Pillars

by WynnLo

Summary:

Andy is a young architect who’s incredibly ambitious, carrying the weight of her newly established firm. During one of their latest projects, her world collides with that of Runway’s infamous fashion editor.
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This is a girl peen story. Don’t like, don’t read. <3

Chapter 1: The Atrium

Chapter 1 

 

<> 

 

The atrium was still half-shrouded in scaffolding, the marble floors veined with dust from the ongoing renovation. Andy adjusted her hardhat and stepped into the vaulted space, her eyes drawn up as always to the glass canopy that spilled daylight across the skeleton of the room. 

Even unfinished, the space hummed with grandeur. The echo of her boots trailed behind her as she crossed into the center, scanning the lines she had once sketched into existence. 

She anticipated being alone, as she wasn’t supposed to share the site this morning. Her team had scheduled the walkthrough early to avoid the Runway representatives; Runway being one of their latest clients. But the sound of clipped heels and low voices confirmed otherwise. 

Across the atrium, a small procession had assembled: racks of gowns, camera cases, assistants whispering logistics. And in the midst of them stood a woman tailored in black, posture razor-straight, gesturing upward with a thin, gold pen she carried like a scepter. 

That must be the editor. 

Andy slowed, caught off guard. She’d seen the woman’s photograph before in magazines, always flanked by designers and models, but photographs didn’t do justice to the force of her presence. Andy stood from a distance, draped by overlapping shadows made by the wide arches at the corner of the room. She couldn’t quite make out any of the editor’s features except for a luscious head of downy white hair. 

“…the light fractures here,” the editor said, her voice carrying easily in the cavernous chamber. Firm, dulcet tones. “By afternoon it’ll be bronze. We could certainly drown a gown in that.” 

Andy paused. Most people reduced the description of light to “bright” or “dim.” This woman spoke of it like a living texture. 

The editor turned, eyes sweeping the space — the very atrium Andy had fought tooth and nail to design this way, against budget cuts and skeptical trustees. 

“This isn’t just a museum,” the editor murmured, almost to herself. “It feels like it was built to last. Like permanence.” 

The word struck the architect like a stone in her chest. Permanence. Her word. The principle she had carried from her thesis to every project she touched but never spoken aloud. Preferring to show and not tell. 

Suddenly Andy was aware of the dust on her boots, the rolled plans under her arm, the hardhat making her anonymous in the corner. The editor hadn’t seen her. No one had. 

In that moment, she wanted to step forward, to say I built this, but her voice caught in her throat. Instead, Doug’s voice broke over her earpiece, summoning her to check the new stairwell. 

Andy tore her eyes away from the scene, forcing her feet toward the far end of the atrium. 

The Runway team never knew she was there. 

But the echo of the editor’s words — permanence — followed her up the stairs. 

 

<> 

 

She climbed to the mezzanine where Doug was waiting, clipboard in hand, sleeves already streaked with plaster dust. He didn’t notice her lingering glance back down to the atrium, where the black-clad woman still commanded her orbit of assistants. 

“You see the new stair install?” Doug asked, tapping his pen against the column detail. “Contractor swears it’s flush. It’s not.” 

The brunette nodded absently, her eyes flicking once more toward the floor below. The Runway team was fanning out now, cameras already angled upward to catch the light she had designed to pour through the atrium’s canopy. 

“You’re distracted,” Doug said flatly, catching the tilt of her gaze. “What, the fashion people?” 

“They like the space,” she murmured before she could stop herself. 

Doug snorted. “They’d like a broom closet if you dressed it in enough chiffon. Let’s stay focused—this stair alignment’s gonna bite us.” 

But the architect wasn’t listening anymore. In her mind, she heard the editor’s voice again: permanence. A word that didn’t belong to the fleeting chaos of fashion, and yet somehow, she had spoken it. 

Andy tightened her grip on the rolled plans in her hands. She couldn’t explain it, not even to Doug, but something in that passing moment made her feel…seen. 

Even if the editor hadn’t seen her at all. 

 

<> 

 

The atrium was no longer hers. 

When Andy arrived for the final inspection, the construction dust was gone, polished marble gleaming under the morning light. But the space had been colonized. Racks of garments crowded the corners, cords sprawled across the floor, and a scaffolding of lights rose like a crude imitation of her glass canopy above. 

She slipped on a pair of boot covers, trying not to wince as two scrawny men dragged a velvet chaise across the newly sealed floor. 

“Careful!” she called, instinct sharper than her voice meant it to be. The men barely glanced at her. 

And then she heard it again — that same voice from weeks before, low but edged with steel. 

“If you block the light, you kill the shot. Move it three feet to the left.” 

The editor stood at the center of the chaos, directing with nothing more than her gleaming gold pen. She hadn’t changed: all in black, jaw set like sculpture, her presence so complete, the room was her orchestra. 

Andy felt herself pause, just long enough to hear it again — the timbre of command, the elegance in phrasing something as mundane as light. 

But then: “We’ll need this area cleared for the gowns. The floor space is much too crowded.” 

An assistant with long auburn hair pointed toward the cordoned-off side of the atrium — the side where Andy’s team had taped off the fresh sealant, still curing. 

“No,” Andy said before she realized she’d spoken aloud. 

Every head turned. Even the editor’s. 

The woman’s arctic gaze landed on her with a quick, appraising sweep — not recognition, but assessment. Andy felt the load of it settle like a challenge. 

“This area can’t take weight yet,” she explained, voice even. “It’s not negotiable. If you put your racks there, you’ll ruin the finish.” 

A silence lingered. Assistants exchanged nervous looks. 

The editor stepped closer, eyes sharp, pen still in hand. “And who are you?” 

“Andrea Sachs,” she said, steady now. “Lead architect at Sachs Design Group. Pleasure to meet you.” 

A beat. Then the faintest lift of a brow. “Ah. The invisible hand.” 

Something in her tone was both dismissive and intrigued, as though she’d been handed a piece of the puzzle she hadn’t asked for. 

Andy held her ground. “If your gowns are worth anything, I’d think you’d want a floor to match.” 

For the first time, the editor smiled — not warm, but cutting, like glass catching light. 

“Fine.” She turned to her assistants. “Find another corner.” 

And just like that, the orbit shifted back to her. 

But then Andy felt something burn beneath her skin: not just the friction of conflict, but the thrill of coming toe-to-toe with someone so alluring. Of course, up close, the editor was too gorgeous to make sense of, but there was more to it than that, Andy thought. And in that fleeting moment, the architect had readily decided that she wanted to know this woman.  

 

<> 

 

Her apartment was dark when she finally got home.  

The lock clicked shut behind her, echoing faintly against exposed brick and polished concrete floors. 

It wasn’t that the place was empty — she had furnished it well enough, with low modern lines and clean neutrals — but it had the kind of order that belonged to someone who lived alone. The kitchen counters gleamed, untouched except for a lone espresso machine. The sofa bore the faint indentation of her laptop, not a person. Framed sketches leaned against the wall waiting to be hung, as if she’d never quite committed to actually making the space her own. 

It wasn’t unlived, exactly. Just precise. A place for sleeping, for working, for staring out at the skyline when she couldn’t bring herself to do either. Not much more. 

She dropped her keys into a bowl by the door, kicked off her boots, and padded across the open-plan living room. The city sprawled beneath her floor-to-ceiling windows, lights blinking across the skyline like a thousand unanswered messages. 

She tossed her hardhat onto the kitchen counter and unrolled the day’s plans out of habit, but her focus kept snagging on a different image: the editor’s smile. 

Not kind. Not soft. But precise and deliberate — like she had been amused to be challenged. 

Doug had only grumbled about “divas in designer boots” the whole subway ride back to the office. Lily had defended them, saying fashion people weren’t so different from architects, just “obsessed with fabric instead of steel.” Andy had nodded along, pretending disinterest. 

But alone, she replayed the moment again and again. The weight of the editor’s gaze. The sharp question: And who are you? The strange satisfaction of answering it. 

She’d been invisible the first time. Today, she hadn’t just been seen — she’d been measured. 

And for reasons she couldn’t name, Andy found herself wanting to be measured again. 

She took a deep breath, then walked straight to the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grit of navigating a bustling city, revising today’s events. The editor’s smile persisted in the back of her mind. 

Proudly, she considered today another success. Her firm had received confirmation that Runway would indeed be using the museum for an editorial spread. Surely, a mutually beneficial agreement. Andy and her team really went above and beyond to make every structure they produced into a timeless, functional work of art.  

 

Once out of the shower, she pulled on a soft, faded t-shirt and a pair of black boxers, her hair damp, clinging to her jaw. Stood in front of the vast mirror in her bathroom, she studied her reflection only to get lost in thought. 

 

Sachs Design Group had come a long way. And while they weren’t exactly a household name yet, they were making big strides in their industry.  

Andy flicked the bathroom lights off as she heard her phone buzzing from the adjacent space. 

Lily: You alive? Or did Runway sacrifice you to the gods of couture? 

The architect smirked, thumbs moving. 

Andy: Alive. 

Lily: Barely? 

Andy: Barely. 

Lily: Doug swears you barked at a stylist for dragging a chaise across the floor. 

Andy: Not barking. Correcting. 

Lily: Same difference.

Andy: I was right. 

Lily: You’re always right. That’s what makes you unbearable. 

The brunette’s laugh echoed in the empty loft. She leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling as Lily kept going. 

Lily: Anyway. Check your email. Natasha just sent the gala invites. 

Andy’s eyes flicked toward her laptop sitting on the sofa. A tired groan rose in her throat. 

She carried the laptop into her bedroom and climbed into bed, the sheets crisp against her skin. The room was huge compared to what she used of it — a king bed centered against a bare wall, one lounge chair in the corner, a dresser with drawers only half-filled. Her life was portable, light, as if she’d never quite unpacked. 

The glow of the screen was the only light in the room. Andy opened her email. 

Sure enough: Museum Benefit Gala — Official Invitation from Natasha Chen. The formatting was neat, the message concise but thorough. Black tie, arrival window, security instructions, table assignments. 

 

Everyone on their team played a crucial role in the firm’s skyrocketing success and Andy took great pleasure in building and collaborating with each member. 

Doug was her Senior Project Manager. At forty years old, he was the eldest of the group, 12 years her senior. He was behind all structural logistics and contractor management. Doug used to work at a much bigger firm when he and Andy first met. After a decade of overperforming in his previous role, Doug had never received recognition for the value he brought to the firm and found himself frustrated and burnt out from his efforts. He decided to quit his old job and join Sachs Design Group because he saw Andy’s potential and believed in what they could achieve together.  

While Doug was the one that often kept Andy grounded and helped with risk management, Lily was more the innovative one. Lily was her Junior Designer and Interiors Specialist. They’d met in college and managed to stay in contact with one another well after graduation. Years of shared triumphs and challenges has made Andy truly appreciate her bond with Lily.  

And if Doug and Lily were her right and left hand, Natasha was the spine. Natasha was their operations anchor. She was twenty-five, hyper-organized, with a sharp streak of ambition Andy respected. She managed contracts, calendars, the client pipeline — all the things the architect herself didn’t have the patience or time for. 

Outside work, their dynamics shifted. Doug became a grumbler at happy hours, trading barbs over pints. Meanwhile, Lily could drag Andy into conversation about anything from vintage textiles to bad reality television. Natasha, however, was more guarded. Social in bursts, but never fully relaxed around Andy. The brunette had chalked it up to respect for hierarchy. So, she never noticed Natasha’s lingering glances. 

 

Andy skimmed the email, jaw tightening.  

 

Galas were the part of success she hated — smiling at strangers who wanted proximity more than conversation. Still, she’d go. She always did.  

 

A moment passed, she stared at the cursor on the screen, fingers hovering over the trackpad. 

 

She told herself it was professional curiosity. 

 

Andy typed the editor’s name into the search bar. 

The results filled the screen instantly: interviews, profiles, countless photographs. 

The first thing that hit her was the hair. White, unmistakable, shaped into that perfect, sculptural wave. Then the eyes — piercing blue, crystalline even through a computer screen. Andy leaned closer, almost unconsciously, tracking how those eyes cut straight into every camera they faced. 

In one article, a designer described her as “a storm in stilettos.” Miranda Priestly. Another called her “brilliant and impossible in the same breath.” The architect found herself smiling at that. 

Then, the brunette clicked into an archived spread from the Met Gala. And there she was. The fashion editor stood on a steep showcase of steps, hand on her hip, gown meticulously saturated with Swarovski crystals. Each search result displayed the editor’s poise, accomplishments and obvious position in high society. Miranda exuded the kind of elegance born from certainty rather than trend.  

Andy could simply tell that this was undoubtedly a woman that knew her own mind. And this, Andy found to be devastatingly attractive. 

The architect didn’t flinch from the thought that followed. Miranda Priestly was simply beautiful. Outlandishly, distractingly beautiful. 

Her laptop dimmed as the cursor blinked on the page, waiting for her next click. Andy tipped her head back against the headboard, stretching her legs under the duvet, her bare feet pressing into cool sheets. 

She wasn’t unsettled by the realization. Desire wasn’t something she shied from. If anything, she sat with it, turned it over, examined it like an object of design. What she felt wasn’t vague or dangerous. It was clear. 

She wanted to know this woman. Not as a face in an article, not as a reputation, but personally. 

Her phone buzzed again on the nightstand. 

Lily: Don’t ghost the gala, okay? Natasha’s been fussing over that seating chart for HOURS.

Andy: I’ll be there.

Lily: And try not to overthink too much. 

Andy: That’s impossible.

Lily: True. But try. 

 

She smiled a tired smile into the dark. Tossing her phone aside, she glanced back at the screen. Another headline stared back at her: Three Marriages, Two Children, and Still at the Top: The Relentless Reign of Miranda Priestly. 

Andy read it twice, her chest tightening at the mention of twin girls. Although, it didn’t scare her. Moreso, it intrigued her. The architect was a firm believer that life was all about building and rebuilding, and that permanence was never about stillness, it was about surviving what shifted beneath you while you remained your only constant. 

And this woman, this Miranda, had seemed to have survived plenty. 

The apartment around her was silent. Tomorrow, Andy would be bombarded with meetings, deadlines, structural diagrams, Doug complaining about site safety, Lily tossing out color palettes, Natasha corralling them all with a smile and an iron calendar. 

But tonight, under the soft glow of her laptop, the architect let herself linger. 

The editor’s face filled her screen, staring back at her with unyielding arctic eyes. And Andy, in her crisp sheets, damp hair curling against her cheek, thought with startling certainty: 

I’m going to know her. One way or another. 

 

<> 

 

The atrium no longer smelled of plaster dust and varnish. Tonight, it smelled of perfume, champagne, and money. 

Andy tugged at the cuff of her suit jacket, scanning the crowd milling beneath the glass canopy. The museum trustees had insisted she attend — “visibility for the firm,” Lily had said brightly — but she felt like an intruder in her own space. 

The floor gleamed under soft amber light, gowns sweeping across it as though the marble itself had been designed only for them. Quiet murmuring filled the room from the bundle of those in attendance. 

“Smile,” Doug muttered, elbowing her as a photographer drifted by. “Pretend you like being here.” 

Andy tried. But her gaze had already snagged on a figure across the room. 

No scaffolding this time, no assistants trailing her. Just a sinful wine-red gown, cut like a rose from a garden, gorgeous and thorned, with that same straight posture. Miranda stood in a circle of men, laughing at something one of them said. The fashion maven was evidently rubbing elbows with a fraction of New York’s movers and shakers, truly alive in her element. 

Andy caught herself staring. Again. 

The brunette turned back to the buffet, reaching for a glass of champagne she didn’t want. Doug had wandered off, already charming a cluster of curators. Again, the architect let her eyes wander — and found them colliding once more with the elusive editor’s. 

A flicker. That was all. An unreadable glance across the room. Then the editor returned to her circle, leaving Andy with the heat of being noticed. 

And then the architect made a decision.  

She would take her time with this pursuit. Like reading a new book, she would savor every turning page where her world intersected with Miranda Priestley’s. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice boomed near the stage. The chatter softened, eyes turning toward the podium where a broad-shouldered man in a tailored navy tuxedo took the microphone. 

“Please welcome tonight’s host,” the emcee announced, “real estate magnate, philanthropist, and proud patron of the arts — Christian Thompson.” 

Applause rolled through the atrium as Christian smiled, raising a glass. Andy felt the familiar tug of recognition ripple through the room. Thompson wasn’t just wealthy; he was everywhere — magazine covers, philanthropic boards, half the skyline carrying his signature. And for Andy, there was something else: the architect knew the layouts of two of his four homes better than he probably did himself.  

Christian launched into his toast, thanking the trustees, the museum staff, and the benefactors who made nights like this possible. The brunette let the words wash over her, her attention slipping back to where the editor stood, face half-lit by the amber chandeliers. 

The applause thundered again as Christian raised his glass. Andy clapped politely, her mind elsewhere. 

Not on Thompson, not on the donors, not even on her firm’s visibility. 

Instead, on the editor’s gaze — sharp as a blade and impossible to forget. 

 

<> 

Chapter 2: The East Wing

Chapter 2 

 

<> 

 

By mid-morning the next day, the second photoshoot for the museum spread was in full swing. It was a war zone dressed in couture; garment bags swayed past like sails caught in storm winds. Photographers' flashbulbs burst like gunfire, cascading the space in sporadic bits of light.  

Andy leaned against a marble column, hands buried in her trouser pockets. Ponytail tight at the nape, bangs feathering into her lashes; she wore her usual uniform of sharp lines and ease — trousers, a tailored shirt, sleeves shoved up her forearms. She observed the mayhem with quiet curiosity. 

Today, they were in the east wing where the entire floor was one elaborate mosaic, glittering and iridescent. Yesterday’s gala had been staged in the museum’s atrium because the palatial space was enough of a jewel to warrant celebration, unlike the east wing which still required a (negligible) bit of work.  

Doug tilted his head at a worker balancing on a chair to adjust heavy drapery. “That’s a broken neck waiting to happen.” 

Andy blew out a sharp breath. “Because a potential lawsuit is exactly what this circus needs.” 

“Relax,” Doug said, already stepping forward. “I’ll take care of it. You just keep looking brilliant.” 

Despite herself, she smiled. “Someday I’m putting ‘Doug Saves the Day’ on our letterhead.” 

Lily crouched down, snapping a quick photo of a massive floral installation in the center of the chaos. “You know...their eye’s not bad. I mean, wasteful and chaotic, but not bad.” 

A few feet away, Natasha hovered with her iPad, logging notes. The girl’s bright eyes kept flicking back to Andy, following her posture, her warm smile and admiring the architect’s constant diligence. 

Then, an assistant waving a clipboard like a torch, charged towards them. 

“You’re the architect, correct?” She was English by the sound of her panicked accent, scanning the group. 

Lily straightened. “That she is,” the junior designer asserted, nudging Andy’s elbow. 

