was nervous -- more nervous than he had ever been before in his life. He didn't know how people did this and survived.
Finally, Andrew pulled up to Andy's apartment building. Letting out a soft grunt of thanks, Andy slipped out of the car, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
He glanced up at the plate-glass window several floors up and wondered if Jennie was even home from work.
Foregoing the elevator, Andy walked slowly up the stairs, needing just a bit more time to figure out how he was going to do this.
Did he do it when he first walked in the door? Or wait, until they were at the restaurant? What if he forgot what he was going to say, or dropped it...
? Slipping his hand quickly into his pocket, he sighed with relief, feeling the soft velvet cover of the box against his hand.
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