Chapter 3: "But let's just see what this is."

Rick drove at a steady pace. Not too fast, and not too slow.

He glanced at his silver wrist watch… it was just after eleven p.m., the I-85 had moderate traffic for a Friday night, and according to his date's directions, he still had a ways to go.

"What is this thing?" Andrea questioned, eyeing the vehicle she sat in, her face contorted in disgust. "This truck, it's a piece of junk."

"It's a classic," he defended. "It's a 1999 Chevy Silverado." Not the best trucks on the market, but he'd had it for awhile now, and as far as he was concerned it got him where he needed to go. He had no complaints about it, so what the hell was her problem?

"A 19 what? Oh god Rick," she sighed. "Classic, is just another word for old. Just, like, you." Her speech slurred, Andrea poked a finger into the side of his cheek, and started to cackle. "I mean it even smells old... Wait, maybe, maybe it's your cologne," she snickered. Just then, a brisk, gust of wind swept in as she started winding down the window, and proceeded to stick her head outside. "Oh lord I need some fresh air."

"Hey." Rick yanked her back in. Clenching his jaw, a major headache was coming on. He put the window back up, and locked the switch.

"What? Don't be such a tight ass." Exasperated, she blew out a heavy breath. "I mean really, what is this thing? You make money don't you? There's no Mx, Xm whatever on the radio here." She reached out to interfere with it, but Rick, without hesitation, pulled her hand back.

"Don't touch anythang. Just be quiet… please."

"I think... I'm gonna throw up." She rolled her head back and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Naw uh. We're almost there. You live up this way right?" Rick was in no mood to get lost with this belligerent woman, not after the disastrous night they'd had. "You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I'm not that drunk."

Rick side eyed Andrea as she slouched down into her seat two sheets to the wind, barely keeping her eyes open, and her mouth shut.

'Like hell you are.'

He should've checked her ID to confirm her address, but there was no way in hell he was about to wrangle with her for her purse. From the moment they'd met, at that god-forsaken, Mexican restaurant, everything that could've gone wrong, did. Doomed from the start, she was too imprudent, and he was too critical. The entire date was ridiculous. At that point, his father's choice had been more wrong than his mother's.

So, this was it. Rick was done. Time to return to his regularly scheduled programme.

Yes, he understood his parents' concerns. One of the major problems with his life, was the irresistible impulse to question, or be suspicious of, someone's loyalty… and that didn't exclude the women who came into his life. Not a unique problem by any means, but it ensured that all his personal entanglements, thus far, would get derailed sooner or later. Hence, his preference to keep things casual, especially so after the last person he loved… after Lori that is… had proved him right.

In any case, he'd had enough of this though. No more blind dates. No more surprises.

Finally turning off the I-85 into Lawrenceville, the end of his nightmare was at last in sight.

And soon enough they were standing on Andrea's front step. Leaning back against the door, she was digging inside her bag for her keys. The Victorian-styled street lamps were more than bright enough for her to see, yet, with squinted eyes she seemed to be having difficulty.

Whilst waiting, Rick noticed that the line of stone and brick townhouses, up and down the block, were nearly all identical. Some had bay windows, while others didn't. Some, like Andrea's, had border hedging along the pathway, surrounding little flower shrubs. Whereas, others, such as her neighbors to her right, opted for river rocks, instead, around their flower beds.

All in all, the entire street, as far as he could see, was mostly in quiet darkness.

"Why don't you let me help you with that?" Rick offered, growing more impatient by the second.

"No. I know, I know I have it…" she insisted, her entire arm now immersed in the handbag. "I got it. It's in here, somewhere. I know it. It's just—"

"Well it doesn't look so cause we've been standing out here for five minutes and counting."

"God! You know what? You see this…" she circled his face in dramatic fashion, stumbling forward a bit. "…this is why tonight was so stupid."

"Are you serious? I'm not the one acting like a damned eighteen year old." Mixing drinks, talking back to the bouncer, being rude to the waiters... it was as if she was on a mission, from the depths of hell, to purposefully try to get them both into a brawl, with just about anyone.