Andy cleared her throat. “How can I help you?” 

The English woman exhaled a long breath. “Miranda wants the scaffolding gone. She says it’s ruining her shot.” 

Andy tipped her head, letting the request hang a beat in the air. “That’s not scaffolding,” she politely corrected. “It’s called shoring and it is currently keeping a two-ton beam where it belongs. Tell Miranda it doesn’t move until it’s safe.” 

The woman was frazzled as she sputtered. “But s-she—she said it was unacceptable. That it needs to come down today.”  

“I’m sure she did.” Andy’s voice was velvet over steel. “But the ceiling doesn’t answer to her. Two days, minimum.” 

The auburn-haired woman shifted anxiously, eyes darting toward the far side of the room. “Bloody hell.” She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She won’t accept that.” 

“Then don’t make yourself the messenger twice.” Andy brushed her bangs aside with a flick of her fingers. “Point me in her direction. I’ll tell her myself.” 

The assistant gave somewhat of a crazed smile. “This should be interesting. Come, then.” 

Andy followed at an even pace behind her, careful not to get too close in case she lost a tooth from one panicked swing of the woman’s clipboard...and there she was. 

The editor. 

Miranda. 

She wasn’t in black this time. Instead, she wore ivory; a blazer cut razor-sharp, slacks wide and fluid, silk catching the light like water. Against her pale complexion, the choice was befitting. It drew out the porcelain of her skin, the gleam of her coiffed white hair and the cobalt contrast of her eyes.  

How was she even real? 

Andy mused, moving forward at an unhurried pace. Shoulders loose, body language easy, entirely gratified with the vision before her. 

Natasha wasn’t too far behind, and she frowned as she tracked Andy’s steps across the floor. The faint crease between her brows deepened when she caught the subtle warmth on Andy’s face — the way the brunette’s smile brightened just slightly, not for Doug, not for Lily, but for the woman in ivory. Natasha bit her lip, lowering her eyes on her tablet. 

Once Andy was just at the center of the editor’s orbit, the silver-haired woman hadn’t looked up immediately. She was too busy eviscerating another assistant, a mousy looking girl with her head bowed. 

“This shadow across the mezzanine? Amateur hour. Fix it. I don’t care if you have to move the sun. That’s all.” 

The assistant fled. The editor rifled through a rack of fabrics, her manicured hand ruthless in its precision. Andy waited, not deferential — simply patient, as if she had all the time in the world. 

Finally, those sharp blue eyes flicked up. Cool and piercing. 

"Why is my set still marred by construction.” The question came out as a statement.  

Andy wanted to laugh. “Because it’s required to support the ceiling.” Her tone came out conversational, almost lazy. “You take it down, you don’t have a set. You have rubble.” 

A beat. 

“This column is also a problem,” the editor said, gesturing daintily to the pillar at her left. “It splits the eye. Useless. Dead space.” Her softly spoken words were a complete dismissal of the architect's logic. 

Andy inhaled slowly. It’s load-bearing, she wanted to say, but she waited, because timing mattered.  

“Columns,” The architect replied, evenly, “also hold things up. They’re not meant to flatter your eye. They’re meant to keep the roof off your head.”  

The editor didn’t blink, a challenge sparking in her eyes. “It’s hideous.”  

And this is where Andy imagined most people would fold, make apologies, scramble for solutions. Yet, the architect held the other woman’s gaze, steady as stone. “Beauty doesn’t exist without structure. Pull this column out, and the whole place comes down. Including you.” 

A deafening silence fell over the room. 

The editor’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile this time — it was a blade. “So, the great Sachs Masterpiece isn’t a safe structure?” She tsked. “Not exactly reassuring, is it?” 

Doug, hovering at a distance, stiffened. But Andy refused to take the bait. Her smile deepened instead, dimples flashing. 

“Every masterpiece has its own timeline,” she said lightly. “It took Michelangelo four years to paint the Sistine chapel. He didn’t rush. Neither should you.” 

The editor’s eyes narrowed, glittering. “Are you comparing yourself to Michelangelo?” 

Andy tilted her head. “No. Just pointing out that he’d have said ‘no’ to you too.” 

A ripple of suppressed laughter moved through a couple of nearby assistants. The editor’s gaze snapped to them, silencing the air instantly, before swiveling back to the architect. 

“You think you’re clever.” 

“I think I’m right.” 

Andy delivered the statement without arrogance. Just truth. 

The editor stepped closer, heels clicking against the pristine floors. Her voice dropped into something softer, sharper. “You’ve built a cage for me to work inside. My vision is being compromised, my composition, my story. And you expect me to believe that safety is your only reason for denying me?” 

And for a moment, Andy was dazed. This was the closest she had ever come to the editor and the woman’s perfume clouded her judgement like some kind of enchantment. A siren’s call. The architect’s nostrils flared slightly. “I don’t expect you to believe anything.” She said, “I expect you not to die under a collapsed beam. Safety’s not my excuse, Ms. Priestly. It’s my job.” 

Miranda studied her then. Andy held her stare without blinking, her brown eyes calm, her gentle smile unwavering. 

Finally, the editor only tilted her head, lips curving into something between annoyance and intrigue. “You’re dangerously sure of yourself,” she said. 

Andy shrugged, ponytail swaying with the movement. “Only when I’ve earned it.” 

Another silence. The kind that bent the room toward it. 

You don’t scare easily, do you? The unspoken question showed plainly on the editor’s face. 

No, I don't. The brunette smirked.  And I like that you tried. 

Outwardly, Andy remained calm, but her heart was unsteady, bound by the moment.  

The editor suddenly turned away from her, addressing the redhead form earlier. “Schedule the next location earlier. If the architect insists on her...creative process, we’ll simply adjust. That’s all.” 

“Yes, Miranda,” the English woman said breathlessly. 

Without another word, the editor strode away, her entourage rippling in her wake. 

Meanwhile, Andy was rooted to the spot. Only when the sharp click of the fashion maven’s heels faded did she allow herself a low, amused laugh. Miranda’s perfume lingered, and it left the architect tipsy. 

Doug appeared at her side, muttering. “You’re insane. She’ll ruin you.” 

Andy smirked. “Good thing I don’t break easy.” 

“Or,” Lily chimed in, “you could maybe try not to antagonize someone who could easily destroy the firm’s reputation.” 

Behind them, Natasha pretended to be very busy scrolling. Though her jaw was set a little too tightly, her cheeks a little too pink. 

Andy didn’t notice. Her gaze lingered on the space Miranda had vacated. 

 

<> 

 

The invitation arrived on heavy card stock, engraved with Runway’s logo in crimson-red cursive. The magazine was throwing a private dinner for VIPs to celebrate the conclusion of the museum spread. Andy decided to take Lily as her plus one.  In her excitement, Lily had waved the invitation around like it was Wonka’s last golden ticket.  

“Oh my god, what am I going to wear?” The junior designer had gleefully paced circles around the office while Andy had just rolled her eyes in quiet amusement. 

 

Now, standing at the entrance of the rooftop terrace, she was a bit overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all.  

The party glowed against the city skyline. String lights hung between steel beams, champagne flutes sparkled, and music floated just above the hum of conversation. Waiters in black threaded between clusters of guests carrying trays of canapés so delicate Andy doubted they could fill a single tooth. The terrace smelled faintly of jasmine and other rich perfumes. 

Andy smoothed her blazer with one hand, her other cradling the bell of a champagne flute. She looked sharp, but compared to the cinched gowns and tailored tuxes around her, she knew she fumbled the dress code. Not that it bothered her. 

“God, it’s beautiful,” Lily whispered beside her, eyes wide at the view. ““Like… tripping on shrooms, but without the paranoia or the urge to hug a tree.”” 

Andy hummed. “A bit much for dinner.” 

“That’s the point.” Lily’s grin was crooked. “Runway doesn’t do subtle.” 

Andy’s eyes swept the terrace. She knew who she was looking for before she admitted it to herself. 

Miranda moved through the crowd like the axis around which it turned. She was dressed impeccably as usual. Naturally, there was no debate about who was hosting the night’s festivities.  

Andy watched her for a moment, the contrast fascinating. This was Miranda in her domain, entirely untouchable. 

“Don’t stare too long,” Lily murmured. “You’ll combust.” 

Andy bit her lip, “I'm not being very discreet, am I?” 

Lily snorted, “Not unless staring holes into someone counts as discreet these days.” 

 

<> 

 

The dinner unfolded with speeches and toasts.  Andy made polite conversation with donors and answered a handful of questions about the museum’s design; but her attention kept drifting. Miranda never lingered near her table, never sought her out, though Andy noticed the occasional flick of her gaze across the terrace. Or was it just Andy’s imagination?  

Likely. 

It was only after dessert, when the music softened and guests began to drift into looser clusters, that Andy found herself close enough to hear Miranda’s voice cut sharper than usual. 

She’d stormed away from a group of people, phone already at her ear. Her tone was clipped, frustrated. Andy, standing near the terrace railing for a breath of air, caught it unintentionally. 

“You said you’d be there this time.” Miranda’s voice was low, wrought with emotion. “They were waiting for you. How could you possibly be this unreliable?” 

A pause. Miranda’s fingers tightened around her phone, knuckles pale. “Preston don’t—don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your daughters.” 

The call ended abruptly. Miranda exhaled, sharp and ragged, before slipping the phone back into her clutch. For a beat she stayed still, shoulders taut, her profile lit by the city lights. 

Andy didn’t move, though she knew she should look away. She saw it then — not the editor who shredded assistants with a word, not the hostess dazzling her guests— but a mother, furious at being failed on her children's behalf. 

The architect kept her voice soft when she approached. “You deserve better than half-measures.” 

Miranda’s head snapped toward her, eyes icy. She was startled. “Were you eavesdropping?” She huffed. “And where do you find the audacity to put your nose where it doesn't belong?” 

Andy didn’t cower. Although, she didn’t mean to think out loud. Maybe the champagne and previous hour of superficial chatter had worn her down more than she initially thought. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.” The brunette leaned against the railing. “You just seem very upset.” 

For a second something flickered across Miranda’s expression — vulnerability, maybe — but it vanished as quickly as it came. The editor straightened, mask back in place. “You presume far too much, Ms. Sachs.” 

Andy inclined her head slightly. “Do I?” 

Miranda turned on her heel, already dismissing her when a high-pitched sound split the night. A crack of metal against metal, the groan of something shifting. 

A decorative lighting rig, strung too close to the edge of the terrace, tilted in the sudden wind. The steel frame buckled, glass shattering as it lurched. Guests shrieked, scattering. 

Andy dove forward without thinking. She reached Miranda just as the rig swung down, pulling her into her arms, shielding her body with her own. The crash echoed; shards sprayed across the rooftop floor. 

For a moment they stayed locked together — Miranda pressed against Andy’s chest, Andy’s hand firm at her back, steadying her. She could feel Miranda’s heartbeat racing through the suede of her dress. 

Runway personnel rushed forward, babbling apologies, but Miranda shooed them with a sharp flick of her manicured hands. She stepped out of Andy’s hold quickly, too quickly, adjusting her dress as if to erase the moment. 

“Do I strike you as someone who needs rescuing?” She asked, voice hard though her eyes betrayed the adrenaline still coursing.  

Abruptly, Miranda swept past her, heels striking sharp against the deck as she rejoined the crowd. 

Andy watched her go, her own pulse steady. What stayed with her wasn’t Miranda’s blatant dismissal, but the call she’d overheard — the raw frustration and care she’d tried so hard to hide.  And though Miranda had stormed away, Andy knew she’d just been handed the first real glimpse of the woman beneath the armor. 

 

<> 

 

The mahogany-paneled lecture hall at Briarwood Preparatory smelled faintly of floor polish and unwavering ambition. Andy had walked into plenty of imposing rooms before, but this one gave even her pause. She stood at the podium, scanning the rows of near-adults sprawled in their uniforms. Seniors. Bright-eyed and restless, all one year away from stepping into the world beyond these walls. 

Recently, Sachs Design Group had been awarded the American Institute of Architects’ “Young Architect of the Year” honor, a recognition reserved for rising designers who had already made a significant cultural impact. The panel cited Andy’s work on the new museum, calling it “a modern landmark in conversation with the city’s past.” It had launched her name into the industry press; the kind of momentum Lily was eager to leverage. Briarwood Preparatory, an elite private school on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, was known for grooming the children of old money and power players. Always eager to showcase achievers tied to the city’s future, they wasted no time inviting Andy to speak at their annual Career Day. 

Lily had been the one to push her into it. “It’s good PR,” she’d said, leaning on Andy’s drafting table until Andy gave in. “The award puts you in the spotlight. Briarwood is the kind of place where parents write checks with more zeros than you can count. Go. Talk. Inspire the future of tomorrow.” 

So, here she was. 

She didn’t open with blueprints or architectural jargon. Instead, she said: 

“When I was seventeen, I thought architecture meant glass towers and a lot of men in suits talking about square footage. Which, to be fair, is about half of it. But the other half?” She tilted her head. “Is about figuring out how people actually live inside the spaces you imagine.” 

A ripple of attention spread across the room. Even the slouchers in the back straightened just a little. Andy leaned into it, voice bright and steady. 

“Architecture is more than lines on a page. It’s deciding what future generations will inherit. When you walk into a space and feel awe, or peace, or even discomfort...someone built that on purpose. We make choices that shape how people feel, even long after we’re gone.” 

A hand shot up, a tall boy with sharp features, clearly rehearsed for law school interviews. “So, you’re saying architecture is political?” 

“Everything is political.” The architect tittered. “You’ll learn that soon enough.” 

That earned a few laughs from the teachers and a few murmurs from the students. Andy let their receptive energy wash over her.  

“I’ve designed houses for billionaires who wanted six kitchens, only to never use a single one. I’ve also designed community centers where every square foot gets fought over because it matters. You’d be surprised which one feels better at the end of the day.” 

Another hand shot up — a girl in the back row, skeptical. “So…like, why bother with the billionaires then?” 

The architect gave a sly look. “Because they pay for the community centers.” 

That broke the room. Laughter, nods. The ice cracked. 

Then a boy in the back row cupped his face to project his voice. “Do you ever screw up?” He asked. 

Andy didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, all the time. The trick is to make your mistakes look intentional and call it innovation.” She winked playfully, “Works nine out of ten times.” 

The room burst into laughter. 

“I'm kidding.” Andy smiled and leaned casually against the podium. “Look, you don’t have to know your grand life plan yet. I didn’t. I just liked making things real. Draw it, build it, walk through it. If you can find something that gives you that kind of rush — stick with it. That’s the job.” 

She answered a few more questions with ease until the head of school finally thanked her and the room broke in applause. 

As students filed out, Lily appeared at the side door, phone in hand and wearing a big grin. “You killed it. I swear, you actually held their attention.” 

Andy rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop her smile. “Glad to be of service.” 

The brunette hadn’t expected much from the school visit, yet she really enjoyed speaking to the kids. While Lily peeled off to charm one of the teachers, Andy found herself wandering the hallways alone. 

Briarwood carried the weight of generations in its bones. The corridors gleamed with polished stone, oak paneling, and glass statues. Andy walked slowly, taking it all in. 

That’s when she heard it — the unmistakable hiss of spray paint. 

Rounding a corner, she stopped. 

In the library alcove, two young girls stood out of place in their pressed uniforms. One worked a can of black paint in furious strokes. The other clutched her hands together, glancing up and down the hall, whispering frantically.  

“Cass, stop. You’ll get caught.” 

The other girl’s jaw tightened. “Good.” Then slashed another line of paint across the wall. 

There was something strangely familiar about these children, but she couldn’t say what. Maybe Andy should have turned around. Walked away. Pretended she hadn’t seen anything. But something about the defiance in the bold one’s voice, and the quiet worry in the other’s, kept her rooted. 

She stepped forward. “What are you trying to say with that?” 

Both girls jerked upright. Twins. Again, something nagged at the back of Andy’s mind as the bold one narrowed her eyes, clutching the spray can like a weapon. The anxious one flushed and stepped back. 

“None of your business,” The angry pre-teen snapped. 

Andy crossed the hall and braced her weight casually against the opposite wall. “Pretty hard to ignore when you’re tagging a wall right in front of me.” 

The vandal’s chin shot up, defensive. The other one’s words tumbled out in a whisper. “Please don’t tell.” 

Andy’s smile softened. “Relax. I’m not a teacher.” She nodded at the jagged scrawl on the wall. “And I’ve done my share of making marks where I wasn’t supposed to.” 

The troubled girl frowned. “Yeah? What’d you do?” 

Andy tugged a small notebook from her blazer, flipped it open, and crouched to sketch with a quick hand. Simple lines, easy shapes, pulled together into a rough cathedral profile. She tore the page out and slid it across the floor. 

“If you’re going to leave your mark,” she said, voice low and calm, “make it something that means something. Anger fades. But this?” She tapped the sketch. “This lasts.” 

The reserved twin crept closer, peering down. Her eyes widened. “You drew that just now?” 

Andy’s grin widened. “Took me longer than it should have. I’m rusty.” 

“Who are you?” They seemed confused.  

“My name is Andy. Your school invited me to speak to a group of seniors.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m the best at what I do.” 

“And that is?” 

“I design buildings.” 

Angry kid snatched up the page, staring. Her bravado cracked for just a second. She stuffed the spray can into her book bag and muttered, “You’re weird.” 

“Some of the best people are,” Andy said easily. 

"Don’t listen to her.” The reserved girl elbowed her sister. “She just doesn’t know how to process her feelings without acting out. My name is Caroline, and this is my sister Cassidy.” 

A lightbulb went off in Andy’s mind.  

She recalled the night she did a deep dive on a certain fashion editor. 

The vibrant copper hair. The matching sets of blue eyes. Twin girls. Ritzy school. 

The architect had connected the dots.  

“You’re Miranda’s girls.” 

Caroline’s eyes widened. “You know our mom?” 

Cassidy rolled her eyes, “Well duh Carrie, who doesn’t know Mom?” 

Andy shifted against the wall. “Fair point. Your mom’s kind of a big deal, huh?” 

Caroline tilted her head. “So… you work with her?” 

“Not really. Our work just overlaps sometimes,” Andy said, glancing at the dripping black paint on the wall. “If she saw this, though, I don’t think she’d be impressed.” 

“You can’t tell her!” Caroline pleaded. 

“Listen, I’m not telling anyone. But the next time you’ve got something bothering you? Find another way to let it out.” The brunette sighed, “You’re both sharp, I can tell. Don’t waste that.” 

Caroline stared at Andy, curious. Cassidy muttered something under her breath, but she shoved the spray can deeper into her book-bag and zipped it close. 

Andy straightened, sliding her hands back into her pockets. “Go on, get out of here before one of your teachers find out.” 

Caroline yanked her sister’s wrist. “Let’s go, Cass. We’re going to be late for swimming.” The girl ’s voice trailed off as the twins slipped past her, “She was really nice.” 

