A/N: Surprise! Thanks to everyone who commented on the first chapter, therefore goading me (in a good way) into writing Andy's side of the date preparations.

Special shout-out to LeauH2o, who left what is the greatest one-liner I've seen on one of my stories thus far: "[Sharon's] lipstick dilemma had me thinking - what color would look best on Andy"

I nearly spit out my coffee when I first saw that, and here we have another chapter. Inspirational magic, I tell you.


Hey, just look at the mess you made today
You really didn't think it would get this bad
Hey, you feel like you're living in a Russian play
Well it seems like you've made everybody mad

— — —

It's almost unbelievable, the number of things that will go sideways when you're aiming for nothing short of perfection.

When it comes to Andy's grand plan, the only flawless part of his evening is Sharon. As per usual. Tonight, "beautiful" isn't nearly a strong enough word. She might as well collect all the warmth and light around her, for as much as she seems to glow. He struggles to avoid staring, but it's a battle he loses over and over again. Her wide, easy smile — the one he's learned is a purely off-duty feature — pulls his attention like a magnet, every time.

No, Sharon can't be improved upon. It's everything he tries to do for her, every special touch he tries to build into the night, to show her how seriously he's taking this, taking them ...it's all of that that ends up pear-shaped.

It started in his own closet, where he found himself victimized by his lack of foresight. The shirt he'd planned to wear — his best choice for the tie-free look Nicole had suggested for him ("Do you always have to look like such a cop, Dad?") — had, apparently, returned from the cleaners with a blotchy blue stain down its side. The dark green fabric hid the mark just enough to have kept him from noticing it when he hoisted a half-dozen hangers into his closet earlier in the week. And it wasn't like he'd thought to get a good once-over of his outfit the night before.

Still, he may have been able to keep this SNAFU hidden under his jacket all evening. He would've...except, given past experience, there was a 50-50 chance Sharon would end up chilly after dinner. In that case, it would have been just weird, not to mention rude , to not offer her his extra layer.

Those odds left him rifling through his closet, cursing himself for having worn his best black suit on Tuesday. He had to improvise. Navy pinstripes, crisp white shirt, deep red tie and matching suspenders. The only piece unchanged from the original plan were his dress shoes, shined to a more pronounced luster than usual.

The change wasn't great, but it was fine. And his last-minute closet diving didn't leave him scrambling for time. He'd built an extra half hour into his schedule.

Unfortunately, that careful schedule hadn't anticipated that the florist would sell out of purple tulips, even after he'd called ahead to check that there were some in stock.

"Oh, sorry," the shopkeeper explained when Andy asked, "another guy just game in and bought all three dozen." He shrugged. "I figured he was the one who called, so I..."

The florist's excuse faded into widened eyes as Andy took a long inhale through his nose. Whatever else happened, he had to stay calm. His schedule would end up completely shot if he managed to pass out.

"Um, I do have plenty of red roses…"

Andy leveled a stare at the man. Roses? Cliché. Sharon likes tulips. He gathered this vital information through scattered stories of her childhood. Tulips remind her of the sudden brightness and warmth of springtime back east, rows and rows of vivid, bell-shaped blooms lining the walk at her grandparents' house, handfuls of flowers gathered into vases next to the lemon-frosted birthday cakes of her youth.

Purple's her favorite color, the obvious choice. But a combination of her favorites was out of the question. In their absence, another option caught his eye. He pointed toward a cooler behind the counter, where giant soft pink tulips pressed against the glass. Their label read, ' Ballerina'.

"Can I get a dozen of those pink ones and, uh…" He strolled down the store's narrow length, peering at the offerings. "Let's do a dozen of the white ones, too."

The florist bustled into motion, hoisting buckets of flowers onto a cart stacked with tissue paper and cellophane. "I have a beautiful white vase that would look great with these, if you're—"

"Go for it." Andy said, pulling his wallet from his pocket. "The whole nine yards."

