This Wasn't in the Floor Plan

My thumb hovered after hitting send on the "Good morning beautiful 💐" message. Direct. Confident. Necessary, after the confusion of the accident. Let's see how Architect Marquez handled a straightforward advance.

The Delivered status flipped to Read almost instantly. Good morning indeed. Satisfaction jolted through me. She was paying attention.

Then, the indicator popped up: Camille Marquez is typing... Ah, here we go. The three dots danced on the iMessage bubble... then vanished. No message. Frowned slightly. Weird.

The indicator appeared again... blinked... vanished. Still nothing. Soft chuckle. She doesn't know what to say. Shocked her into silence? Or meticulously crafting the perfect, cool reply? Either way, her visible hesitation was revealing. Message received, even if she wasn't volleying back yet.

The rest of the morning blurred – final doctor checks, discharge papers, a lecture on taking it easy. Papa arrived promptly, driving me back to my QC condo mostly in companionable silence, sensing my preoccupation. He reminded me to call if needed before heading off to Antipolo.

Finally, my own space. Sterile hospital quiet replaced by familiar home hum. Tossed my bag, grabbed real coffee, sank onto the sofa. Laptop open, ignored. Relax. Recover.

Glanced at my phone. Still no reply from Camille. Conscious decision: don't worry. Midday Friday; Archway likely had its own pressures. Maybe Sir Jesse walked in again. She'd reply when ready. Or not. My move was clear. I chilled, scrolled design feeds, post-hospital haze settling in.

Around 12 noon, phone buzzed on the coffee table. Camille Marquez. Finally. Slow grin spread as I picked it up. Opened the message, curiosity piqued.

Camille Marquez 💬 (Fri, 12:05 PM): Sorry for the late reply, someone actually needed architectural work done. About later - 'Please be available' sounds awfully demanding, Architect Villanueva. Fine. So, where are we testing the structural integrity of this plan?

Let out another soft laugh, reading it again. There she was. Wit, slight prickle, playful jab ("awfully demanding, Architect Villanueva"), grudging acceptance ("Fine."), and throwing my metaphor back ("structural integrity"). Perfect Camille. Witty, slightly flirty, keeping me on my toes, but ultimately... saying yes. Grin widened. Game definitely on. She couldn't resist playing along. The underlying 'yes' unmistakable.

Thumbs moved immediately, instinct taking over. Lock it down. Keep momentum.

Okay, Architect Marquez, I typed, words flowing easily. Challenge accepted. 😉 I'll pick you up at Archway at 5:30—

Stopped dead. Finger hovering. Pick her up. Right. With what?

Image of my crumpled Hi-Lux flashed vividly. Damn it. My truck. The accident. Focused on discharge, on her agreeing... completely forgot the most basic logistics. Wave of frustration. Seriously? After the sketchbook, the map... derailed by needing a ride?

Frustration lasted a second, replaced by sheer determination. No. Not letting this stop me. Promised her I'd make it up; promised myself I'd see her tonight. Want her now. Wrecked truck: inconvenience, not cancellation.

Revised plan. Couldn't pick her up from Archway, but could still meet her at Archway. 5:30 PM. I'd Grab there myself. Where we'd go after? We'd decide together. Maybe even better. Less formal, spontaneous. Shared problem-solving.

Thumbs moved again, deleting, composing. Confident. Clear. Acknowledge banter. Set revised plan.

Me 💬 (Fri, 12:10 PM): Challenge accepted, Architect Marquez. 😉 Archway Design Studio, 5:30 PM? We can discuss logistics then.

Simple. Confident. Confirmed time, set place at her office, acknowledged wit, smoothly deferred 'where/how' until face-to-face.

Perfect. Hit send. Renewed purpose settled over me, leaning back on the sofa. Right. Now to figure out how I was getting to Elder Ridge by 5:30. Minor detail. The meeting was happening. No matter what.