Cassidy grumbled, “She’s nosy.” A pause. “But...yeah, sure.” 

Andy watched them disappear, warmth lingering in her chest that she couldn’t explain. 

 

<> 

 

 

Chapter 3: Orlando

Chapter 3 

 

<> 

 

Andy stood at the long drafting table in her office, hair pulled up into a messy bun. Sunlight spilled across the vellum spread out before her. Every square inch of it was covered in notes, arrows, and pencil-shaded textures. She had three deadlines colliding at once, and this new commission (a flagship boutique in SoHo for a European fashion house) was already eating at her. 

There was a knock at her door. 

“Coffee?” 

Natasha hovered in the doorway, two mugs in hand. The girl smiled a coy smile. 

“Lifesaver,” Andy murmured, taking one without looking up.  

“Have you had something to eat?” Natasha asked, perching on the edge of the table. “You’ve been here since… what, five this morning?” 

“Mmm...four,” Andy corrected absently, sipping the coffee. Her eyes narrowed at a section of façade detail. “This sightline’s off. If I shift the entry point...six feet east...” 

Natasha leaned closer, pretending to study the sketch. “You know, most people wouldn’t even notice these tiny little details. But you don’t miss much, do you?” 

Andy glanced up briefly with an easy smile. “That’s the job.” Then she bent back over the page, pencil scratching again. 

Natasha tilted her head. “Not just the job. It’s...who you are.” 

Andy hummed a distracted, “Mhmm,” and reached for her scale ruler. 

The blonde tried again. “Do you ever stop thinking about buildings?” 

“Not really. Even when I’m asleep. Sad, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t think it’s sad.” She let the silence stretch, her gaze lingering. “I think it’s inspiring. You’re dedicated.” 

“Well, it’s the only way to move things forward.” Andy sighed as she tapped her pencil against the page. “Hey, do me a favor? Pull the materials binder for me. I need to check finishes against natural light exposure.” 

Natasha slid off the table. “Sure thing.” 

As she moved toward the shelves, Andy was already bent back over her work, humming under her breath. 

Natasha returned with the binder, setting it down a little harder than necessary. Andy glanced up, eyebrows raised. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Natasha said quickly, flipping open the tabs and smoothing her hair back with one hand. “Just… long day already.” 

Andy gave her an understanding nod, then scribbled another note in the margin of her drawing. “Tell me about it. Thanks for the coffee, by the way. You always remember how I like it.” 

Natasha’s lips curved into a small smile. “Always.” 

The door banged open. 

“Please tell me one of you ordered food, because I’m starving,” Lily announced, sweeping in with a tote slung over her arm. Her gaze flicked from Natasha perched close beside Andy, to Andy obliviously hunched over her sketches. A grin tugged at Lily’s mouth. 

“Well-well,” she drawled. “Am I interrupting something?” 

Andy looked up, confused. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Lily said, too fast, but her eyes glittered. She dropped her bag onto a chair and leaned over the table. “You’re fussing with that entry sightline again? Didn’t Doug already tell you it works?” 

“I just need to be sure,” Andy said, adjusting a measurement. 

Right on cue, Doug’s voice singsonged from the hallway: “I heard my naaame!” He appeared in the doorway, hardhat tucked under one arm, giving them all a once-over. “Nat, did you log the site inspection reports yet?” 

“Not yet. I’ll get on it.” The blonde gathered her things a little too quickly, slipping out with a glance back at Andy. 

Lily watched her go, then arched a brow at Andy. “You really don’t see it, do you?” 

“See what?” Andy asked, genuinely puzzled. 

Lily grinned, biting back a laugh. “Never mind. Just...remind me not to let you read blueprints and body language at the same time. You miss the obvious.” 

Andy rolled her eyes good-naturedly, turning back to her drawing. “Focus, Lily. Some of us are trying to work here.” 

Lily only smirked, dropping unceremoniously into the sofa nearby. “And some of us are trying to make sure you notice when someone’s practically throwing themselves at you.” 

Andy shook her head, pencil moving steadily across the page. “You’re reading into nothing. Nat’s just nurturing like that.” 

Lily rolled her eyes. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.” 

 

<> 

 

By the time Andy got home the sun was well below the horizon. 

She draped her jacket over a chair, tugged her ponytail loose, and padded to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter for a beat, eyes closed. 

She was drained, yet her thoughts kept assembling structures, piece by piece. 

Andy desperately needed to unwind somehow. 

She crossed over to the lattice of bookshelves, running her hand along the spines, letting instinct guide her. Fiction lived beside biographies. Poetry tucked against architecture theory. She pulled down a copy of Baldwin’s Another Country, its cover soft with age, and carried it to bed. 

Andy curled against the pillows, cracked open the book, and let herself sink. Reading was the only time she could quiet the static in her head. It was one of the few things that helped her properly cope with the stress of relentless objectives and looming projects. 

She didn’t remember falling asleep.  

Only waking in the early gray, book pressed against her chest, her alarm screaming about a flight she was due to catch in just a few hours. 

 

<> 

 

By the time she and Lily reached the airport, caffeine had smoothed Andy’s edges. Her suitcase rolled behind her, laptop bag slung crosswise over her shoulder. Lily, as always, had a knack for turning travel chaos into theater; juggling her phone, her passport, a croissant she’d charmed out of a café worker all before dawn. 

“You’re walking too fast,” Lily complained as they made their way through the terminal. 

“You’re walking too slow.” Andy didn’t break stride. 

“That’s because I’m not six feet tall.” Lily caught up anyway, cheeks pink from her efforts. She huffed, "You do realize not everyone was born with giraffe legs, right?” 

Andy glanced sideways, smirking. “Jealous?” 

“Of your metabolism? Constantly. Of your legs? Never. I have better shoes.” 

Andy laughed, low and warm, and let Lily herd her toward their gate. 

They settled into seats near the window overlooking the parked aircrafts. Lily scrolled through her phone, already sighing about the flood of emails from the office. The airport lounge was noisy enough that Andy had to lean toward Lily to hear her.  

“Paris,” Lily said, scanning their itinerary. “Then Milan. And we’re due back in New York in two weeks. You’ll get a chance to catch your breath…maybe by Christmas.” 

“Wonderful.” Andy pulled a book from her bag (she always traveled with one) and tried to read. She tried. But her eyes kept drifting to the TV bolted to the wall near the gate. Some entertainment channel played on mute, news ticker crawling across the screen. 

Andy’s gaze snagged instantly. 

There Miranda was on the red carpet at some charity event, adorned by shimmering sequins with a low neckline. Photographers stepped over one another for the woman’s attention, cameras flashing as the editor turned her face into it with the ease of someone long accustomed to being observed. Even muted, Andy could hear it — the cadence of Miranda's voice, the sharp wit tucked into each of her responses.  

“Of course,” Lily muttered, following her gaze. “They’ll televise the opening of an envelope if that lady was in the room.” 

Andy’s head tipped back slightly. She didn’t answer. 

“You’re staring again,” Lily said dryly. 

Andy blinked. “So what if I am? Look at her.” 

“You’re looking at her like she’s the Sunday crossword.” 

“I happen to like crosswords.” 

Lily groaned and shoved her phone into her tote. “Andy, listen. I adore you. But if you’re actually planning to chase Miranda Priestly—” 

“I’m not chasing.” 

“You’re circling.” Lily jabbed a finger at her. “And she’s not exactly easy prey.” 

Andy nearly snorted. “I’m not naïve, Lily. I can handle myself just fine.” 

Lily rolled her eyes but didn’t press. She’d worked with Andy long enough to know when her boss’s mind was firmly set on something. 

On screen, Miranda had paused at the foot of the staircase, answering a question with perfectly painted lips and a cutting remark that made the interviewer laugh nervously. The camera caught the sharp line of the woman’s jaw and for the first time Andy wondered, could Miranda be involved with someone else already? Surely, Andy couldn't be the only one interested in a woman as brilliant and beautiful as she was. ‘Divorced’ didn't necessarily mean ‘single’. 

Regardless, there was only one way to find out.  

Andy’s book slid closed in her lap. Her mind was already moving.  

Flowers were too obvious. Jewelry was too intimate. Something else – she needed something else. Something with weight. 

“Don’t do it,” Lily said automatically, sensing the shift. 

“Do what?” 

“Whatever scheme is turning over in that brain of yours.” 

She watched Miranda glide across the screen with unmistakable poise and grace. “She must read a lot.” 

“Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. So, what?” 

Andy’s voice was thoughtful now, quiet. “She’s a creator. Every word that passes her desk, every page she prints. She understands the weight of a story.” 

Lily eyed her warily. “And?” 

“And,” Andy said, a sly look on her face, “maybe I’ll send her a story worth keeping.” 

“Are you being serious?” Lily groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “Oh God, you’re being serious.” 

 

<> 

 

That afternoon, between client calls and site inspections, Andy ducked into a rare bookshop tucked off the main square of the city they’d flown to. Dust motes floated in the filtered light, the smell of old paper thick as incense. 

She moved between shelves with purpose, fingertips trailing the spines, hunting. Until her hand stopped on a familiar name. 

Virginia Woolf. Orlando. 

A beautiful edition; clothbound, deep navy cover, brass lettering on the spine. Andy lifted it carefully, thumbed the pages, felt the weight. 

Orlando, she thought. A life that stretched across centuries, across genders. A story about fluidity, reinvention and beauty that endured because it refused to stay still. 

It was perfect. 

Andy carried it to the counter, already turning the phrasing over in her head. Not too much. Not sentimental. Just enough to leave Miranda guessing. 

That night, in her hotel room, she opened the front cover and wrote in a clean, deliberate hand: 

For someone who appreciates the art of transformation. – A 

She closed the book, slipped it into a protective sleeve, and set it on the desk. 

Tomorrow, she’d have it couriered to the Runway office. No flowers. No fanfare. Just a book. A message. 

Something Miranda couldn’t ignore. 

Hopefully. 

 

<> 

 

The air in Milan was thick with heat even after sunset, clinging to the cobblestones and echoing through the narrow streets. Andy leaned against the wrought-iron railing of her hotel balcony, dress shirt unbuttoned, glass of mineral water sweating in her hand. Below, Vespas wove through traffic like threads on a loom, horns sharp, laughter carrying from the café on the corner. 

Eight days. 

Eight days since she’d left a clothbound copy of Orlando in the hands of a courier. Eight days since she’d scrawled her message in neat strokes across the book’s cover with a flicker of hope. To hell with the possibility of being rejected. It had been eight whole days since she took a chance...and Miranda had given her nothing in return. 

Andy had half convinced herself that she’d miscalculated. Maybe she got the address wrong. Maybe the gift was misplaced and instead slipped into some random intern’s leather satchel. Or maybe Miranda had actually received it...only to read the inscription and toss it at the nearest waste bin without a second thought. 

And so here Andy was, antsy.  

Brooding. 

She turned back inside, leaving the balcony doors open to the city noise. Her laptop blinked awake on the desk, a spreadsheet of deliverables for the SoHo project glaring up at her. She had a video call scheduled in thirty minutes with a client in Tokyo, and Lily had already retreated to her adjoining room, muttering something about catching up on sleep. 

Andy rubbed the back of her neck, sank into the desk chair, and opened her notebook instead of her inbox. Pages full of elevations and quick sketches flipped beneath her hand, but the motion didn’t soothe. She tapped her pencil against the margin, restless energy refusing to quiet. 

Her phone buzzed. 

Andy didn’t look at first. Probably Lily, already craving midnight gelato. Or Doug, reminding her about tomorrow’s site walkthrough. But when she glanced at the screen, her body went still. 

Unknown number. New York area code. 

Her pulse gave a sharp kick. 

Andy thumbed the screen open. 

M: Virginia Woolf? 

The brunette blinked at the message. There was no greeting. No explanation.  

Then, Andy leaned back in her chair, unable to stop the smile that nearly split her face in half.  

Her fingers hovered over the keys. Don’t overthink it, Sachs. 

She typed. 

A: I thought you might appreciate her more than roses. 

M: You thought wrong. I don’t particularly care for cryptic gestures. 

A: Not cryptic. Consider it an invitation. 

M: To what, exactly? 

A: Conversation. Over dinner, if you’ll allow it. 

The typing dots hovered, then vanished.  

M: Dinner? For what cause? 

Andy could almost hear the clipped inflection in Miranda’s voice.  

A: No cause. No ulterior motive. Just two people talking. 

The reply came quickly this time. 

M: Do you think this is appropriate? 

A: I just thought sharing a meal was the simplest way to have a real conversation. 

The dots blinked, stopped. When they returned, the words cut sharper: 

M: You’re merely a child. What could you and I possibly have to discuss? 

Andy’s chest tightened at the phrasing, but she didn’t back down. She typed slowly, deliberately. 

A: I’m not asking for a promise. Just the chance to have your company for one evening. If it’s terrible, we part ways and that’s the end of it. 

Another pause, longer this time. Andy imagined Miranda back in New York, tucked away somewhere in a rare moment of quiet, weighing every syllable, choosing her words carefully. 

M: You’re bold. 

A: When necessary. 

M: And presumptuous. 

A: Or maybe I just know what I want. 

The silence that followed felt heavier. Andy sat with it, patient, steady. 

At last— 

M: This number is not to be used for idle chatter. 

Andy exhaled, confident now more than ever. 

A: Then I’ll keep it simple. Miranda, I’d like to take you out for dinner. 

 

The dots appeared once more, lingered, then vanished. Nothing more came. 

Andy set the phone down. Not a no. Not a yes, either.  

The architect exhaled one great big sigh into the silent suite, “You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?” 

 

<> 

 

The Next Day 

 

The Milan office was quiet for once, emptied of contractors and translators. Andy sat at a long table, laptop open, blueprints spread out. It was late. Too late. The kind of hour when her focus usually sharpened, but tonight it dulled, her pencil still against the page. 

Andy massaged her temples and stretched her legs under the table, ankles crossing loosely. A headache brewed beneath the surface. She’d been living on espressos and Advil for days, her body humming with fatigue she couldn’t shake. Milan had been productive, sure, but she couldn't help the feeling that she was underperforming somehow. 

“You look like hell.” 

Andy turned her head. Lily stood in the doorway, bag slung over one shoulder, scarf loose around her neck. Her tone was light, but her eyes studied Andy carefully. 

“Thanks,” Andy muttered, deadpan. “That’s exactly the encouragement I needed.” 

“Well, talk to me. What’s goin’ on?” Lily came in, dropping into the chair opposite her. “You’ve been… I don’t know. Off. Not your usual ‘I’m juggling seven things at once and secretly thriving’ self. You’re quieter. You’re… glum.” 

“Glum?” Andy frowned, absently spinning her pencil between her fingers.  

“Yes. Glum.” Lily shot back. “It’s a word. And accurate.” 

Andy shrugged, now fiddling with the cap of a pen. Her gaze dropped back to the scattered drawings. “I’m just tired, Lil. That’s all.” 

Lily didn’t buy it. “Uh-huh. Tired, sure. But you’re always tired. This is different. There's something you’re not telling me.” 

Andy stayed quiet, shoulders sagging as though the weight of the day had finally caught up to her. Lily leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. 

“This isn’t about work, is it?” 

Andy hesitated, then shook her head slightly. “It’s nothing.” 

“Which means it’s definitely something.” 

Before Andy could come up with another deflection, her phone buzzed against the table. She glanced at it, pulse catching when she saw the name. 

Miranda. 

Her thumb swiped the screen before she could second-guess it. 

M: Thursday. 8 p.m. La Volière. Don’t be late. 

Andy read the words twice, her chest filling with a sharp, unexpected jolt of anticipation. 

Lily craned her neck, trying to see. “Who is that?” 

Andy tilted the phone out of view, her face carefully neutral. “Just Doug.” 

“Doug, huh?” Lily smirked, unconvinced. “Funny, because that’s the first time I’ve seen you look like a human again all week.” 

Andy set the phone down, ignoring the comment. “I'm probably just a bit homesick, but we’re flying back soon. So... just need to push through.” Then she changed the subject altogether, “Have you heard from Nat at all today?” 

Lily leaned back, watching her. “Homesick. Right. Whatever you say, Sachs.” 

Andy’s gaze lingered on the message glowing across her phone screen and for the first time in days, she felt wide awake, filled with renewed purpose. 

 

<> 

 

Chapter 4: La Voliere

Chapter 4  

 

<> 

 

By the time Thursday finally rolled around, Andy was buzzing with energy.  She had showed up at La Volière precisely at 7:45pm. 

That was 50 minutes ago. 

“Excuse me, Miss? Would you like to be seated now?”  The maître d’ had asked her twice already.  

Andy had given the same answer both times: “Not yet.” 

The architect stood near the grand entrance of La Volière, a rooftop restaurant encased in glass and humming with opulence. From the 40th floor, Manhattan glowed like a jewel in the night. The place was exactly what she expected Miranda to choose. It was refined, intimidating and exclusive. No menu outside the door, no walk-ins. It was the sort of restaurant that lived in whispers and was written about in the back pages of glossy magazines. 

The brunette tugged at her suit jacket sleeve, letting her eyes skim the room. Tables nestled between potted olive trees. A live quartet played near the window, strings weaving over soft piano. Candlelight threw everything into a golden haze. 

It was all undeniably romantic.  

Only, Andy couldn’t help but feel a little foolish for having waited so long. 

She checked her watch. Miranda was over half an hour late. 

Of course.  

Andy forced herself to breathe evenly, though doubt gnawed at her. Maybe Miranda wouldn’t come at all. Maybe this was her way of saying ‘piss off’ without ever needing to actually say it. 

But why go through all that trouble? The architect shook her head. It didn’t make any sense.  

The maître d’ reappeared. “Ms. Sachs, if you’d prefer to wait at the table—” 

“She’ll be here,” Andy interrupted gently. 

Another couple was ushered inside, and Andy couldn’t help checking her watch again, as if that would help. Then, she pulled out her phone. 

A: I’m at the restaurant. Is everything alright? 

Andy wasn’t unreasonable.  

The architect had some idea of what chaotic schedule Miranda adhered to every day. However, Andy respected herself too much to disregard the effort she put into being present tonight. She decided to not jump to conclusions about possibly being stood up by the editor. No, the mature thing to do was to communicate plainly with the other woman. 

So, she did.  

Or, at least, she tried to.  

A: If something else came up, it’s fine if we reschedule. 

A: Unless if you’d prefer to not to meet at all. 

A: Miranda? 

Just when Andy was about to consider tonight a lesson-learned, the doors swept open.  

“No, it will not wait until tomorrow. You will fix it now. If you’re incapable, then I’ll find someone that actually understands the importance of critical thinking.” Miranda breezed in, phone tucked between her shoulder and cheek, chewing out some poor soul on the opposite side of the call. "I don’t care. Get it done.” She hung up and slipped the phone into her purse, exhaling sharply through her nose. Only then did her gaze sweep forward and landed on Andy. 