Still, it was with second-string flowers that he climbed back into his car, now five minutes behind his worst-case schedule. And the LA traffic gods were not on his side.

An accident down in Sherman Oaks had the 405 backed up all the way onto the 5. At a quarter to 7, when he'd planned to be knocking on Sharon's door, he was still inching through traffic in the Valley. The realization left Andy muttering — and then not muttering — a string of profanities at the cars around him.

He called Serve, pulled out every excuse in the book to get the hostess to push their 'extremely coveted reservation' back a half-hour. Then, still ten miles out from Los Feliz, he bit the bullet and texted Sharon.

That's to say, he texted the woman who's probably never been late for anything, ever, let alone something she's looked forward to.

Hey, traffic on the 405 was a mess. Might not make it by 7. Didn't want you to worry.

Andy tapped the send button. In almost the same instant, he regretting the cool, casual tone of the message. He tapped out a sequel, alternating his attention between his phone and the crawling traffic surrounding him.

I'm really looking forward to dinner and hate to be late.

Scanning for an opening in the left lane, he tried not to dwell on the fact he could get through the jam with the flicks of a couple switches. They taunted him, right there on the side of the console. But he'd already announced his delay, and he didn't care to be on the receiving end of the Inquisition when he showed up at Sharon's place. So, rather than take the shortcut, he made it into a joke:

But I figured you'd be mad if I went Code 3 just to get there on time.

He could only hope Sharon would end up smiling on the other end, despite his inability to get to her place on time. The full range of her possible reactions left him drumming his fingers along the top of the steering wheel until his phone buzzed several minutes later.

Her response, thankfully, didn't include the words 'never mind, asshole.'

Not that Sharon would actually text the word 'asshole.' But she's capable of implying it. Her actual words, I'm not going anywhere , left him grinning as the traffic began opening up ahead of him.

As it turned out, Andy was standing outside her door by 7:08. It could've been worse. Still, he took a deep breath and worked his expression into an apology as he knocked.

Just his luck, it was Rusty who opened the door. Before Andy could smooth his reaction, the kid cocked an eyebrow and was left fighting back a smile. "Did someone, like, dent your car or something?"

"No," he grumbled, "I'm just running a little late."

Rusty shrugged as he stepped back to pull the door open. "I don't think she's ready yet, anyway."

" Really? "

With another, more exaggerated shrug, he stepped to Sharon's bedroom door and knocked. "Oh, Sharon," he sing-songed. "You have a visitor."

Her muffled voice filtered through the door a few seconds later, leaving Andy shooting a questioning look at Rusty.

"She said she'll be right out," he explained.

Andy nodded. With that established, a quick, deep silence settled between them. It was borderline ridiculous, the tension hanging in the moment. He couldn't fight back a comparison to the night he'd picked Sophia Belmonte up for senior prom, wearing a poor-fitting gray tux, carrying a dozen half-wilted pink carnations, and driving his mom's Buick.

He'd gotten less of a silent appraisal from Mr. Belmonte than what he got out of one Mr. Beck. The kid crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes as he leaned back against the side of the couch. "So you're going somewhere nice, I'm guessing."

"Yeah, this new place downtown."

"Huh, that's good," he said in a tone that would have just as easily fit in a conversation about an ant infestation. His eyes found a point of focus in the kitchen. "You made reservations?"

Andy scoffed. "Yeah, kid, I have a reservation." He rolled his wrist to check his watch, wanting to make sure this was still true. When he looked back up, Rusty had raised his brow in a show of skepticism. Andy forced a sharp sigh, for what felt like the hundredth time of the evening. "It's under control."

"If you say so."

He hadn't asked Sharon what she'd told her kids about this...outing. It wasn't like it was any of his business, really. But now he wished he'd gone ahead and stuck his nose into it, if only so he'd known whether he needed to offer up some kind of reassurance to her youngest.