"You think you're sooo mature. Well boo to you!"

"Just find the damned keys already Andrea." This date didn't want to end. "There's no way I'm taking you home with me." That was downright out of the question.

"Ugh, you wish."

Rick sized up the front door. He could kick it down right? If he needed to… And from the look on her face, after another minute or so of fruitlessly searching…

"I, I don't have it," she admitted, defeated and distressed.

… it looked like he needed to.

"Alright…" Narrowing his eyes he nudged her out of his way. "… stand to the side. I got this."

"What? What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna get you in." He raised his leg and angled his foot. "You wanna sleep outside?"

"Oh for Pete's sake, no!" she protested, pulling on his sleeve. "My girl lives just next door." She shook her head at him and his desperate antics. "Neanderthal…come on."

Clinging to his neck, Rick wrapped his arm around Andrea's waist, to support her as they trotted back down the front steps. They made their way out the short walkway, took a left on the pavement, and traipsed back up the next path.

"She's supposed to be up. I'll crash at her place."

"You sure about that?" The house was in complete darkness. "'Cause you were just as sure you had your keys."

"Stop being such an ass and ring the bell," she scolded, letting go of him.

He sighed heavily, as he pressed the small white button, hoping that this was going to be the end of it already.

Within a few seconds, the lights did come on.

'Thank you Jesus.'

And a short moment after, someone came and opened up the door.

"Hey I'm—" Suddenly at a loss for words, Rick squinted his disbelieving eyes at the woman who appeared before him.

It was her.

His throat went dry. His jaw went slack…

'How in the hell?'

… and so did his grip on Andrea.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" she cursed, as she tumbled to the floor.

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"Michonne these god-damned shoes nearly killed me! I should sue you."

"I did tell you."

"Bitch, don't lie to me."

'Okay, someone's wasted.' Michonne thought to herself.

"Sshh, you'll wake Charlotte." She stared in utter disbelief, as Rick helped Andrea into the living room, and then onto her couch. Wide-eyed, she studied everything he did, and every movement he made, as he bent over to place Andrea just so, raising her legs, and stretching them out, even propping her up on a pillow.

"What are you doing here?" she finally articulated.

"I lost my keys," Andrea responded, swinging her arm over her forehead.

But Michonne's gaze was solely locked onto the man before her.

Allowing his eyes to meet hers, both were perplexed, and both were unsure if the other one was even real.

"I, I…" Rick stammered. "…I went out with her tonight."

Narrowing her eyes at him, "You're Richard Grimes?"

"What a coincidence huh?"

"I guess," she breathed. This was an exceptional coincidence. He was standing right there... in front of her, in her house. The man she decisively turned away from. It was too much of a coincidence for her particular liking. The odds were just… "Is this some kind of joke?" No matter how hard she tried, Michonne just couldn't gather her thoughts together. Sorry, but that was the best she could do.

Any cohesive, logical assessment, about that peculiar predicament, was simply out of her reach. It was bloody close to midnight after all, and Charlotte had long gone off to bed, leaving her mother alone, to gorge on M&Ms, whilst binge-watching 'the Good Wife.'

Equally astonished, Rick didn't desire any more surprises, but this was one he gladly welcomed. He tried to step closer to her…

"Oh my head hurts," groaned Andrea.

They both lowered their gaze, and regarded the intoxicated woman.

Pressing her palms flat against the sides of her head, "This was the worst, night, ever," she complained.

"Why? What happened?" Michonne queried.

Rick raised his hand and shook his head, "You don't want to know."

"My one, free, night, and this jackass right here screwed it up. He's such a bore Michonne. He complained about everything."

"That's because everythang we did was a nightmare." Well up until that point really.

Andrea waved him off, "Oh please just go."

Michonne found herself laughing at the pair. She was well aware of how unpleasant her girlfriend could be after one drink too many. She had learned to take it in stride.

"Oh Mich sweetie please, my head is about to explode."

"Okay," Michonne brushed her hand over her friend's messy hair. "I'll get you something. Hold on."

"I'll come help you," Rick offered, just as she turned to walk away.