The woman eyed her from head to toe. “Andréa Sachs.” 

Miranda’s tongue curled deliberately around each syllable of the architect’s name. 

She didn’t apologize for being late. She only tilted her head slightly, the weight of her presence settling over Andy like a cloak. Then, she turned to the maître d’: “Table.” 

Andy followed her. 

The brunette’s eyes trailed along the shape of Miranda’s calves to the swell of the woman’s backside. The editor wore a chestnut knitted blouse with a form-fitting cream skirt. A thin leather belt cinched her waist and Andy was nearly salivating.  

The architect discreetly adjusted her trousers as the maître d’ led them through a maze of candlelit dinners. They were taken to an elevated section of the restaurant with a selection of private booths. Once there, Miranda had slid into her seat gracefully, ankles crossed. She adjusted her cloth napkin in her lap, glanced at the wine list, and finally looked up.  

“Well?” She said coolly. “Are you planning to sit, or stand there gawking all evening?” 

Andy lowered herself into the booth, hands loose on the table. “I was just making sure you were settled first.” 

Not long after they were seated, the waiter approached. Miranda ordered without hesitation: oysters, lamb, Bordeaux. Politely, Andy requested pasta and a lemon seltzer.  

When they were alone again, Miranda’s eyes pinned her.  

The architect wanted to tell the woman just how beautiful she was. But she was sure Miranda knew enough about her own beauty and allure. It showed in the way she carried herself. 

“You’re aware I don’t suffer small talk, yes?” 

“That makes the two of us, then.” Andy replied evenly. “I appreciate you meeting with me tonight.” 

A pause.  

Miranda pulled a small tube of lotion from her handbag. Slowly, she moisturized her palms, apparently dissecting the brunette’s words for sincerity. “You assume I had nothing better to do.” 

“I assume you had a dozen better things to do,” Andy countered gently. “Which makes this matter even more.” 

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile, exactly. More like Miranda was waiting to see how long Andy could hold steady without flinching. 

Still, the brunette kept her composure. 

Miranda lifted her glass, studied her, and said, “We’ll see if you’re still so put-together once the wine runs out.” 

“Oh, I won’t be drinking tonight.” Said the architect, fully intending on savoring the moment. 

For a beat, neither of them spoke. 

Miranda set her wine glass aside. 

“How does a 20-something-year-old manage to rise to such a great deal of success in her industry in such a short span of time and, more importantly, what could she possibly want with my personal attention?” 

Humored, Andy smirked at the woman from the opposite side of the table. “Right to it, then?” 

“As I said, my time is valuable.” 

“And so is mine.” 

“So, why waste it on pleasantries?” 

Andy took a measured breath. 

“I started at twenty-two, straight out of Columbia. Top of my class, starving for a chance to prove myself. I landed at one of those firms where you either break or sharpen. I sharpened.   

By twenty-four, I realized I didn’t want to spend my life pushing someone else’s vision uphill. So, I left. Everyone told me I was insane — too young, too reckless. Maybe I was. But I bet on myself and founded my firm with nothing but a laptop, a stack of sketchbooks, and more determination than sleep.” 

The architect could tell that she had Miranda’s undivided attention now. 

“My break came at twenty-five. Christian Thompson — yes, that Thompson — decided to gamble on me. First it was one of his houses upstate. Then another. Those projects cracked the door open. Suddenly my name was in all the blogs, and people started calling. 

At twenty-six, I built a proper team. Small, only four of us. But I didn’t want a big firm. Not yet. I wanted the right people instead.” 

She’s not sure whether Miranda did it subconsciously or not, but the editor had leaned towards her, obviously intrigued. “Go on.” She prompted. 

Andy took a sip of her lemon seltzer. “By twenty-seven, my team and I had the museum commission. That project nearly swallowed us whole, but we pulled it off. The night of the gala was...that was the first time I felt like maybe we’d made it. That people finally saw SDG as more than a scrappy startup.” Andy exuded pride. “And now at twenty-eight? Well. Now I’m here. Running a firm that was supposed to be a long shot, walking into rooms I used to only dream about.” 

Their food was completely forgotten.  

There was a sudden pop of champagne at a nearby booth as Miranda wore an expression Andy wasn’t sure how to decipher.  

The editor hummed, propping her chin up in the palm of her hand. “Quite the journey, then.” 

“It sure was.” Andy nodded, “And it continues.” 

“And my other question. Why are we here tonight?” 

“Truthfully?” 

“I’d expect nothing less.” 

“You fascinate me, Miranda.” 

The reaction was immediate. The editor’s eyes turned into little sapphire slits. 

“Fascination,” Miranda said, “is the pastime of children. Butterflies, fireworks, shiny things in shop windows. Surely a woman of your… professional stature has matured beyond such flimsy indulgences.” 

Andy was slightly confused at the sudden shift in Miranda’s attitude, but she took it in stride. Temperamental thing, this woman was. The architect wondered, is it bad that I find that attractive? 

The brunette adjusted the dial of her wristwatch, attempting to ground herself from suddenly less than innocent thoughts. “On the contrary, I’ve learned that dismissing fascination can be a mistake. It’s usually the first sign you’ve found something, or someone, worth paying attention to.” 

The editor looked away for a moment. Candlelight carved sharp planes across her cheekbones. “Flattery,” she said, “And not even original.” 

Andy’s voice remained even. “I’m not here to impress you with compliments, Miranda. Anything I say to you, I actually mean it. I’m here because you’re unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. And I’d like the chance to know you. Properly. Without the chaos of work involved. That’s it.” 

The quartet’s strings filled the silence that followed, sweeping across the room. Andy let the weight of her blunt admission sit on the table between them, unafraid. 

Then Miranda reached for her glass, lifting it with exquisite precision. “Do you realize,” she said, swirling the Bordeaux once, “how many people would kill for this seat across from me? People with far more… leverage, shall we say, than a fledgling architect?” 

Andy inclined her head. “And yet here I am, sitting across from you.” 

Checkmate.  

Miranda huffed, “While tonight isn't entirely unpleasant, you should know that I have no interest in satisfying whatever fantasies you’ve concocted for yourself.”  

Andy didn’t wince. She didn’t laugh it off either. Instead, she let the words settle, sharp as they were, and leaned forward just slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table. 

“I don’t have fantasies about you, Miranda,” Andy said, measured. “I have respect. And a very real interest in who you are outside the world everyone else sees.” 

Miranda considered the brunette’s statement, “You presume there is an ‘outside.’ That I have some hidden self, waiting to be uncovered.” 

The architect shook her head. “No. I think you’re entirely yourself. Always. But people only notice what they expect to see. I’d like the chance to notice more.” 

“And if I told you there’s nothing more to see?” she asked. 

Andy met her gaze, unwavering. “Then I’d call you a liar.” 

"Tread carefully, Andréa.” Miranda warned, her voice a soft whisper. 

The architect laughed a warm laugh. “Either way, I’ve told you why I’m here.” She clasped her hands together, “But what I’d like to know is...why are you here, Miranda? You didn't have to agree to this. You could've said ‘no’.” 

“Maybe I should have.” 

Andy hummed, unoffended. “Did you at least like the book?” 

“It was…unexpected.” 

Andy tilted her head. “That’s not an answer.” 

Miranda’s wine-stained lips curved faintly. “Virginia Woolf is not exactly light dinner fare. Why Orlando?” 

The brunette considered her for a long moment. The candlelight flickered. Tension coiled in Andy’s stomach, a little unnerved. She didn’t want to reveal so much so soon. So, she simply said, “Because I know what it means to live between worlds. To not fit neatly into the boxes people are so determined to force you into.” 

The Bordeaux made the editor’s eyelids heavy. “I’m not sure I understand you,” she said. 

Withholding, Andy bit her lip. “Maybe one day you will.” 

 

<> 

 

As the night went on, it was no easier than pulling teeth to get Miranda to share anything even remotely personal. The editor poked and prodded Andy with several questions, constantly deflecting.  And while Andy was happy to indulge the other woman, she wished Miranda felt comfortable enough to reciprocate her openness. 

Soon, there were more vacant booths surrounding them than occupied ones.  

Andy rose as soon as Miranda did, instinctively mirroring the other woman’s movements. She waited as the woman slipped into her coat and fought the urge to guide her by her lower back once they had left their table.  

Back at the entrance of the restaurant, Miranda glanced sideways at Andy. “I’ll admit, you aren’t the worst dinner companion.” 

The architect’s lips quirked. “That’s dangerously close to a compliment.” 

The editor stuck her nose in the air. “Don’t overreach,” she said. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Andy smiled down at her. “I’d like to do this again. Somewhere less...posh. Is that possible?” 

Miranda hooked her Birkin into the crook of her elbow and regarded Andy with that same unreadable stare. 

“Goodnight, Andréa.” 

And with that, the older woman slipped away without a backward glance, leaving Andy with gratifying certainty that tonight was the beginning of something more. 

 

<> 

 

The next morning, Andy beelined for a corner table at a coffee shop in Tribeca, a place that smelled faintly of cardamom and burnt sugar, where the tables were too small for laptops but just right for conversation. 

Doug slid into the chair opposite her, already peeling the lid off his cappuccino. Lily came seconds later, juggling her phone, a pastry bag, and what looked like two folders stuffed to bursting. 

“You’re late,” Doug announced without even looking up. 

“Well, I do prefer to make an entrance,” Lily shot back, dumping her things unceremoniously onto the table before smoothing her skirt. 

Andy hid a smile behind her coffee cup. This was how most mornings with them started, like siblings sparring before they got down to business. 

Lily finally settled, stretching her legs out under the table. “Alright, troops. What’s on the docket today?” 

“Site review in Chelsea at ten,” Doug said, ticking items off on his fingers. “Client call with Milan at noon. And the consultant for the flagship boutique wants another set of revisions by Friday.” 

Andy groaned softly, combing fingers through her hair. “That’s the third round this week.” 

“Welcome to luxury retail,” Doug deadpanned. “The client doesn’t want a building, they want immortality.” 

“Don’t we all?” Lily muttered, tearing her pastry in half and dropping one piece onto Andy’s napkin. 

Andy accepted it with a grateful nod. “You’re a saint.” 

“I’m a carb mule, apparently.” 

The three of them fell into the easy rhythm of shop talk: who was dragging their heels on permitting, which supplier was behind on finishes and what new intern left out the exit signs on the fire plan. Doug’s sarcasm and Lily’s theatrics kept it from tipping into tedium, but Andy was quieter than usual. 

Her eyes drifted from their table to the far side of the café, where a woman wrestled with a toddler who had discovered the joy of spinning the sugar packets like dice. The woman’s belly strained against a linen dress, hand braced against the small of her back as she bent to retrieve the packets her son gleefully scattered. 

“Eli,” she scolded gently, “please stop, sweetheart.” 

The boy grinned, unrepentant, and dropped another packet to the floor. She sighed, crouched, and scooped him up with surprising ease despite her pregnancy. He squealed, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and she laughed; tired but full, the sound ringing bright in the hum of espresso machines. 

Andy watched longer than she meant to. 

There was something grounding in the small scene: the mundane tenderness, the easy intimacy between mother and child. It snagged something inside her, a question she hadn’t let herself dwell on before. 

She’d built so much in the past six years. She had stability. Success. Recognition. And yet, nights still ended with her unlocking an empty apartment, her only company the stack of books she couldn’t quite finish and sketches she couldn’t put down. 

Had she buried herself in work all this time because she wanted to grow SDG into something extraordinary? Or had she been using the grind to cover the absence of...real connection. Family. Someone to come home to. 

Of course, she’s had a few sexual partners over the years. But that was all it was. Just sex. Whenever she had an itch, she scratched it.  

When did that stop being enough? 

Her throat tightened unexpectedly. 

“Earth to Sachs.” Doug’s voice cut through her thoughts. 

Andy blinked. Both Doug and Lily were staring at her. 

“You totally zoned out,” Doug said. 

Andy sighed, “Do you guys believe in work-life balance?” 

Lily nearly choked on her latte. “What, are you writing a self-help book now?” 

“I’m serious,” Andy said, leaning back. “I’ve been thinking about it lately. How people manage to actually live and still keep up with everything.” 

Doug raised an eyebrow. “You mean how normal people stop working after five and don’t check their email at midnight?” 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Something like that.” 

Lily snorted. “Please. Balance is a myth. You just choose which part of your life you’re willing to let burn for the other.” 

“Wow,” Doug muttered. “That’s bleak even for you.” 

“I’m a realist,” Lily said, shrugging. “I like my job. But if I stopped to ‘find balance,’ we’d lose half our clients.” 

Andy stirred her coffee, watching the dark liquid swirl. “That’s kind of what I mean. I’ve spent so long building all this...SDG, the reputation, the network...and now that it’s finally stable… I don’t know. I come home, and it’s just...quiet. Feels like I built something beautiful but forgot to leave room to live in it.” 

For once, Doug didn’t joke. “You’re allowed to want more, Andy. You’ve been in sprint mode for years. Maybe you’re just… ready for the next thing.” 

Lily tilted her head. “What next thing? You already have the corner office, the awards and the media attention. And we’re still growing. You’re twenty-eight. At that age most people are still figuring out how to file their taxes.” 

Andy felt a headache coming on. “I don’t know what the ‘next’ thing is. A family, maybe. Or at least...something that feels like one.” 

Lily blinked, thrown. “You? The woman who forgets to eat when she’s working? No offense, Andy...but you wouldn’t even have time to take care of a dog.” 

Doug nodded. “And you rarely leave the office before sunset.” 

“Well, I mean none of this would happen any time soon, guys.” Andy huffed, “I’d have to find someone who would even want to share all of that with me first.” 

Doug leaned forward, “Just know that there’s no perfect window where everything slows down, Andy.” 

She glanced toward the window, where the morning sunlight hit the glass just so, catching her reflection between theirs. For the first time, she wondered if maybe there really was room for more, if she would just stop long enough to make space for it. 

 

<> 

 

By the time they were wrapping up, Lily was sliding her folders back into her bag, Doug licking stray foam off his finger.  

Andy’s phone buzzed against the table. 

Natasha. 

Andy thumbed the screen. 

Nat: Briarwood Prep wants to meet. Proposal for a new auditorium. Could be big. Call me. 

Her eyebrows lifted. She looked up at Doug and Lily, both already watching her expectantly. 

“Briarwood,” Andy said, voice thoughtful. “They want us to design an auditorium.” 

Doug let out a low whistle. “Now that’s prestige.” 

“Mm,” Lily agreed, already scribbling a note in her planner. “Landing a school like that, it’s not just about the money. It’s optics. We’ll have every parent in Manhattan name-dropping SDG in the carpool lane.” 

Andy chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s one way to look at it.” 

“It’s the only way to look at it,” Lily quipped, leaning back in her chair. “Besides, it’s about time you stopped pretending you’re still the desperate underdog. You’re running with the big dogs now.” 

Doug smirked. “Which means you’ll need me to keep you humble.” 

“God forbid,” Andy said, grinning faintly. 

Their laughter blended into the hum of the café, easy and familiar. But as the noise settled, Andy’s thoughts drifted again. 

She stirred her coffee absently, letting Lily and Doug debate which of them would suffer more under the school board’s committee meetings. She should have been joining in, trading barbs. Instead, she found herself picturing a different scene entirely: two redheaded girls in pressed uniforms, one bold enough to vandalize private property, the other nervously trying to stop her. 

The twins. 

The memory tugged at Andy, unbidden. She wondered if they still thought about that afternoon in the alcove, or if it had already blurred into another ordinary school day.  

Andy forced her attention back to the table, but the thought lingered at the edges of her mind, quiet and insistent. 

 

<> 

 

Notes:

thoughts?

 

miranda's fit inspo:
https://ca.pinterest.com/pin/2814818512530234/

Chapter 5: Briarwood

Chapter 5 

 

<> 

 

3 PM 

The conference room at Briarwood Prep wasn’t large, but it radiated the kind of elegance that didn’t need to announce itself. Oil paintings of former headmasters lined the wood-paneled walls, their gilt frames catching the afternoon light. A long oval table stretched through the center of the room, already scattered with binders, glossy renderings, and water bottles with the school’s crest embossed on the labels. 

Andy took a seat at the far end, setting her portfolio neatly in front of her. Lily slid in beside her, iPad balanced on one knee, while Doug stationed himself against the wall. He stood quiet and observant, but ready to back her up when needed. 

The head of school, Dr. Jocelyn Pembroke, smiled thinly from her chair. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, we are in the early stages of building a new auditorium. Ms. Sachs and her team here have been retained to lead us through this process, but given the generosity of our donors…” She gestured toward the assembled parents, “…we thought it best to begin with a collaborative discussion.” 

Collaborative. Andy knew what that really meant: everyone here wants their fingerprints on the building. 

Miranda sat two seats down from Dr. Pembroke. A slim leather notebook lay open in front of her, though she hadn’t made any notes. 

It should not have surprised Andy that the editor was one of the school’s donors. Yet, she was thrown off guard by the woman’s presence. It had been four days since their dinner-not-date and the architect hadn’t heard from her since. So, she didn’t expect to see Miranda again so soon.  

Three other parents filled the adjacent seats: a venture capitalist whose name Andy vaguely recognized from the Times, an arts patron who had already begun murmuring about acoustics, and a mother who chaired three philanthropic boards and wanted to discuss “aesthetic harmony with tradition.” 

Whatever the hell that meant. 

The meeting began with pleasantries. Andy listened, patient, as one parent droned about  theater productions, another about whether the lobby could accommodate large crowds. She took notes, nodded, asked clarifying questions. This was part of the job, letting people feel heard before the real work began. 

Then, Dr. Pembroke turned toward her. “Ms. Sachs, perhaps you’d like to present your preliminary thoughts.” 

Andy rose smoothly, sliding a rendering across the table. “Our initial concept balances two needs: artistic quality and community function. The design prioritizes acoustics and visibility, while also creating flexible spaces for smaller events. The exterior would echo Briarwood’s historic lines, but with modern updates. Think...glass elements, sustainable materials and a forward-looking silhouette.” 

She spoke evenly, clearly, letting her enthusiasm show just enough. Her team had spent the entire weekend drawing and revising this presentation, and while this was only a draft, she believed in it. 

When she finished, silence stretched. Then, predictably, the venture capitalist cleared his throat. “It feels…a little stark. Shouldn’t an institution like Briarwood aim for something more...I dunno...classical?” 

Andy smiled politely. “We’re honoring tradition in the masonry and roofline. But we also want to show students that the school isn’t just preserving the past. It’s investing in the future.” 

The arts patron chimed in. “What about acoustics? I’ve been told glass is disastrous for sound.” 

“Not if designed correctly,” Andy countered easily. “We’d use angled panels and layered materials to diffuse echoes. I’ll walk you through it in the schematics.” 

She fielded each question with steady patience, diverting concerns into opportunities. 

And then Miranda finally spoke. 

Her voice was a whisper when it sliced through the chatter. “It’s uninspired.” 