As their silence stretched back into awkward territory, Andy gave into it. "Look…"

He hadn't known what point, exactly, he planned to make from there. Luckily, he didn't have to figure out. Following a few moments of his silent floundering, Sharon's door clicked open. She stepped into the living room, distracted by the contents of her purse, spouting apologies, and looking absolutely stunning.

"Sorry, sorry, I couldn't find my bag." She slung its strap over her shoulder. Having righted herself, her perfectly tinted lips — Andy figured he had the go-ahead to fully notice these details, now — quirked as she took in the scene, her eyes flitting between Andy and Rusty. "Everything okay?"

It was probably for the best that the kid spoke up first. "Yeah, Sharon." He nodded toward the door. "I'm headed out."

"Okay." She smoothly stepped into his path as he headed across the room. "You'll be home by ten?"

"Yeah."

"And you'll drive carefully?"

"Yep."

"Okay." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders before turning out of his way. Behind his back, she shot Andy a knowing look, mouthed, "Sorry" in his direction.

He lifted a nonchalant shoulder. As Rusty ducked out the door, he called out, "Bye, kid," for good measure.

"Yeah, bye." The door clanked shut behind him.

Finally . Despite Andy's previous dinners with Sharon, this particular stop at her condo, carrying the evening's high stakes, was nerve-wracking enough without an audience. Still, he found himself grasping for a cliche to fill the space between the two of them. "Tough crowd."

She twisted her lips into a pursed grin as her eyes lifted skyward. "I don't know why he felt the need to stick around."

On that point, Andy had a few guesses. But rather than sour the evening with mention of Rusty's past life, he held out the flowers. "Uh, I managed to convince the florist I didn't want roses."

She tipped onto her toes to peer into the opaque white cellophane before taking hold of the vase with a happy hum. "Oh, tulips. My favorite." Her smile widened as she met his eyes. "Thank you, Andy."

The reflexive answer stuck in his throat. You're welcome didn't cover the warmth rising in his chest at the sight of her happiness. It left him sure that he'd hand-deliver flowers every day from here out, if he'd earn a smile like this on even half those occasions.

But that felt a little much , for their first "official" date. Instead, he cast his hands wide and said, "It's the least I could do," as she arranged the flowers, just so, at the middle of her dining table.

Once Sharon finished fluffing the blooms and folding the crinkly plastic further down the vase, she turned to him with her eyes narrowed and sparking with mischief. "The least you could do in exchange for what exactly?"

The truth, as it tends to do, flowed from Andy's mouth before he stopped to think about it. "For you agreeing to go to dinner with me."

This was too real, too much to say. Sharon's lips parted, then closed again, as her expression faded from playfulness to confusion, settling eventually somewhere in the "sad" range before her eyes dropped to the floor.

Shit . He scrambled to fix whatever storm he'd just kicked up. "Um, I mean—"

At the same time, she said, "Why do you—"

When she looked up, Andy was surprised to find her wearing a wide-eyed smile. He gave her a nod. "Go ahead."

With a small shake of her head, she took a few steps in his direction. Her smile smoothed into a wry quirk before she asked, "You think I need a reward for letting you take me to a fancy restaurant?"

"Um, well…" Damn, she's distracting when she does this half-serious maybe-flirting interrogation thing. "I don't know how fancy the restaurant is." At her silent response — a sidelong look that said he's hedging — he shrugged. "It just seemed fitting, I guess. Not a reward, or anything like that."

This left her brightening again. "Good." She rested her palm, briefly, on his chest as she passed him on her way toward the door. "How close are we to being late?"

"Ah." He glanced at his watch as he followed her out. "It's gonna be close."

At that point, Andy couldn't have cared less about the restaurant, beyond it being what he'd promised her yesterday. Despite his earlier worries about ruining the whole thing, their odd little conversation had left him at ease. They could have stopped at any strip mall and wound up as the best-dressed patrons at Chipotle; he was certain they'd still have a great time.

That assessment held true until they arrived at the front door of Serve.


A/N: Surprise, part II! There's gonna be more! What do y'all think about Andy's approach to Date Night in Los Angeles?