Michonne stopped, and blinked back at him, over her shoulder.

He pushed his hands in his pants' pockets. "If that's alright?"

With a faint smile, she nodded. "Sure."

Rick followed her into the narrow hallway. It was well lit, and nicely adorned with numerous pictures in black frames. "So you were up?" he asked, standing back as she made a right into a half-bath.

"I was," she disclosed, flicking on a light switch, then opening up the cabinet. A few medicine bottles and boxes were shuffled around before the aspirin she came for was retrieved. "I, I couldn't sleep."

Rick glanced her over in her sports T-shirt, and flannel pajamas.

'Golden State Warriors?'

Again, he shook his head. Was this someone's plan? Or the mere outcome of his decisions? Either way, he was currently in her house, in her home… the place where she lived, the place where she slept, where she cooked her meals, did her laundry, raised her child… where she loved and laughed and cried. And here he was… an invader into her reality. It was suspicious, and remarkable, both at the same time.

He studied her like an apparition, as she positioned herself in the doorway. Her shoulder now leaning against the frame, with one foot propped up on the other… Head tilted, slightly to the side, as her slender fingers fiddled with the little white bottle in her hand. She must be nervous. Hell, he was nervous too. Caught off guard and blindsided by the turn of events.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered, dipping his head to catch her gaze that she kept fixed to the floor.

"I'm thinking, I must've fallen asleep."

"Dreaming about me?" That devilish grin gracing his too damn handsome face.

"Maybe," she blushed.

He inched closer to her.

'Trouble Michonne, trouble.'

Clearing her throat, she slipped past him. "I should get some water."

Once more, Rick took cautious steps behind her, and they both fell silent, while she made her way into the kitchen. It was small, and contemporary, and painted all white, with the exception of the green base cabinets of her island. He stood in her archway, observing as she made haste in filling a glass for Andrea.

Closing off the faucet, Michonne took a deep breath, before turning to face him, "I am – " she began, but then found herself at a loss for words, this encounter left her jarred.

However, Rick shifted himself, and with self-assurance and an air of conviction, he walked towards her.

Raising his hand, he took the glass. "I got it."

Michonne swallowed hard at the touch of his fingers as they grazed against her own. When she breathed in deep, to slow her now racing heart, the familiar scent of mandarin and warm spices, filled her nostrils

"Hey," Rick rested his free hand on his hip. "Remember back there, that night? Remember what it was you said to me?"

Her arms moved behind her to brace her lower back, "Yeah," she responded, her eyes focused intently on him.

"You said, 'Whatever will be, will be' Do you recall that?"

"I do."

"Good," Nodding his head, he closed the gap between them, and her eyes grew large. "Because, I think this qualifies." Sucking in his lower lip, his gaze ran down the length of her, and back up again. "Doesn't it?"

"I, umm…" Her stomach was fluttering out of control.

"Michonne, I don't know if this is some kind of—"

"Me neither," she interrupted, shuffling around him. Was this some sort of sign, or something else?

"But let's just see what this is."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, have dinner with me."

"Please... you didn't say please."

Grinning at her playfulness, "Pretty please... " She liked him, he deduced that much. "We could go to your place, where you're comfortable." But, she was also put off by him. "Or, we could go clubbing," he joked, attempting to get her to relax.

She smiled, "We could?"

"If that's your thang…"

"Yeah right."

"… I'm willing to give it another try. You just have to say the word."

"Wait." Michonne couldn't help but chuckle, whilst stepping further back. "Look…" she moved around the island, and grabbed something from off of the counter top. Walking back over, she then handed him her 'Things to do' notepad and a pen. "Leave me your number and I'll call you." How could she not consider it given the circumstances?

Rick placed the glass down, relieved and excited to hear her response. "I guarantee you won't regret it."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she shot back, a teasing glint in her eyes.

Raising his hand, he boldly swept her locs away from her face, pushing them behind her shoulder, "I guarantee," his voice deepened, "…You won't regret it."

Pinned under his piercing stare, her knees went weak again. And in the pit of her stomach, she already did.