Andy took a deep breath and turned her head, meeting Miranda’s gaze squarely. “Could you elaborate?” 

Miranda tilted her head, finally lifting her pen and tapping it against the rendering. “This looks like it could be any auditorium in America. I see no reason why Briarwood, with its reputation, its legacy, and yes, its resources, should settle for adequate. The design is…safe. Safe is forgettable.” 

Andy exhaled slowly, keeping her voice level. “I understand your concern. But if we move too far from functionality, we risk creating a building that looks good, but fails structurally.” 

Miranda blinked. “Where’s your imagination, Andréa?” 

The brunette cleared her throat. “Why don’t you tell me what you would do differently with the building then?” 

“Well,” The editor hummed. “If I knew the answer to that question, Ms. Sachs, I’d be standing where you are instead of paying you to answer your very own question.” 

That got Andy digging little crescents into the palm of her hand.  

“Yes!” Doug had stepped in enthusiastically. “I think we’re off to an amazing start. Everyone’s perspective is on the table now, and this will allow us to make the most efficient revisions.” He offered Miranda a faint, diplomatic smile. 

“I’m sure.” Miranda drawled. 

The tension in the air thinned. Not vanished, but shifted, diffused. Andy glanced at Doug, catching the subtle warning in his eyes: breathe, don’t bite. 

She forced her shoulders to ease, unclenching her hand behind her back. “Exactly,” the architect said, voice steadier now. 

Lily offered her support, “According to our timeline, this project could take anywhere between eight months to a year.” 

Andy chimed in, “And we’ll be sure to consider everyone’s conditions for the final draft. Prior to that, we will reconvene for the last revisions.” 

Dr. Pembroke cleared her throat. “Thank you, Ms. Sachs. This has all been very…illuminating.” 

 

<> 

 

When the meeting came to an end, the others all began to drift towards the exit. Miranda remained seated, thumbs battering the screen of her phone as if Andy were invisible. Doug shot Andy a warning look, but she gave him a small nod to say she would be fine. 

 
“I’ll meet you outside,” she murmured. 

When the room emptied, Andy walked to the far end of the table. “You didn’t like the design.” 

Miranda didn’t look up. “I didn’t say that.” 

“You didn’t have to.” Andy crossed her arms, not hostile but steady. “You spent the whole meeting poking holes in every detail. If you have real concerns, I’m happy to address them. But if you were trying to get under my skin, you should know it’s a waste of your time.” 

“Is that so?” 

“I respect your opinion, Miranda. But there’s a difference between critique and provocation. And right now, I’m not sure which one you’re aiming for.” 

Miranda set her phone down, fingers interlacing neatly. “You think I’m trying to provoke you?” 

“I think you’re testing me, yes.” Andy said, still calm. “But I don’t design to impress you. I design because I believe in what the space can do for people, especially kids who’ll be inspired in a way that encourages them to create something themselves.” 

Something softened, barely, in Miranda’s gaze. “And you believe one building can accomplish that?” 

“I believe intention shapes experience.” 

The air between them shifted. Still charged, but quieter now. Miranda looked away, lips pressing into something that wasn’t quite a frown. 

Then she got up, gathering her coat over one arm. She came toe-to-toe with the architect. Looking up at her, she said, “I challenge what I find interesting. You should take it as a compliment.” 

Andy was only slightly dizzy from the sweet, powdery fragrance invading her senses. “Do you always compliment people by trying to make them doubt themselves?” 

“Only when they seem capable of withstanding it.”  

And the brunette watched the other woman walk away, fixated on the feminine sway of her hips as the staccato of her heels filled the room. Andy stood for a long moment in the echo of her departure. Then she sighed, “I am so screwed.” 

  

<> 

 

4 PM 

Andy stepped out into the sharp afternoon light, the heavy glass doors whispering shut behind her. The muffled echoes of classrooms nearby gave way to the open air and the low hum of Briarwood’s campus at dismissal. 

A pavilion stretched before her, all clean lines and pale stone, perched like a watchtower above the rolling grounds. She leaned against the cool stone railing. Beyond it, a sea of green spilled outward. It was the site that, in less than a year, would hold the new auditorium. For now, it was nothing but uneven grass with the faint imprint of tire tracks where surveyors had staked the perimeter. 

Andy took a deep breath, buzzing with excitement at the start of something new. The air smelled faintly of freshly cut turf. She could hear the shouts of a soccer game winding down across the field: the rhythmic thud of a ball, a coach’s whistle, the easy, unrestrained laughter of students freed from class. A few kids cut across the courtyard nearby, their chatter carrying on the wind. 

“What are you doing here?” 

The brunette's head whipped in the direction of the voice.  

It was one of the girls she had met the last time she was at Briarwood.  

The girl looked like she’d stepped straight out of a Ralph Lauren campaign. She wore a white polo shirt with the school’s crest embroidered on the torso. Her beige jodhpurs were fitted but smudged at the knees, and her tall black riding boots were freckled with scuffs. Her helmet hung loosely from one hand by the chin strap, the other hand gripping a strap of her backpack that hung low off one shoulder. 

“Oh, hey kid!” Andy greeted her warmly, “Did you know that you guys are getting a new auditorium?” 

The twin seemed skeptical, “Says who?” 

“I just spoke with your headmistress about it. That’s why I’m here.” 

“Oh.” The teen seemed unimpressed. “Cool...I guess.”  

“Where’s your sis-” 

“I thought about what you said.”  

Andy paused at the contemplative look on the girl’s face, watching as she pulled a book from her backpack. 

“So, I worked really hard on this and I want you to help me make it last somehow. I want to share it, but I don’t know how.” 

Andy took the book from the girl. The architect studied an intricate drawing that took up both sides of the pages. It was a picture of a two headed dragon emerging from an array of clouds. One head breathed red flames and the other head breathed blue flames.  

“I was inspired by our school’s crest.” The girl shrugged, “And I just thought the flames were kind of cool.” 

The architect stood there gaping for a moment, “Cassidy, right?” 

The girl nodded, “Right.” 

“Cassidy, this is insanely good.” Andy beamed. “See, I knew you were talented. I just knew it.”  

Cassidy stood a little taller at being praised. “Thank you. For that day, I mean.” She released a shaky breath. “I’ve just been really pissed at my dad lately and…I thought doing something drastic would get him to notice us.” She said dejectedly, toeing the ground.  

Andy empathized with the girl. Granted, both her mother and father were always present in her life, emotionally and financially. But, she could imagine how having an absent parent could create a whole lot of insecurities in young kids.  

“I can’t speak on your dad’s character.” She said, “And I don’t know anything about being a parent, but I’ll tell you what my dad always told me. Focus on what you can control. That’s how you find your power. You can’t make people do right by you…but you can decide to do right by others.” 

 

Cassidy considered what Andy said, “But he’s my Dad. Shouldn’t he want to do right by me and my sister?” The girl visibly deflated, “We’re his kids…” 

 

Andy sighed, heartbroken for Cassidy. “Yes, he should want that. But adults aren’t perfect, kiddo. They don’t always make the right call and some of them regret it later in life. But you know what you do have?” 

Cassidy aggressively brushed away a tear before it could fall. “What?” She sniffed.  

“You have your mom’s love. And you have a best friend and a sister all wrapped in one. There are so many other kids that would kill to trade places with you.” 

That got a slight smile from the teen. “They are pretty amazing.” 

“I bet they are.” Andy agreed. “I’m certain your mom would do just about anything to ensure your happiness and safety. Some kids don’t have any parents to speak of…” 

 

“That must suck.” 

 

“Yeah, but you’re not navigating life by yourself. You have a great support system.” 

 

“But what if it’s something Carrie and I did? What if we just aren’t good enough for him to want us around?” 

 

“Cassidy, look at me.”  Andy waited until she had the girl’s undivided attention. Watery blue eyes landed on hers, “You are perfect exactly as you are. Do not blame yourself for anyone else being incapable of seeing that. Many people take for granted all the wonderful things they have in life. It is not your fault. It’s not your sister’s fault, either. Okay?” 

 

Cassidy nodded. “Okay,” She whispered.  

 

Behind them, someone cleared their throat.  

“Bobbsey, it’s time to go.” 

“Mom!” Cassidy was startled, quickly swiping at her face before the evidence of her tears could betray her. 

Miranda stood a few feet away, sun caught in her silver hair, and for a moment Andy forgot how to breathe. The brunette offered the book back to Cassidy, “We’ll talk more about your design later, yeah? I’ll be around.” She said quietly. “Promise me you’ll keep making art. Mastery comes with practice and you’re off to a great start.” 

Cassidy nodded, clutching the book to her chest. “Yeah. I promise.” 

The girl started toward her mother, but not before glancing back at Andy; a small, grateful look that said more than words could. 

 

<> 

 

8 PM 

 

M: Are you at home? 

 

Andy’s eyes widened at the text glowing back at her. She had crashed into the velvet of her living room sofa the moment she walked through the door. A half-eaten carton of Thai sat on the coffee table nearby.  

The brunette rubbed at her eyes, sitting up abruptly. What the fuck? She stared down at her phone in confusion. Miranda was texting her. 

M: Andrea? 

A: Yes. I’m home. 

The architect held her breath. 

M: What’s your address?  

What the actual fuck. Andy felt her pulse quicken. 

A: 145 Mercer Lofts, Unit 4B. Why? Is everything alright? 

M: Perfect. I’ll be there shortly.  

Andy gaped like a fish out of water. This must be some kind of fever dream. She must’ve been more tired than she thought, passed out in her living room while her subconscious tortured her with the possibility of Miranda actually visiting her home.  

‘Shortly’? What could that possibly mean? An hour? Fifteen minutes, maybe? 

In a panic, Andy quickly tossed the remainder of her Pad Thai in the food waste bin. She scurried to the bathroom and gave herself a once over in the mirror. Her linen dress shirt was a bit wrinkled, but she wasn’t a complete mess. She quickly brushed her teeth, peppered herself with a spritz of cologne, and made a fast lap around her apartment. If the editor was being serious, Andy wouldn’t want to be seen as a slob. 

Approximately twenty minutes after Miranda’s most recent text, Andy got a notification from the lobby claiming that she had a visitor. 

Holy Fuck.  

She rarely got visitors...so the editor wasn’t bullshitting, then.  

With her heart in her throat, Andy sent confirmation to the receptionist downstairs. 

Not long after, there was a gentle knock at her door. The brunette had an outer-body experience where she watched her feet carry her to the entrance of her apartment. She took a deep breath and opened the door.  

Miranda’s hair was wind-swept, and she had an unmistakable glint in her eyes that said she was entirely pleased with herself at catching Andy unprepared.  

“Is this ‘less posh’ enough for you, Andrea?” 

Andy sputtered, “Uhh-wah-what're you doing here?” 

“Will you not invite me inside?” 

Unable to form words, the architect stepped aside, allowing Miranda entrance into her home. Her brain barely caught up to what was happening as Miranda stood patiently, waiting for Andy to help her out of her coat.  

And it was only then that Andy realized how lifeless her apartment was before. Seeing a woman as stunning as Miranda standing in the middle of her living room made the entire space feel dull in comparison.  

“Typical bachelor,” the editor hummed as she assessed Andy’s space. 

Andy ignored the sarcastic remark, “Miranda, what is this?” 

The woman hadn’t answered Andy right away. Instead, she slipped out of her heels and claimed a spot on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath herself. “Isn’t this what you wanted,” She asked.  

Andy took a seat beside her, “Well, yes. Of course. I’m glad you’re here. But you gave me the impression that it would never happen. Can you blame me for being surprised?”  

Miranda lowered her gaze and fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist. “I heard you speaking to my daughter.”  

“Oh,” The brunette readjusted herself, “You caught that, did you?” 

“I appreciate what you said to her.” Miranda looked back up at Andy. “She confessed to me about the graffiti, and while I don’t support her actions going without consequence, I’m thankful you were there to redirect her.”  

Andy was almost bashful. “It was no big deal,” she shrugged. 

“Oh, but it was.” Miranda sighed. “It’s gotten more difficult to get her to open up to me these days. She’s usually so angry, but I know it’s simply coming from a place of hurt. And I can only do so much about it...” 

In that moment, Andy could see that Miranda was carrying a lot, emotionally. The brunette had questions about the twins’ father, but she didn’t want to overstep and risk Miranda throwing her walls back up.  

Andy decided to respond with a simple truth. “I’m sure you’re doing your best, Miranda. I meant every word I said to Cassidy. Your girls are likely to grow into resourceful and independent young women.” 

Miranda smiled proudly. “I try.” 

It was the first real unguarded smile she’d gotten from the woman. It was warmth and tenderness wrapped in a single expression. It was the difference between a spec of light and a supernova. If talking about the twins disarmed Miranda in such a way, Andy wanted to know more. “How old are they?” 

“Fourteen.” Miranda shook her head in disbelief, “I’m not sure where the time went...” 

“Do you miss it?” Andy wondered. “The toddler phase?” 

The editor chuckled, “God, no. At my age?” She shook her head. “My girls never gave me much trouble. Even as infants they were easygoing. But at thirty-eight? Those days are well behind me.” 

Witnessing Miranda like this was like watching a flower unfurl. The architect didn’t want the night to end. Suddenly, Andy realized her lack of manners. “I’m sorry. Would you like something to drink?” She offered, getting up from the sofa to pad on over to the kitchen.  

  

<> 

 

10 PM 

 

They had cracked a bottle of white wine whose name Andy couldn't pronounce. 

Regardless, Miranda seemed to enjoy it. The woman was at the bottom of her second glass and somehow her feet ended up in Andy’s lap beneath a knitted throw blanket.  

The editor melted into the sofa as the architect worked the soles of her feet. Andy could hardly believe her eyes, “You’re harmless when you’re like this.” She smirked. “Is this all it took? Fermented grapes and a foot massage?” 

Miranda attempted to glare at her and failed when Andy’s thumb circled the ball of her heel. The woman whimpered.  

Andy’s hands stilled, and she carefully shifted Miranda’s feet from her crotch. How could she not be affected when this siren of a woman was sprawled so beautifully across her furniture, with her pretty red toes and nearly carnal whining. 

Completely unaware of the architect’s inner conflict, Miranda sighed. “I must be leaving soon,” she said, checking the dainty dial of her watch. “The girls are expecting me and I have an early morning.”  

That immediately dampened Andy’s spirit. Although, she understood why Miranda had to leave. “Of course,” She agreed, watching the editor tuck her feet back into her stilettos. the brunette cleared her throat, “I have an early morning myself, so I get it.” 

Andy walked her to the door and, even though Miranda was not hers, she felt a proprietary thrill at helping the woman slip back into her coat.  

She turned, then. Looking up at Andy with her scarlet bottom lip caught between her teeth, she whispered, “What an enlightening day.” 

Andy smiled down at her as heat pooled in her stomach, “You’re telling me...”  

The moment coiled with something unnamed as they lingered in the small hall.  

Intentionally, precariously, Miranda leaned forward.  

Andy fought the urge to snag her by her hips, allowing the editor to dictate the pace.  

The woman’s lips pressed beside the dimple of Andy’s cheek, and somehow it sobered them both.     

 

By the time Andy was alone again, her apartment felt distressingly spacious. The walls seemed to mock her as her footsteps echoed on her way toward the walk-in shower.  

Her body was tense with stress and the effort of keeping her composure.  

For a moment she allowed the hot spray of the shower to drum against her back. Her mind drifted to the slope of Miranda’s throat, as the woman had thrown her head back in laughter at something Andy had said.  

The architect couldn’t stop herself from wondering if Miranda would be able to take her. 

Andy felt the slightest bit of guilt as she pictured the editor on her knees, making a champion’s effort to swallow her length. She would likely struggle, but being the perfectionist Andy was certain Miranda was, the woman would take all of her.  

The mere thought of it made Andy painfully hard. 

It was with a little shame that the architect tugged at herself in the shower stall. She grunted as it took very little effort before she was painting the tiled floor and the opposing wall with her spunk.  

Her breathing was ragged as she watched the mess she made slither down the drain.  

And somehow...she felt worse. 

 

<> 

 

Notes:

thoughts?

Chapter 6: Saturday

Notes:

Thanks for all your comments guys. I love hearing from you. This one is a bit longer than the others. Happy Sunday <3

Chapter 6 

 

<> 

 

M: What about the following Thursday? I only have one meeting that afternoon. I’m able to reschedule if you’re available. 

A: That won’t work either. I’m hosting interviews all day that day. 

A: But we can definitely plan something for the Saturday after? 

M: The girls have an appointment with their orthodontist that morning and a swim meet in the evening. I was unable to attend the last event so I absolutely cannot miss this one. 

A: Of course not. I’d never ask you to miss out on something as important as that. 

 

It had been a few days since Miranda had shown up on her doorstep unexpectedly. Since then, they’d developed a habit of texting one another practically any chance they got. Subsequently, Andy readily discovered that beneath Miranda’s thorns was a woman of striking charisma with an insatiable zest for life. Andy felt like an adolescent, glued to her phone. This morning, she woke up with the device loose in her hand with no recollection of falling asleep the night before.   

Each conversation felt like a dance. Miranda opening up to her was like striking a match in a dry field. It was sudden and bright and impossible to contain.  

Andy could barely make sense of it; the contrast between her dull mornings alone and this new, unspoken rhythm that seemed to hum beneath everything. It was as if some invisible hinge in her life had turned. The plot was the same, but suddenly her world had more colors. Work still thrilled her, but it no longer felt like the only thing worth waking up for. Miranda had cracked something open; a space Andy hadn’t realized she’d been saving for something, or someone, that finally fit. 

 

And apparently the feeling was mutual. 

 

M: I’d really like to see you again, Andrea.  

A: Believe me, I’d drop everything right now to come see you.  

M: So, drop everything. 

 

Andy read the message twice, then a third time, the words pulling a slow, involuntary smile from her. Her desk was a battlefield of open project files, coffee rings, and mockups that needed revision; all of it suddenly trivial. The architect swiveled in her chair, phone still in hand, staring at the unfinished layout on her screen. She could technically stay late and get ahead. She usually did. But recently, work felt less like purpose and more like a way to pass time until Miranda reached out again.  

It wasn’t like her to walk away from unfinished work; discipline was second nature. But lately, discipline had started to feel like an excuse for loneliness. Maybe it wouldn’t kill her to let something else (someone else) take priority, just this once. She could make up for the lost hours tonight, she decided. 

But– 

A: Do you actually mean that? 

Not even a second later–  

M: Yes. Come and see me.  

 

<>   

 

The elevator chimed softly as Andy stepped out onto the glossy floor. Across from the elevator, the RUNWAY logo gleamed on the wall in bold, metallic letters, catching the light with every movement. 

Andy smoothed her jacket and took a steadying breath before crossing the marble foyer toward the reception desk. The woman behind it barely glanced up from her monitor as Andy approached. 

