The parking lot of the mall buzzed softly with distant conversations, the low hum of car engines, and the occasional screech of shopping cart wheels. Andrea pulled into a spot near the entrance, killing the engine without a word. For a moment, neither he nor Teresa moved.
Teresa's fingers clutched the straps of her bag tightly, her knuckles still pale. The marks from his earlier outburst weren't visible, but the memory of it still lingered in the stiff silence between them. Andrea hadn't looked at her once since restarting the car.
Without speaking, Teresa opened her door and stepped out. Andrea followed, closing the car behind him with a soft thud. They walked toward the glass entrance of the mall, their strides close but never in sync.
Inside, the air was cool and fragrant with perfume and new clothes. Teresa paused, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. Andrea turned to her at last, his voice low and rough.
"Let's just get this done quickly."
She didn't respond but nodded curtly, her eyes avoiding his.
They walked past glossy displays, rows of mannequins, and stylish windows until they reached the women's boutique his mother often shopped from. It was elegant, lined with cream and gold, with racks of modest designer dresses and traditional wear that screamed both class and maturity.
Teresa walked ahead, scanning the racks. Andrea followed reluctantly.
As she flipped through fabrics, her fingers finally relaxed. She knew his mother's taste—pastels, rich velvets, clean cuts with traditional flair. She pulled out a soft lilac dress and held it up.
"This would suit her," she murmured.
Andrea looked at it, then at her. "She'll like it."
She put it aside and kept browsing, trying to stay focused despite the heavy air between them. Andrea leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, watching her closely now. Every movement she made was deliberate, graceful—so unlike the girl he'd wanted to throttle minutes ago.
He hated how his chest tightened whenever he looked at her.
"Andrea?"
A voice rang out behind him, cheerful and smooth like syrup.
He turned—and there she was. Becca.
She wore ripped jeans and a cropped top that barely met the waist of her pants. Her braids were pulled into a high messy bun, her lips glossed, and her phone dangled lazily in her hand.
Becca's eyes sparkled—until they landed on Teresa.
Her smile faltered for a split second, subtle but sharp. Then she tilted her head and looked Teresa up and down with a hint of calculated curiosity.
"So this must be her," she said, her voice light but edged. She turned back to Andrea with a knowing smirk. "The girl from your mom's restaurant. The one you were telling me about on the phone."
Andrea gave an awkward smile. "Yeah. Teresa."
Becca looked at Teresa again, but this time the sparkle in her eyes was gone, replaced by something cooler—measured, and slightly mocking. "Nice to finally see you in person," she said.
Teresa gave the briefest nod. "Hi," she replied, her voice quiet, eyes already drifting back to the clothes on the rack.
Becca didn't wait for more. She took a step closer to Andrea, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Didn't think you'd be here playing dress-up. I thought you hated shopping."
Andrea chuckled. "It's for my mom."
Becca laughed. "Right, right. Anything for mama."
Teresa continued flipping through the dresses, her fingers slower now. She focused intently on a rack of pale blue chiffon, pretending she couldn't hear Becca's sugary tone or the soft laugh that followed each of her comments.
Becca leaned in closer to Andrea, just enough to make her presence clear. "Anyway," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "you free later? I was thinking we could grab drinks. Just us this time."
Andrea glanced at Teresa, who was still facing away, pretending to be deeply invested in a row of embroidered blouses. Something about her stillness made his stomach twist.
"Maybe," he said.
Becca's gaze flicked toward Teresa again, and her smile sharpened. "Cool. Text me. Unless you're… busy."
Andrea said nothing, and Becca gave one last smug smile before turning away, her hips swaying slightly as she walked off.
Becca's heels clicked softly as she disappeared into the crowd of shoppers, leaving behind a perfume trail and an icy silence.
Andrea stood there for a moment, watching Teresa from the corner of his eye. She hadn't turned around once. Not when Becca had flirted with him. Not when she'd thrown that sharp little smile in her direction. Teresa had stayed composed, her back stiff, her hands moving slowly across the hangers as though she couldn't hear a thing.
But he knew better.
"Lavender," she said suddenly, her voice even. "Your mom likes lavender, right?"
Andrea blinked, a little caught off guard. "Yeah… she does."
Teresa finally turned, holding up a deep plum-colored blouse for him to see. "This might work. Or maybe something with lace."