“Good afternoon,” She began politely. “I’m here to see Miranda.” 

The receptionist’s expression remained flat. “Miranda isn’t taking appointments today.” 

“She’s expecting me,” Andy said, keeping her tone even. 

The receptionist looked up this time, her practiced smile a little too fixed. “I don’t have you on her schedule, Miss.” 

Andy met the woman’s gaze with practiced patience. “Could you just let her know that Andrea Sachs is here?” 

The receptionist hesitated, then gave a resolute shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sachs. But – as I said, Miranda is not taking any appointments right now.” 

The architect exhaled quietly through her nose. 

She pulled out her phone.  

A: I’m here, but your receptionist won’t let me through. 

The reply came almost immediately. 

M: One moment. 

Andy smiled faintly. The blonde behind the desk was mid-sentence about “corporate policy” when the sharp click of heels echoed down the hall. 

The red-headed woman Andy met during the museum shoot appeared in a blur of motion, urgency in her step. “Miss Sachs,” the assistant said briskly. “Right this way.” 

Andy couldn’t help a smug smirk as the desk clerk turned the color of milk. She followed the assistant down a pristine corridor. The rooms along the way were scattered with people, finely tailored bodies moving in synchronized chaos. At the end of the hall, a pair of frosted glass doors waited.  

The assistant pushed them open and gestured her inside.  

 

Andy held her breath as she observed the queen in her very own palace. Miranda sat surrounded by stacks of binders, studying a book with unwavering attention. The tip of the arm of her glasses rested in the corner of her mouth. Her signature hoop earrings gleamed beside her cheeks and her legs were crossed in a way Andy could only describe as seductive.  

She's so sexy when she’s focused, Andy thought. 

The architect announced herself. “Hey, you.” 

Miranda’s head shot up, “Andrea.” 

The editor quickly got up to greet her. Andy was pleasantly surprised when she received a soft peck against her jaw. The brunette froze, pulse skipping in her throat. The gesture was too brief to be properly savored and too warm to be considered formal. 

So, the cheek-kiss-thing wasn't just a once off...good to know. 

“Did you have any preferences for lunch?” Miranda asked as she led Andy by the hand towards a pair of leather chairs in the corner of the office. 

Andy gave it some thought. “I do have a strange craving for lasagna right now,” she said as she took the seat opposite the older woman. 

“Emily,” Miranda called. 

The English woman materialized. “Yes, Miranda?” 

“Call Maison Vertu and place one order for the chef’s special and another for the Lasagna al Forno. Have it here in fifteen minutes. That’s all.” 

The assistant, Emily, squeaked. “Of course, Miranda.” Then she promptly left the room. 

From her chair, the editor sighed. “I know this isn’t exactly ideal, but I’m very glad to see you, Andrea.” 

Andy leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “I’m definitely not complaining.” She smiled, “I’m happy to see you too.” 

“We really should figure out better circumstances to meet under.” 

“I know but...” The brunette rubbed at the back of her neck. “My hands are full for a while. There’s no way to work around it.” 

Miranda hummed in thought. "You said you were free on Saturday?” 

The architect bit her lip, “That I am.” 

Then, a rare hesitation flickered through Miranda’s composure, which made Andy especially attentive because...Miranda never hesitated.  

She noticed the woman’s eyes flicked toward the window before settling back on her. Miranda cleared her throat, “I’ve given it some thought and wondered if you’d like to come to the girls’ swim meet.” 

Andy’s eyebrows shot to her hairline, “Oh?”  

“I’m usually alone in the stands and...” The editor brushed lint from her skirt. “I do enjoy your company.” 

The brunette was stunned at the offer. But–  

“What about the girls?” Andy wondered. “How would they feel about it?” 

“I’m sure you know Cassidy won’t mind.” Miranda tilted her head, “And Caroline has always been the more easygoing of the two of them.” 

“Won’t they think it’s strange, though? Me being there?” 

“Why would it be strange?” The editor asked softly, her blue eyes fluttering slowly. “We are friends...aren’t we?” 

Andy squinted, suppressing a smile. “Friends...?”  

She was being baited. She could just tell.  

She felt it in the way Miranda held her gaze. And in the way Miranda traced the edges of her off the shoulder blouse, slowly brushing her own clavicle with the pad of her index finger.  

Miranda knew exactly what she was doing.  

The vixen. 

Andy swallowed audibly.  

Her throat felt tight, words gathering behind her teeth. She wasn’t sure what she meant to say: a deflection, a tease, maybe even a confession. She never got the chance to decide. 

A sharp knock sounded against the door. 

“Come in,” Miranda called, her voice crisp again, all business. 

Emily appeared, balancing two white boxes in her arms and doing her best not to make eye contact with either of them. “Lunch is here,” she announced quickly, her tone betraying the faintest hint of relief. 

Miranda readjusted herself in her seat, composure slipping neatly back into place. “Set it on the table.” 

As the assistant hurried to obey, Andy exhaled quietly, trying to disguise it as a casual breath. The charged silence dissolved into the polite clatter of packaging and silverware. 

Emily retreated almost immediately, mumbling something about a phone call as she closed the door behind her. 

Miranda and Andy were alone again, but the moment had passed. 

“Preston called this morning.” 

Ah.  

Preston.  

Miranda’s first husband. The twins’ father. And a masterclass in how to disappear without technically dying.  

“Did he?” Andy inquired as she stabbed at her serving of lasagna. 

Miranda’s voice was composed, but there was a thin thread of weariness underneath. “He wanted to ‘check in,’ as he calls it. Said he’d try to make the next swim meet.” A faint scoff escaped her. “I didn’t bother reminding him he’s said that too many times before.” 

Andy witnessed the other woman struggle with the weight of her emotions.  

The editor picked at her salad, gaze distant. “The first time he broke their hearts they were eight,” she said quietly. “Caroline had a recital. Piano. Cassidy had made these big carboard signs. Oh, God, the amount of glitter.” Miranda smiled briefly, but then it dimmed. “They waited by the window for him all afternoon.” 

She paused, eyes flicking toward the untouched breadstick in front of her. “He never showed. He called the next day to say something had come up at work.” A humorless laugh slipped out. “Caroline didn’t cry until she saw me trying not to.” 

Andy felt her chest tighten. “That’s awful,” she murmured. 

Miranda’s expression softened, the steel in her posture bending under the memory. “I’ve spent so much time trying to protect them from disappointment,” she said, voice low, “and then realized I’ve just been teaching them to expect it.” 

Andy set her food aside. She didn’t offer solutions. She didn’t try to explain or console. She simply let Miranda speak, and when there were pauses, she stayed present, letting the silence carry the weight instead of filling it. 

“You’re doing everything you can,” Andy said softly, almost a whisper, her voice more steady than her racing thoughts. “And they’re going to be fine…with or without him.” 

Miranda gave her a quivering smile, “I hope you’re right.” 

 

<> 

 

They had both just finished their lunch when Miranda got up from her seat opposite Andy. She approached the brunette, maneuvering to stand between the architect’s knees. Deftly, the editor took a slip of napkin and gently dabbed at Andy's chin.  

“You’re wearing the last of your lunch.” The editor said as she brushed a drop of sauce from Andy’s face.   

Sitting straighter, Andy looked up at Miranda as she held the older woman by the back of her legs. 

Andy gave it no thought. It simply felt right.  

The quiet intimacy was broken by a soft rap at the door. A bald man in a sharp three-piece suit entered the office with a folder in hand. He paused mid-step, his brow knitting as he took in the scene, the proximity between the two. 

“Uh...Miranda,” he said, voice a touch higher than usual, as if realizing too late that he’d walked in at the wrong moment. “The board wants the final drafts on the European campaign by the end of the day. I thought I should…” 

“Nigel,” Miranda cut in, her tone clipped but courteous, the annoyance clear only in the slight tightening of her jaw. “I’m perfectly aware of what the board wants. I’ll handle it. Thank you.” 

Nigel straightened, cheeks coloring faintly as he nodded and retreated, casting one last hesitant glance over his shoulder. 

Andy exhaled, the spell of the afternoon easing around her. She rose from her chair, adjusting her watch. “I guess I’ll let you get back to it,” she said softly, offering a warm, reassuring smile. 

Miranda’s gaze softened just slightly, the tension in her shoulders loosening. “Saturday, then?” 

Andy gave a definite nod and moved toward the door, pausing briefly in a moment of weakness. “See you Saturday,” she said, and with that, she left. 

 

<> 

 

Andy eased her work truck into the packed parking lot outside the Westbrook Aquatic Center. It was the kind of sprawling glass-and-concrete stadium that looked more like an airport terminal than a high school sports venue. She cut the engine, tugged the brim of her black cap lower, and watched parents with fold-up chairs and tote bags stream past. 

Inside, the smell of chlorine hung thick in the air, mingling with the echo of whistles, the slap of water, and the rhythmic chant of teams cheering. Andy found her way to the upper deck where families clustered together in color-coded sections. She caught sight of the familiar silver bob before anything else.  

Even here, surrounded by bleachers and swim caps, Miranda managed to look regal. A few parents had clearly noticed her too, their glances quick and deferential. Miranda didn’t return them. 

Andy climbed the first few steps only to pause midway. For a moment, she just took it in. The editor: out of her element but still collected. The twins: side by side in their team warmups, heads bent toward each other in animated conversation. 

Cassidy looked up and spotted her. 

The teen’s face lit up like it was the first day of summer. 

She nudged Caroline, who followed her gaze. Both girls broke into wide smiles and waved in excitement. 

That small reaction did something to Andy. It erased every iota of doubt she had about the girls not wanting her there. She raised a hand in return, grinning, before making her way across the row toward them. 

“You came.” Miranda greeted, that trademark composure softening ever so slightly.  

“Where else would I be?” 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Miranda responded, looking up at the brunette. “Much less be able to find us in this circus.” 

“Well, I figured the best seats in the house would be reserved for you,” the architect replied easily, stepping aside as a vendor wheeled by a cart loaded with refreshments. She motioned toward the bench. “May I?” 

Miranda moved her purse to the opposite side of her lap. “By all means.” 

Andy felt a quiet kind of euphoria as she sat beside the other woman. Close, but not close enough, their shoulders nearly touching. Caroline turned around from her seat in front of them with her goggles perched on her forehead. 

“Andy! You're here!” She said, beaming. Her braces were on full display. Then, as if trying to contain her excitement, the girl lowered her voice. “Mom told us you were coming, but we didn’t believe her.” 

Without warning, Cassidy wordlessly threw herself over the bench and squeezed Andy around the neck.  

“Woah,” Andy barely had time to brace herself. She tried to swallow the knot of emotion stuck in her throat as she returned Cassidy’s embrace. “I’m happy to see you too, kid.” 

The architect glanced up, catching Miranda watching them. The woman’s eyes were glittering as her lips curled into a serene smile.  

All the attention left Andy feeling warm from the inside out.  Miranda seemed…pleased, maybe even relieved, and that made the brunette easily return her smile.  

+ 

Down below, swimmers dove into lanes with clean precision. Water splashed up in sharp arcs, the crowd erupting in cheers. The twins leaned forward on the bench below, calling out encouragement to their teammates, voices bright and earnest. It was infectious. Andy found herself clapping when they did and laughing when Caroline groaned at a missed turn. 

When the girls left to warm up for their own relay, Miranda exhaled quietly beside her. Andy glanced over, studying her profile. There was tension in the woman’s shoulders that no amount of poise could hide. 

“Everything alright?” Andy asked. 

Miranda’s chin lifted slightly. “Everything’s fine. I simply… dislike losing.” 

Andy snorted, keeping her tone light. “You do know it’s the girls competing, right?” 

Playfully, Miranda shot her a sidelong glance. “Don’t be obtuse, Andrea.” Her voice softened a fraction. “When they’re out there, it feels like a piece of me is, too.” 

When the announcer called Cassidy’s name for the 200-meter freestyle, Miranda straightened immediately. Andy’s hand brushed her elbow, a small, instinctive gesture meant to ground her when the crowd surged. It was such a fleeting touch that Miranda barely reacted, but Andy felt the static of awareness spark between them. 

Cassidy stepped up to the block, bouncing slightly on her toes. In support of her sister, Caroline leaned against the railing closest to the pool, cheering her on.  

The buzzer sounded…and Cassidy didn’t move. 

A split second too long. 

By the time the girl dove in, the others were already cutting through the first stretch of the lane. The race carried on, but Miranda had gone still beside Andy, her fingers grasping at the younger woman’s wrist.  

 

When Cassidy surfaced after her final lap, she was breathing hard, her face tight with frustration. Andy winced in sympathy and took the editor’s hand. Keeping her voice even, she said, “She’ll shake it off. Don’t worry. She’s got this.” 

Anxious, Miranda kept quiet, eyes fixed on the pool. 

Cassidy climbed out, wrapped in her towel, and avoided looking up at the stands. Caroline hovered protectively near her sister.  

“We should go down,” Andy murmured quietly. 

Miranda blinked. “Go down?” 

“She’ll need encouragement,” Andy said gently. “Even if she doesn’t say it.” 

Miranda drew a slow breath, eyes still on her daughter. “You might be right.” she said, before rising from the bench. Andy followed suit, and as they moved along the narrow aisle, the architect placed a steadying hand at the small of the editor’s back, guiding her through the crowd without thinking. 

+ 

They found the girls in the locker corridor. Cassidy looked small wrapped in her towel, obviously trying to hold herself together. All while Caroline was mid-argument with another swimmer, a taller girl with a sneer in her voice. “—wasn’t my fault your sister can’t hear the buzzer!” The girl snapped. 

Caroline’s fists balled. “That doesn’t give you the right to talk sh—” 

“Hey,” Andy’s voice cut through, calm but commanding. She stepped between the bickering teens, “That’s enough.” 

The tall girl faltered, glancing at Andy, then at Miranda.  

“Whatever,” the troubled adolescent mumbled before walking away with her tail between her legs.  

Caroline huffed, still bristling before turning to the adults. “Mom, I swear she started it.” 

“We saw,” Andy said before Miranda could respond, resting a steady hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “You did the right thing defending your sister.” 

That earned a flicker of relief from Caroline, her posture easing just a touch. Beside her, Cassidy wiped at her eyes, trying to hide how shaken she was. 

Andy nudged the girl affectionately. “Tough break on that start, huh? I swear that buzzer lagged a full second.” 

Cassidy looked up. “You actually think so?” 

“Without a doubt,” Andy said, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “I’ve seen fairer starts in Mario Kart.” 

That got a small laugh out of both girls.  

Miranda stepped in. Her hand brushed lightly over Cassidy’s damp red hair.  “You handled your setback well, Bobbsey. Some swimmers would’ve let that rattle them completely.” 

Skeptical, Cassidy gave a small shrug. 

“Seriously, Cass.” Andy insisted, “You kept your head in the race. You committed to seeing it through. That’s worth acknowledging.”  

Miranda nodded in agreement, her gaze lingering on her children with a hint of pride. “And next time, you’ll create a new record for yourself. I’m sure of it.” 

+ 

They had returned to their seats, this time closer to the pool. The crowd was loud again, a low roar of excitement rolling across the stands, but between Andy and Miranda, there was a brief, pocketed silence. 

“You good?” Andy asked softly. 

Miranda seemed contemplative, then spoke just loud enough for Andy to hear. “You handle them well.” 

The brunette’s expression was earnest. “They make it easy.”  

Down below, the twins reappeared poolside. They were adjusting their goggles and shaking out their gangly limbs. Andy leaned forward instinctively, forearms braced on her thighs, tracking their every movement. 

When the announcer called the relay lineup, the noise in the stadium spiked. The girls took their marks, Cassidy glancing once toward the stands. Her eyes found her mother, then Andy. The girl gave them a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. 

Strangely, Andy was overcome with pride.  

The buzzer blared.  

The swimmers sliced cleanly into the water, the race unfolding in a blur of foam and motion. Miranda’s knuckles whitened on the armrest, holding her breath. Andy herself was at the edge of her seat through every turn, every kick. 

And then it happened. Cassidy touched the wall first. Caroline only a heartbeat behind. 

Miranda’s applause was refined and deliberate. But the brightness in her eyes gave her away. Andy, on the other hand, was already on her feet, cheering unabashedly, hands cupped around her mouth as she whistled loud enough to startle the people around them. 

It was as if she’d been doing this for years. 

Cassidy looked up first, then Caroline, both girls easily spotted their mother and Andy. They waved wildly, dripping and grinning from ear to ear. Andy waved back, her grin matching theirs, while Miranda’s composure melted just enough for her to lift a hand too. 

For the briefest moment, the four of them existed in their own little world; laughter, applause, and the shimmer of water and light. 

 

<> 

 

As the stadium began to empty, Miranda gathered her purse while Andy retrieved the twins’ duffel bags from the benches.  

Caroline was chattering animatedly about the relay and Cassidy’s earlier disappointment seemed to have evaporated altogether. 

When they reached the parking lot, the twins ran ahead toward Miranda’s Mercedes.  

“They like you,” Miranda said quietly beside her. 

Andy glanced at her. “They’re good kids.” 

“It’s… unusual,” Miranda admitted. “They’re not easily impressed.” 

Andy snorted. “Guess that makes the three of you.” 

Miranda clicked her key fob and the twins scrambled inside the backseat of the car.  

Andy hoisted the duffel bags and eased them into the trunk. Once everything was secured, the women found themselves standing toe-to-toe at the rear of the sleek car.  

The brunette threw caution to the wind and reeled Miranda in by the waist, pulling her close.  

“This meant everything to me.” 

No preamble.  

“I mean it.” Andy couldn’t stress it enough. “Today meant everything to me.” 

Miranda laced her arms around the brunette’s neck. The older woman stared up into Andy’s eyes, licked her lips and whispered. “It’s left an impression on me as well.” 

A moment passed. 

“You want to kiss me. I can tell.” 

Andy laughed at the accusation. “I wasn’t trying to be subtle.” She said, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you under the skylight of the atrium.”  

Miranda hummed, pressing her forehead against Andy’s. “And I would encourage you, now. Only, my children are gaping at us through the windshield.” 

For a heartbeat, they simply stood there. Yet the girls’ watchfulness made the moment impossible. 

So, they didn’t kiss. 

Instead, Andy walked Miranda to the driver’s side.  

Miranda got in and the engine purred to life as Andy stood beside the car. “Get home safely,” she said. 

Miranda seemed reluctant to leave. “You do the same.” 

The back window rolled down. “Bye Andy!” Both girls yelled in unison.  

And as she watched the Benz’s taillights shrink in the distance, Andy felt like her whole world had just shifted. She was left alone in the parking lot with the tangible, undeniable truth of what she wanted...and who she wanted it with. 

 

<> 

Notes:

Thoughts?

Chapter 7: Masquerade

Notes:

Hello beautiful people. Sorry for any typos. Happy Sunday <3

Chapter 7 

 

<>

 

Late October. 

 

The tape measure whispered as it slid across Andy’s shoulders. 