He nodded slowly, surprised by how calm she sounded. It unsettled him more than if she'd snapped at him. There was no sarcasm in her voice. No edge. Just control—like she'd put up a wall he wasn't allowed to look over.
As they continued searching through the racks, Andrea stole another glance at her. The redness around her throat had faded now, but her movements were quieter. Still guarded. Still closed.
She hadn't mentioned what had happened in the car again. And she hadn't told Becca, either.
It made him feel worse.
He cleared his throat. "You've got good taste."
Teresa didn't look at him. "That's why your mom sent me."
He winced.
They eventually picked out a lavender-toned, satin two-piece for his mother—modest and elegant, something she could wear proudly at her birthday dinner. Teresa offered a few more suggestions, asking a nearby attendant to bring options that matched the colors Mrs. Moretti usually wore to church.
Andrea let her take the lead. She clearly knew what she was doing.
While Teresa chatted with the store worker near the changing area, Andrea pulled one of the sales reps aside.
"Hey," he said quietly, "can I ask for a favor?"
The girl in a black vest and gold name tag smiled. "Sure."
He gestured subtly toward Teresa. "Can you find me a dress in her size? Something nice. Decent. Elegant—but not flashy."
The girl raised a brow, intrigued. "Any color?"
"Purple," he said quickly. "A soft shade. Something she could wear to a party… maybe my mom's birthday."
The girl smiled, catching on fast. "Got it."
A few minutes later, she returned with a folded gown in a matte box. "This just came in. It's a lilac silk-crepe, A-line, with a modest neckline and lace sleeves. Flowy. I think it'll suit her perfectly."
Andrea took the box and paid for it on the spot, making sure to keep the bag tucked behind him. He didn't say a word about it to Teresa.
As they made their way toward the exit, Teresa walking a few steps ahead, Andrea spoke up.
"Hey."
She turned slightly, one brow raised.
"I didn't forget what I said earlier," he said, his voice low. "That I'd get you anything you want."
She stopped, blinking at him.
He nodded toward the shopping bags in her hands. "If you want to get something for yourself… I meant it."
She studied him for a moment—quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as if measuring the sincerity behind the offer.
"I know you did," she said at last. "But… not today."
Andrea's gaze lingered on her. "Okay."
Teresa turned away again, the faintest hint of something unreadable in her expression.
They walked side by side toward the parking lot, both wrapped in their own thoughts. The bag with the lilac dress remained hidden under Andrea's arm.
He hadn't meant to buy her anything. Not originally. But after everything, it felt like the least he could do.
They walked side by side toward the parking lot, both wrapped in their own thoughts. The bag with the lilac dress remained hidden under Andrea's arm.
The sun had begun to lower, casting long shadows across the concrete as they stepped out of the mall. The air was thick with the scent of roasted corn from a roadside stand and the low rumble of car engines.
Just as they neared Andrea's parked car, a loud honk blared behind them.
A sleek, black Lexus swerved into the spot directly beside Andrea's, too fast, almost clipping the edge of his front bumper.
Andrea instinctively threw an arm in front of Teresa to shield her, guiding her back with a protective shove.
"Hey!" he shouted, glaring at the driver. "Watch it!"
The Lexus door opened, and a man stepped out—maybe mid-thirties, well-dressed but with a cocky swagger. He looked Andrea up and down with amused disdain.
"Relax, bro. It's a parking lot, not your driveway," the man said, slamming his door shut.
Andrea's jaw clenched. "You nearly hit my car. And her."
The man scoffed. "Then you shouldn't park like you own the damn place."
Teresa touched Andrea's arm. "Andrea, let it go. Let's just get in the car."
But it was too late.
Andrea stepped forward. "Say that again."
The man laughed. "I said, get over yourself."
That was all it took.
In one swift move, Andrea shoved the man backward. "Watch your mouth."
The man staggered, then surged forward. For a moment, it was just curses and shouts, but then fists were flying—quick, angry blows. People nearby began to stop and stare. A security guard from the mall entrance started running toward them, yelling for them to break it up.
Teresa froze, panic rising. "Andrea!"
The guard blew a whistle as he approached, and the fight ended as abruptly as it started. Andrea stepped back, breathing heavily, his shirt rumpled, knuckles red. The other man was shouting threats as he was pulled away by a second guard.