“Hold still,” Miranda murmured from behind her.  

The tailor, an older Italian man with a pin cushion strapped to his wrist, circled her with clinical precision, tugging the edges of the suit here and there. Pins glinted between his fingers like surgical tools. 

Miranda stood off to the side with her arms folded, overseeing every adjustment. “The line through the waist needs to be cleaner,” she said, her tone exact but not unkind. 

“Oh, yes. I see now.” The tailor replied, adjusting a pin before stepping back to assess the silhouette. 

Andy caught her own reflection in the mirror: black wool, crisp lapels, the soft gleam of navy silk peeking from beneath the collar. It was easily the finest suit she’d ever worn. 

“I feel like I’m about to star in a James Bond movie,” she said.  

Miranda studied her appreciatively. “You’re a whole lot more dapper than James Bond, darling.” 

The architect smirked. “I’m glad you think so.” 

They were standing in Runway’s closet, though that word felt almost insulting for what the space truly was. It was more like a private showroom, a cathedral of fashion. One entire wall gleamed with glass-front wardrobes arranged by color and season; another was lined with shelves of heels and handbags lit like museum pieces. A central island displayed an array of jewelry and accessories, the faint scent of leather and peonies threaded through the cool air. 

It was quiet except for the occasional click of a hanger, the hum of fabric brushing fabric, and the low cadence of Miranda’s voice directing the tailor. 

Tomorrow, Miranda would attend Balmain’s annual Halloween masquerade, with Andy as her plus one.  

While Andy wasn’t exactly thrilled at going to an event with this much publicity, she easily agreed. Because she knew that Miranda wouldn’t have extended the invitation unless she’d truly wanted Andy there.  

Thankfully, the recent expansion of her firm meant Andy finally had room to breathe. Interviewing applicants had been tedious, but the end result was a more balanced workload, one that left her free to indulge in nights like this.  

So, here she stood on the apex of a little wooden platform, being styled by the editor herself.  

“You said that your driver would pick me up at eight?” 

“Yes. We’ll arrive together.” Miranda’s tone was distracted, eyes scanning the suit critically. “I think we’ll go with this tie. It'll compliment what I’m wearing quite nicely.” 

Andy had no objections as Miranda fussed over her. “Is there anything else that I should know?”  

Miranda’s eyes flicked up to hers in the mirror, “Only that people are at their most unbearable when given masks.” 

Andy snorted. So true. 

“Balmain spares no expense when it comes to spectacle.” The editor went on. “Expect excessive lighting and every other person you meet pretending to be more important than they actually are.” 

The tailor shifted behind Andy, tugging lightly at the back seam. “Arms up, please.” 

Andy obeyed, watching Miranda through the mirror. “So, I should just...smile and nod?” 

“Smile, yes. Assume that there is a camera on you at all times. Nod when appropriate. And avoid anyone who uses the word ‘iconic’ more than twice in a sentence.” 

That made the brunette laugh. “Duly noted.” 

“The evening itself will be brief,” Miranda continued, stepping closer as the tailor adjusted the hem. Her reflection appeared just over Andy’s shoulder. “We’ll make an appearance for the red carpet, the photographs, perhaps one drink. After that, we’ll leave before the novelty of anonymity wears off and people start behaving like animals.” 

Andy nodded, “Seems simple enough.” 

 

<> 

 

The night of the masquerade arrived with Manhattan bathed in silver moonlight.  

Inside the sleek black Cadillac that ushered them toward the event, the world was quiet for just a moment longer. Sitting beside her in the backseat, Miranda was no less enchanting than the still moment before dawn. She embodied some kind of divinity and Andy couldn’t help feeling lucky to be the first to witness it. 

Andy had picked up the mask that lay waiting for her: simple black velvet shaped specifically for the contours of her face, its edge trimmed with satin. 

“You’re really not wearing one?” She asked, voice low. 

Miranda was busy adjusting the clasp of her earrings, a thin ribbon of diamonds. “I refuse to hide behind ornamentation.” She said, “Let everyone else play pretend.” 

Andy fastened her mask in place. “Then I guess I’ll be your mystery date.” 

The SUV slowed to a stop, the din of the crowd swelling outside. The flash of cameras strobed through the tinted glass. Andy’s pulse kicked, steady but strong. She wasn’t one to be easily unnerved, but this...this was foreign territory.  

This was a televised event. 

Miranda noticed her uneasiness and reached over. Her soft, manicured hand rested atop Andy’s. “Darling, breathe,” she said softly in reassurance. “They’re vultures, not gods.” 

Andy took a deep breath and tugged at her collar. “I’m okay.” 

“Are you sure?” 

The brunette squeezed her hand, “I promise.” 

The older woman adjusted the knot of Andy’s tie with practiced ease, a subtle, grounding touch that sent a flicker of warmth through her. Then, with a smooth inhale, Miranda nodded to the driver through the rearview mirror. “Let’s get this over with.” 

 

<> 

 

The SUV’s door opened. 

The noise hit instantly; camera shutters, shouted names, the low buzz of luxury and envy. Andy was the first to step out, turning back immediately to offer her hand. Miranda accepted without hesitation, fingers cool against Andy’s palm. 

The Balmain Halloween Gala took place at the Grand City Hall Ballroom. Its spiraling terrazzo staircase glowed under lantern light; each step lined with roses the color of blood. Photographers crowded the barricades, flashes already igniting as glossy black cars pulled up one after another.  

“Miranda! Miranda! Who’s your date?!” A photographer shouted. “Can we get a smile for the cameras, ladies?” Another leaned over, elbowing a colleague, lens inches from his face. Shouts overlapped; flashes popped so fast it was blinding. 

Chaotic as it was, Andy had to admit that together they were a vision. 
 
Miranda’s gown, custom Dior, was a column of midnight silk that shimmered like ink when she moved. The neckline was daring, the train dramatic in the way it flared like a massive seashell at her feet. In its simplicity, Andy’s tuxedo balanced Miranda’s gown perfectly. 
 
As they stepped onto the red carpet, the cameras hadn’t let up. Flashes detonated in rapid succession. It was a frenzy of masked guests drifting past like living art. 
 
Andy lingered a step behind Miranda, steady and attentive. When Miranda turned slightly, the architect reached to lift the edge of the gown’s train, saving it from being stepped on. 
 
As they ascended the carpet, she noticed that Miranda was completely in her element. It showed in the slight incline of her head towards a familiar photographer and a murmured greeting to a designer in passing. And, again, she was the only one in attendance who could treat the dress code as if it were a suggestion, while making it look like everyone else misunderstood the assignment. 
 
God…this woman. 
 
A handler tried to usher Miranda toward the photo line, and Andy automatically fell back. She had absolutely no interest in the politics of high society, so she was more than okay to observe from the sidelines. 
 
Andy barely stepped away before Miranda’s voice caught her. 
 
“Ahn-dray-uh.” 
 
Andy turned, compelled by the sound of her name. 
 
Miranda looked at her expectantly and extended her hand...not subtly, not discreetly, but deliberately. “You’re with me,” she said. 
 
That simple gesture, paired with such a simple statement carried a kind of gravity to it that was anything but simple. Andy hesitated for a fraction of a second, then took the editor’s hand and stepped into the frame beside her. The reaction was instant, a wave of flashbulbs, the click-click-click ricocheting like applause. 

Miranda angled slightly towards her, tucking herself into the warmth of Andy’s embrace. They fit like a tide returning to shore, natural and perfectly-timed, as Andy wrapped her arm around the editor’s slim waist. 
 
Andy tried to appear stoic beneath the heat of all the lights. It was so stimulating that the crowd started to dissolve into nonsensical blur and sound. 
 
She barely registered the caress of Miranda’s palm against her cheek. And it was harder still to process the other woman’s sudden nearness. Being at the center of the chaos, every lens and gaze begged for Miranda, but her attention belonged to Andy. 
 
The clamor around them faded the moment Miranda met the architect’s masked brown eyes. 
 
Before Andy could process it, Miranda had pulled her down by the back of her neck, catching her full lips between her own. 
 
The crowd surged and the shutters went wild. 
 
Kissing Miranda. 
 
It was soft and it was reverent and goddamit it was the crack in the dam. 
 
Kissing Miranda was like a tornado touching the ground. It ruined Andy, leaving her a wanting mess. 

 

<> 

 

“I couldn’t help myself,” Miranda panted in Andy’s ear before assaulting the brunette’s neck with her soft mouth.  

True to the editor’s word, they had left the masquerade within the same hour they’d arrived. Which was a blessing, because Andy had been guarding a raging hard-on the moment they stepped away from the legion of photographers. 
 
Now the architect stood fumbling with the key to the door of her apartment. 

“I hope you’re not upset.” Miranda breathed against her throat. “I know it wasn’t wise, kissing you like that. But I want you, Andrea.” 

Heart pounding like a drum, Andy nearly toppled to the ground as they stumbled through the door.   

They moved like a flurry through the living room straight to Andy’s spacious, dimly-lit bedroom. Andy was pure adrenaline and lust as her tongue met Miranda’s with unhinged enthusiasm. The brunette’s hands slithered down to cup the swell of Miranda’s ass. She grabbed a handful, spreading Miranda’s cheeks apart beneath her dress, pulling a fractured moan from the woman in her arms. 

Andy ached in her compression shorts. 

 

Soon enough, they were standing near the edge of Andy’s enormous king-sized bed. The editor kept her tethered by the belt loops of her trousers, welding their bodies together. 

“You’ll have to guide me.” Miranda panted. “Show me what you like. I’ve only ever been with another woman once before.” She said.   

The confession was like nails on a chalkboard in Andy’s mind, bringing her to a screeching halt.   

“Baby, wait.” Andy pleaded.   
  
Miranda groaned, “More waiting?” She huffed in a way Andy would've found downright adorable under any other circumstance. “I don’t want to wait any longer,” she said. 

A beat passed where Andy caught the older woman’s hands, gently prying herself away. 

The brunette hated herself for it, but it was a necessary evil. 

Miranda pulled back then, confusion flickering through her expression. “Andrea?” 

Andy swallowed hard. She wanted to explain, to bridge the gap before it opened too wide. But her throat had gone dry. Every possible version of the truth tangled in her chest. 

Miranda’s hand hovered between them, uncertain now. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Andy shook her head quickly. “No. God, no. You didn’t. I just...” She broke off, pressing a hand to her face. Feeling heavy, she fell into a sitting position at the foot of the bed. "There's something I need to tell you before this goes any further.” 

Miranda took a step back. “Then tell me.” She said, “Whatever it is...just...tell me.” 

Andy’s fingers dug into her knees. “It’s not something I talk about often. Not because I’m ashamed...I’m not...but because it’s...complicated.”  

Miranda didn’t speak, just watched her with that unnerving steadiness that made hiding impossible. 

“I was born...different,” Andy said finally, ripping the Band-Aid off. “I have a –uhh...I have a penis.” 

For a second, there was nothing. No sound, no movement, just the faint hum of the city bleeding through the window. 

Miranda’s breath left her in a slow, measured exhale. “I see.” 

Andy rushed to fill the silence, her words tumbling out. “I wanted to tell you, I swear, but then you kissed me and it felt like...like everything I’ve been trying not to hope for. And then you said...” She stopped herself, voice breaking. “You said you weren’t very experienced with women, and I panicked. I didn’t want to make you feel blindsided.” 

Miranda’s expression was unreadable, but her tone softened. “You thought I’d turn you away.”  

Andy met her gaze. “Won’t you?” 

That question hung in the air, weighted and vulnerable. 

Miranda took a small step forward. Her hand hovered near Andy’s cheek, close enough for Andy to feel the warmth radiating from her skin but not quite touching. 

“I think,” Miranda said quietly, “you underestimate me.” 

Andy’s throat tightened. “Well, I didn’t want to scare you.” 

Miranda hummed, “May you point me to the bathroom?” 
 
“Um, sure.” Andy cleared her throat, slightly puzzled. “It’s just over there,” she gestured to the archway near a wall of books. 

 
Then, the editor left the room without a word, giving Andy way too much time to obsess over her admission. 
 
The architect groaned in quiet frustration. She must be calling her driver to come pick her up, Andy thought. 
 
So she spiraled, drowning in her own mind. 
 
What if she thinks I’m some kind of freak and just didn’t have the heart to say so? What if I was just a little more creative and distracted her so we didn’t have to have this conversation at all? What if…what if she never allowed me to see the girls again? 
 
“No,” Andy was distraught at the thought, head falling into her hands. How am I going to fix this? 
 
When she heard the tell-tale, rhythmic clicking of Miranda’s heels re-entering the bedroom, Andy couldn’t bring herself to look at the other woman directly. 
 
“Miranda, listen…” She started, “I’m completely open to keeping things platonic if I’ve made you uncomfortable. You don’t need to lie to me in the name of sparing my feelings.” 
 
“Is that so?” 
 
“Well, of course I–” Andy’s head shot up and her tongue instantly turned into braided rope in her mouth. When she found her voice again, all she could manage was a raspy, whispered, “Oh…wow.” 
 
Miranda stood before her in some black, lacey thing that just barely covered the most intimate parts of her. A dark garter belt held her sheer thigh-high stockings in place, and Andy could easily make out the shape of Miranda’s areolas through the fabric of her skimpy bralette. She kept her stilettos on. 
 
“Show me,” Miranda said, as she approached Andy by the edge of the bed. 
 
Andy swallowed audibly, looked at the crotch of her tuxedo trousers, then back into piercing blue eyes. “You mean…?” 
 
“Yes.” The older woman insisted, then sat directly beside Andy, leaning into the brunette. She whispered, “Let me see you.” 
 
With Miranda half naked next to her, Andy felt a primal hunger claw its way to the surface. Well, shit, she thought...and decided to roll the dice. With both arms behind her, Andy braced herself against the mattress. “Pull it out for me.” She commanded, licking her lips. “It’s for you, anyway.” 
 
At that, Miranda cupped the growing bulge at the apex between Andy’s thighs. Her fingers flexed over the firm shape of it. “How long have you been thinking of sticking this inside me?” She purred. 
 
Andy’s hips jerked, “W-what makes you so sure that-“ 
 
“From the very start, I assume.” 
 
Andy couldn’t even attempt to deny it as Miranda’s hand slithered to her waistline and undid the button of her pants. 
 
“I’m just not sure how I haven’t noticed before.” Miranda almost seemed upset at the fact. 
 
The high-pitched hiss of Andy’s zipper echoed across the room. 
 
The architect choked on her own tongue the moment Miranda’s hand fisted her cock, threading it through the opening of her pants. It was heavy in the way it curved towards Andy’s stomach and it was warm in contrast to the cool air of the room. The head was the color of a raspberry covered in dew, and a single thick vein ran along its side. Fully erect, her dick was easily eight inches long, and she wasn’t lacking in girth either. 
 
Miranda was staring at her cock with heavily lidded eyes, mesmerized by the pearl of precum leaking from the blunt head as she slowly began jerking Andy off. 
 
“Come here,” Andy demanded, taking the editor’s chin between her fingertips. 

They kissed languidly; Miranda’s breath came out in little puffs against Andy’s full lips while she pumped her lover’s pulsing erection. 
 
Andy broke the kiss, “Do you trust me?” 
 
“You know that I do.” 
 
“Okay,” Andy pressed a kiss against Miranda’s bare shoulder. “If there’s anything I’m doing that you don’t like, please tell me. Okay?” 
 
Miranda nodded, “Okay.” 
 
“Good.” Andy stroked herself, “Now get on all fours and face the mirror.” 
 
Miranda was quick to comply while Andy shed the remaining layers of her tuxedo. Soon, the brunette stood entirely naked as she made her way to her bedside table. From the top drawer, she grabbed a little golden square and hastily ripped the foil open. She unraveled the condom down her rigid length with practiced ease. 

Andy turned to find Miranda with her face pressed into the mattress; her back was bent in the most sinful arch with her plump ass in the air.  

Cradling her sac, Andy’s dick jumped in anticipation of the picture before her. 

“How privileged am I,” she acknowledged as she bent forward to kiss the crease where Miranda’s thigh met her ass. Andy tugged the thin strip of Miranda’s thong to the side, and with a flattened tongue, she dragged it from the rosebud of the woman’s clit to the opening of her soft, moist pussy.  

Miranda mewled, breaking from her position for just a moment. 

“No-no.” Andy admonished. “Arch your back for me, baby. Stay like that.” 

Even though Miranda was trembling, likely struggling to think through her pleasure, she followed instructions by deepening the curve of her spine.  

“Good girl,” Andy praised before she struck an open palm against the editor’s backside. “You love my tongue inside you, then?” 

“Yes!” Miranda cried out, her desire muffled by the duvet. 

“That makes the two of us.” Andy noted, striking Miranda’s ass again in the very same spot. Pleasure followed pain when Andy pressed her long, calloused fingers deep inside her new lover. Her digits undulated in Miranda’s wet warmth. “Have you ever tasted yourself?” Andy wondered. 

And it was obvious that Miranda’s mind was gone. Her whole body stalled from the onslaught of satisfaction. The woman then reached behind herself to spread her engorged opening for Andy. “Oh.” Miranda sobbed. 

Which caused Andy to lose all composure. 

Andy withdrew her fingers and spat in the cleft of Miranda’s hairless cunt. She ripped the thong in half and swiftly lined up her erection. “I can’t help myself, either,” she huffed. And in one singular motion, Andy was scrotum deep in the only woman she had eyes for. She found Miranda’s glassy, blue gaze in the floor length mirror before them. “Fuck,” Andy exclaimed when the head of her cock struck Miranda’s cervix. 

The older woman writhed beneath her, kicking her stilettos to the floor. “Nnghh, God yes!” 

Beads of sweat raced down Andy’s back while she pounded relentlessly into the heated body beneath her. Andy splayed her hand against the dimples in Miranda’s lower back, keeping the woman in place. She felt Miranda’s walls quiver while melodic squelching filled the air. 

“Baby, look at yourself,” Andy urged. “Look at yourself falling apart on my cock.” 

“Andy!” Miranda bawled as she came. 

Andy threw her head back, overwhelmed with delight as her lover’s flesh fluttered around her pulsating prick. She growled, “You know that you’re mine, right?” Andy brushed her thumb against Miranda’s perineum. “This changes everything.” She asserted, her narrow hips thrusting faster than before.  

Logically, she knew that Miranda was no one’s property. But the thought of anyone else having Miranda in this way made her feel like some untamed animal needing to stake her claim. 

Andy had to force herself to pull out.  

Her breathing was ragged as she quietly observed the way the petals of Miranda’s pussy flared once they had nothing to hold onto. So much of Miranda’s cream coated the condom that it trailed its way down the curve of Andy’s sac. 

“Lay on your back,” Andy instructed.  

From this new position, the brunette stood on her knees between Miranda’s spread thighs.  