The first guard turned to Andrea. "Sir, you need to leave now or you're both getting written up. I saw who threw the first punch."
Andrea wiped his face with the back of his hand, nodding stiffly. "We're leaving."
Teresa didn't say a word as they reached the car. Andrea opened the door for her, but she hesitated for just a moment before getting in. Her hands were clenched around the shopping bags.
The silence in the car was louder than ever before.
Andrea gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white again. "I'm sorry," he muttered after a long pause.
Teresa stared out the window, her voice low. "You've got a real problem."
He didn't argue. He didn't even try to explain.
She didn't ask if he was okay.
She just stared out the window, the mall growing smaller behind them.
And Andrea couldn't stop thinking about the look on her face—the way she'd flinched when he moved too fast. The way she'd hesitated before getting into the car. The way her voice had gone quiet, like something inside her had shut down again.
The lilac dress sat in the backseat, still boxed, untouched.
And somehow, it felt heavier than it should have.
He looked at her once—just once—and saw her biting her lip hard, trying to keep it together. Her eyes shimmered. A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Teresa," he said, barely above a whisper.
"I just want to go home," she said, her voice cracking. "Please."
Her words broke something in him.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, but it was useless. The tears kept coming, silent and fast, sliding down her cheeks in streams. Her breathing grew uneven, her shoulders shaking now.
"I'm not supposed to be here," she whispered, almost to herself. "I didn't ask for any of this. You didn't even want me here. I tried to be useful. I really did. And now—" Her voice caught. "And now I feel stupid and small and scared, and I hate that I feel this way."
Andrea's throat tightened. Guilt, raw and unforgiving, surged up in his chest. He hadn't meant to scare her. But he had. He saw it in her flinch. In the way she hugged herself, in her trembling fingers.
His voice was quiet, broken. "I messed up. Again."
He started the car, but instead of heading toward the restaurant, he pulled out of the lot and turned left, down a quiet side street.
Teresa sniffed. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see," he said.
She didn't ask again.
A few minutes later, he pulled up beside a small ice cream shop tucked between two old bookshops. It was quiet, the lights warm and soft inside. No crowd. No chaos.
"Come on," he said gently, stepping out.
Teresa didn't move.
He walked around and opened her door. She looked up at him, confused, her cheeks still wet. "Why?"
"Because you're crying. And I can't fix it," he said, voice low. "But I can give you something sweet."
She stared at him for a long second. Then, quietly, she got out.
They sat in the corner booth, Teresa with a small scoop of vanilla with strawberry drizzle, Andrea with mint chocolate chip. For a long time, they didn't speak. The hum of the shop's refrigerator and the distant clink of metal spoons filled the silence.
Teresa's hands were still shaking as she picked at her ice cream. "You shouldn't have fought him," she said eventually, her voice soft.
"I know," Andrea replied.
"You scared me."
"I know that too."
She looked at him. "Why do you get so angry?"
Andrea stared at his cup. "I don't know, it's so hard to control it"
There was a long pause. Then Teresa looked down at her melting scoop
Her shoulders dropped slightly, but her tone wasn't accusing. It was almost… understanding.
She gave a small sigh and pushed her cup aside. "You know… you made me a promise."
He blinked. "What?"
"In the car," she murmured. "After you yelled at me… You said you'd get me anything I wanted. At the mall. But I didn't ask for anything."
Andrea's eyes lowered. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I know."
"Did you mean it?"
"I did."
She gave a faint nod. "Good."
They left the shop in silence again, the evening air cooler now, brushing past them in soft waves. Teresa walked slower this time, calmer, her expression still tight but no longer falling apart.
***********
Back at the restaurant, the lights were still on. Staff moved like shadows behind the frosted glass windows. Andrea stepped out first, holding the door for her again.
Before she could go in, he gently stopped her.
"Teresa," he said, his voice uncertain. "There's something in the backseat. For you."
She turned, blinking.
"I got you something when you weren't looking. I hope you like it."
Teresa stared at him, speechless.
"It's not an apology," he added quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well. Maybe it is. I don't know."
She gave a soft nod. Then, quietly: "Thank you."
Andrea didn't reply. He only nodded and stepped aside to let her walk in.
As the restaurant door closed behind her, Andrea lingered outside for a moment, his hand resting on the handle, his head bowed.
The day hadn't ended the way anyone planned.