The woman’s wavy white hair was slightly disheveled while her chest rose and fell steadily. She looked up at Andy, and it was written plainly on her face, just how safe she felt in that moment. Miranda stretched her arms forward, silently reaching for her. 

“This doesn’t feel real,” Andy murmured as she fell prone on top of Miranda.   

The woman caressed Andy’s face affectionately. Nipping at Andy’s mouth, she said, “Take your hair down for me, darling.” 

Andy undid her long ponytail and the cascade of her mane fell like liquid chocolate. It draped down one side of her jaw, sweeping Miranda’s shoulder. 

“Beautiful,” Miranda breathed, brushing Andy’s bangs from her deep brown eyes. She leaned upwards and pried Andy’s lips apart with the wet tip of her tongue. 

Andy groaned into the kiss, sucking Miranda’s tongue with equal fervor. 

“Please,” Miranda cooed, slipping her arm between their bodies in search of Andy’s erection. “I need you.” 

Andy pulled away. “Not yet,” she said as she tugged at the cups of Miranda’s bra. “Take this off.”  

As soon as it was gone, the brunette fastened her mouth to the woman’s stiff nipples. She lavished each of Miranda’s breasts, one at a time, leaving the adhesive of her saliva to dry against Miranda's pale skin.  

Without warning, Andy hooked her middle and ring finger into the spongy groove of Miranda’s cunt. She firmly massaged the tender wall of flesh until a slight, clear stream of ejaculate spritzed from Miranda’s vulva. 

For a moment Miranda was incapable of making any sound. Her jaw went slack until her voice came out in the form of a hoarse, broken squeak. “F-fuuck, yeess!” 

Entirely mesmerized by the sight, Andy’s pupils went the size of dinner plates and her face became hot to touch. Her wrist burned from her efforts, but she didn’t care. She could've went completely paralyzed in one arm and wouldn’t give a damn if it meant Miranda Priestly squirting on her. 

Andy witnessed Miranda’s slow decent into a spent heap of limbs. 

“Stay with me baby...” Andy rasped as she swat the head of her cock against the swollen wad of nerves between Miranda’s legs.  

“Ah.” Miranda gasped as her body jerked. 

“It’s okay.” Andy said, “You’re okay.” Then she reached for a fluffy pillow and tapped the inside of Miranda’s thigh. “Lift your hips, please.” 

Andy slipped the cushion beneath her, making it so that Miranda’s hips were angled perfectly. She watched the length of her cock disappear into Miranda’s snatch inch by inch.  

“You feel so good wrapped around me.” Andy purred, “So warm and tight.”  

She easily found her rhythm, bottoming out again and again. Andy was completely consumed by lust when she shoved her sticky fingers in Miranda’s mouth as she drove her cock into Miranda’s battered hole.  

Nearly gagging on Andy’s fingers, the older woman whimpered, fisting the duvet with whitened knuckles. 

The headboard knocked repeatedly into the wall.  

“Fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.” Andy wheezed and pushed Miranda’s leg back towards her chest, supporting her by the back of her knee. Every synapse in Andy's body was on fire and she became light-headed as she felt her balls tighten. 

“Fuck, Miranda!” Andy’s whole body lurched forward as she shot her load into the latex. 

Miranda clawed thin little welts into Andy’s forearms as her thighs quaked. She clenched hard around Andy’s shaft to the point where it was nearly dislodged. 

Save for their labored breathing, the room fell silent. 

A minute had passed before Andy slowly withdrew herself from Miranda. 

“Woah...” Andy panted with her eyes blown wide. She peeled the used condom away and tied it off. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” She said before she got up and left the room. 

Not long after, Andy returned with an assortment of items. She brought with her a warm washcloth, two water bottles, and a few protein bars.  

Still on her back with her legs spread, Miranda smiled sleepily at Andy. “Protein bars? Really?” 

Andy shrugged, “Who doesn’t need more protein? Especially after what we just did.” 

Miranda sat up, “I’ll take the water, thank you.” 

The brunette handed over one of the water bottles and set the protein bars on the bedside table. Andy waited until Miranda was done quenching her thirst before she took the warm washcloth and gently swiped between Miranda’s legs. 

The older woman sighed in contentment.  

“Was I too rough?” Andy asked her.  

Turning to face her, Miranda drowsily shook her head, “I loved it.” She smiled a lazy smile. “I see now that my vibrator has been a poor substitute.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Andy’s ego inflated a little at the thought of Miranda playing with herself while thinking of her. Once Miranda was sufficiently cleaned, Andy helped her out of the garter belt. “Were you also thinking of me when you put all of this on earlier?” 

Miranda was quiet for a while, staring at her in amusement. “What do you think, Andrea? Do you believe I agonized over countless lingerie sets while I considered which one was provocative enough, so that you would feel compelled to do nothing else but fuck me?” 

Andy’s mind glitched each time Miranda swore. She licked her lips, “That sounds like a confession to me.” 

Miranda rolled her eyes affectionately then changed the subject altogether. “How are your arms?” She asked, “I scratched you, didn’t I?” 

The brunette shrugged, “I’ll live.” Then she sighed, “But I guess you’ll be leaving soon...no?” 

“Would you like me to?” 

Andy evaded the question. “What about the girls?” 

Miranda caressed Andy’s knee. “Don’t worry, they’re safe.” She said, “They’re with Cara for the night.” 

Andy hummed. 

She didn’t want to come off as clingy, but she really was becoming tired of telling Miranda goodbye. Evidently, it became more difficult each time.  

Miranda must have sensed her inner turmoil as the woman crawled into Andy’s lap. Skin to skin, Miranda had wrapped her legs around Andy’s waist and circled her arms around the brunette’s shoulders.  

She pressed her forehead against Andy’s. “Talk to me, Darling.” 

Anxiously biting her lip, Andy held Miranda by the hips. It was hard to conceal how she felt with Miranda studying her so intensely. 

Andy took her courage in both hands and said, “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.” 

A moment passed Before Miranda pressed a gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth, “Then ask me to stay.” 

Andy held her tighter. “Miranda, will you spend the night with me?” 

Miranda thread her fingers through Andy’s luscious head of hair, “Only if you agree to have breakfast with me in the morning.” 

Andy couldn’t help the smile that took over her face. She kissed the inside of Miranda’s palm, “I think that’s fair.” 

And the conversation of what they were becoming lurked in the corners of the room. Andy knew at some point they would have to acknowledge what they both felt for each other.  

But for now? This exact moment? Miranda with her soft skin and her bright eyes, sitting bare in the cradle of Andy’s naked lap. This was the prelude to something permanent.  

Andy just knew it. 

 

<> 

Notes:

Thoughts? There was a lot of symbolism in this chapter. Don't know if any of you picked up on it.
To the user that commented "chemistry galore", thank you. Your guesses were interesting lol. Now, I know some of you prefer smut, and some of you prefer the more romantic/domestic/fluffy parts of the story. Moving forward I'll give a heads up on any smut so you can skip the explicit scenes. I didn't want to spoil their first time. Anyway, tell me what you think. See you guys next Sunday!

Chapter 8: Thanksgiving

Notes:

Hey, guys! Happy Sunday. This one is close to six thousand words. NSFW at the 888. Sorry for any typos. Enjoy <3

Chapter 8   

 

<>  

 

Morning filtered softly through the curtains, drawing long, golden lines across the bed. 

Andy was the first to wake up.  

Disoriented, it took a moment for her to register the warm body pressed against her, tangled in her sheets. Careful not to disturb the woman in her arms, she sat up slowly until her back was fully braced against the headboard.  

A drowsy smile tugged at her lips at the sight of Miranda still sound asleep.  

Miranda looked almost unreal like this; spread across Andy’s pillow, her lips slightly parted with the sheets draped low across her naked back. The sun painted Miranda in honeyed light.  

And before Andy realized what she was doing, she reached for her phone from the nightstand. She took a picture. How could she not? 

She brushed a thumb lightly over Miranda’s shoulder, then forced herself to ease out of bed before she accidentally woke the woman. 

Andy quietly slipped away, heading for the bathroom. 

She turned on the shower and stepped beneath the warm spray.  

Long showers were one of Andy’s favorite ways to reset her mind. The water was hot as it washed away the remnants of sleep. Memories of last night drifted to the surface. 

The masquerade.   

The end of her and Miranda’s slow dance before they shuffled for the exit. 

The drive back to her apartment.  

Being handsy with Miranda in the back seat of the Cadillac.  

Each memory came to Andy in waves. As they did, she realized that she had taken off more than one mask last night.  She had trusted Miranda with her body and Miranda had trusted Andy with hers in return. By the end of it, they had reached a whole new level of intimacy, and that was not something Andy took lightly.   

Andy never cared enough to make time for anyone else to get so close.  

Not to mention, she and Miranda had only known each other for four months. Romantically involved for a third of that time.  

Were they moving too fast? Did it matter? 

Andy let her eyes fall shut, head tipped beneath the spray. 

A shift in the air made her eyes blink open. 

Soft footsteps.  

A pause.  

Then warm, sure arms encircled her waist from behind.  

Andy inhaled sharply, not from surprise but from the familiar electricity that sparked along her spine.  Miranda pressed her cheek between Andy’s wet shoulder blades, unbothered by the spray hitting her. Her voice came quiet, slightly rough with sleep. “You left the bed.” 

Andy turned around and murmured, “I didn’t go far.”    

Their lips met in an unhurried kiss.  

Here, words were unnecessary. 

In silence, they showered like they were learning each other by touch alone. Miranda washed soap from Andy’s hair with gentle fingers. After, Andy washed Miranda’s torso, caressing a foamy loofah beneath the curve of Miranda’s breasts. She slowed at the woman’s stomach, drawing the shape of a heart in little bubbles around Miranda’s navel. 

So, this is love... Andy realized. 

They kissed slowly under the stream as if they both understood that rushing would ruin whatever this fragile perfect morning was. 

 

+  

 

Andy fastened the last button of her powdered blue shirt. She smoothed the fabric over her chest as she padded barefoot down the hallway. Her jeans were dark and pressed. Her shoes, polished to a shine, waited by the door. She felt almost put-together enough to pretend she’d slept for more than four hours last night.  

Miranda, on the other hand...  

She was perched on a barstool at the marble kitchen island, hair still damp from their shower and curling at the ends. Andy’s old college hoodie hung off one shoulder, the faded NYU lettering barely visible after years of going through the laundry. Miranda also wore a pair of Andy’s sweatpants cinched at her waist, the cuffs rolled twice so that they didn’t swallow her ankles.  

Miranda looked small. Soft. Human. 

The editor held her phone to her ear, speaking in that low maternal tone Andy had only heard a handful of times. “Yes, Bobbsey, I heard you...no, I cannot acquire the unpublished manuscript for the next Harry Potter book.” A pause. “Caroline, sweetheart, hand the phone to your sister. No...hand it over. Now, please.” 

Amused, Andy shamelessly eavesdropped while she busied herself with the espresso machine.  

Miranda continued, “I love you too, Bobbsey.” A beat. “Cassidy? Did you see the new riding boots I got for you, just by the door?...Excellent. Now, Cara will accompany you both to school today. Remind her to check that Caroline has her inhaler.” Her expression softened, “Yes, Mummy is fine. Okay...have a good day, my loves. I’ll see you this evening. Bye for now.”  

She hung up and exhaled, rolling her head once as if loosening the tension from her neck.  

Andy approached with two steaming mugs.  

“Delivery,” she said quietly.  

Miranda accepted a mug with a sigh of gratitude. She brought it to her lips, took a sip...and immediately grimaced.  

Andy froze. “What?” 

Miranda extended the mug back just slightly, “It’s cold.” 

Andy blinked. “...It’s not cold.” 

“It is absolutely cold.” 

“It’s literally steaming.” 

Miranda made a pained expression, as if Andy had handed her a cup of mud. “Andrea. It is tepid at best.” 

Andy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Miranda, it’s literally hot to touch.” 

“It is lukewarm.” 

Andy huffed, grabbed the mug, and marched it over to the microwave. “Okay. God forbid your coffee is anything less than volcanic.” 

Miranda threw daggers at her with one look.  

By the time Andy set the re-heated mug in front of her, Miranda was resting her chin in her hand, studying her. 

Andy slid onto the barstool beside her.  

Up close, the softness of Miranda’s look was even more potent. Her bare feet dangled from the stool. The hoodie’s sleeves were bunched around her wrists.  

She looked like she belonged here.  

In Andy’s kitchen.  

In Andy’s clothes.  

In Andy’s morning.  

“You look,” Andy swallowed once, painfully aware of her own heartbeat. “...really cute.” 

Miranda rolled her eyes, but her cheeks pinkened. “Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea.” 

“I’m serious,” Andy whispered. 

“I’m wearing sweatpants.” Miranda said flatly, as if the words themselves were a full report on her decline.  Miranda reclaimed her mug with a careful sip and an approving nod. “Better. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Your Majesty.” 

Miranda playfully swatted Andy’s shoulder with the back of her hand. 

For a while, they sat in the quiet hum of a shared morning. Miranda stirred her coffee with absent, delicate motions; Andy tapping her fingers against her thigh.  

Until Andy could no longer ignore the elephant in the room.  

They crossed a line last night. 

A beautiful line.  

A line Andy wanted to cross, again and again...but only if they were on the same page.  

And Miranda, for all her composure, kept glancing at Andy like she knew the question simmering behind Andy’s silence. 

Andy cleared her throat, “Miranda?” 

A slow inhale. Miranda set her mug down with almost ceremonial care. “Mhmm?” 

Now or never, Andy thought.  

“What is this?” The brunette bit her lip, "What are we doing?”  

“Is it so important that we define it?” 

“I think so, yes.” 

“Why?” 

“So that we’re both clear about what we expect from each other.” Andy sighed, “This isn’t casual for me, Miranda. And I’m sure you know that. Last night was so much more than just sex.” 

Miranda took a sip of her coffee. “Expectations usually lead to disappointment.” She said, “Wouldn’t you prefer it if we just continued to enjoy one another?” 

Andy had a hard time agreeing with the other woman's perspective. “Choosing not to label what we have doesn’t dismiss the reality of what it is, Miranda.” 

“Exactly.” The editor met her gaze. “So, why place so much importance on the label if you and I already know the truth?” 

“And what’s that? What’s true?” 

“We care for each other.” 

“Is that it?” 

Andy moved closer, fingers brushing Miranda’s cheek with a tenderness that made the older woman stiffen, just slightly, before exhaling. 

Miranda looked away as she spoke. “As you know, I’ve attempted to play my role in something...defined...three times already. And none of the men who vowed to love me have lived up to their titles as my spouse. Not once.” She tapped a manicured nail against her mug, thoughtful. “In fact, if anything, the labels made them lazy. Made them believe the work was done simply because they had a name for it.” 

Andy softened. “But I’m not them.” 

“I know.” Miranda’s voice was low and steady. “Which is precisely why I’m being...cautious.” 

“Listen...” Andy took Miranda’s hand between her own. “Your previous experiences are valid, but I think it’s a little unfair to compare what we have, and what we could be, to what didn’t work out for you. And really, I’m glad your marriages failed. Not because you deserved the hardships that came with it, but because I think you weren’t meant to be with any one of them in the first place.” 

Miranda laughed, “And you believe you and I are what, destined? Soulmates?” 

Andy held her gaze for a while. “Am I supposed to think differently? I mean, seriously, why would I continue to search for something I know I’ve already found?” 

“Andrea...” Miranda shook her head. “You and I are not in the same stage of life. You may have come a long way, and I’m proud of you for it, but you are still building your career. You’re young.” Miranda’s throat bobbed. “I’m a decade older with two children and a reputation that demands more from me than most can withstand. And I worry that what feels effortless now may turn complicated later.” Miranda kissed the corner of Andy’s mouth. “Not because we lack affection, but because our realities simply do not match.”   

Andy opened her mouth, but Miranda raised her hand. 

“However,” She continued. “I admit, I’m not sure how to stop this feeling. This is already more honest and intimate than anything I ever had in a marriage. I don’t share your need for placing a name on what we have when my actions speak plainly.”  

Andy’s pulse thudded. “I want to know we’re choosing each other. Not just...drifting into this.” 

“Then hear me now.” Miranda said softly, interlacing her fingers with Andy’s. “I am choosing you. Not casually. Not temporarily. I’m choosing whatever this is, with you. Even if I don’t know what to call it. Even if our lives are not perfectly aligned.” 

Andy’s breath wavered. “And you’re not going to shut me out?” 

Miranda licked her lips, “Not unless you give me a reason to.” 

“Impossible.” Andy breathed, then kissed the back of Miranda’s hand. “I wouldn’t jeopardize this for anything. I know what I have.” 

“So, we move forward,” Miranda said. “One day at a time.” 

Just then, Andy’s phone buzzed against the countertop.  

She glanced at the screen, brow furrowing. “The front desk says I have a visitor. But I’m not expecting anyone...” 

“Oh, that will be Emily.” Miranda said, unsurprised. “She’s bringing me proper clothes.” 

“Ah.” Andy tapped to confirm and relayed permission to send Miranda’s assistant up. “Apparently my sweatpants are a national emergency,” she mumbled. 

Moments later, a hesitant knock sounded at the door.  

As though it were her own home, Miranda went to answer it.  

Emily all but tumbled inside, juggling two garment bags and a few shoeboxes. A little suitcase wheeled in behind her.  

Andy took pity on the girl and stepped forward to relieve her of half the load. 

“Did you bring my Manolos?” Miranda asked in a way of greeting. 

Emily, still catching her breath, froze at the sight of her boss’ current attire. Her mouth opened, closed, then reopened before she wisely chose not to comment.  

"Yes, Miranda.” She managed, “I brought both the black and the beige so that you had options.” She tugged at the suitcase, “In here you have toiletries, cosmetics and other... female essentials.”   

“Yes. That’ll do.” Miranda swept out of the kitchen toward the bedroom to change. 

Emily immediately deflated with relief...until she realized that she and Andy were suddenly left alone. Then, she stood stiffly beside the kitchen island looking entirely out of place.  

Andy offered a sympathetic smile. “You okay there?” 

“Oh, yes. Well. No.” Emily swallowed, straightening her posture. “It’s not even eight o’clock and it’s already been a very long morning.” She huffed. “They’re already circulating photos from last night and my inbox has been–” 

Emily’s rambling died as Miranda re-entered the room. The woman was transformed. Head-to-toe in couture, she looked every bit like Runway’s notorious Editor-In-Chief. Not a single trace remained of the woman who’d been curled in Andy’s hoodie minutes before. 

“That was quick,” Andy breathed. 

Without missing a beat, Emily thrust her iPad forward. “Miranda, Page Six has already published something from last night.” She winced. “You should probably see it.” 

Miranda accepted the device. Her expression was neutral, almost bored by the headline that glowed back at her: “WHO IS MIRANDA PRIESTLY’S MYSTERY WOMAN?” | A deep dive into the editor’s shocking red-carpet kiss. 

A dozen photos were arranged beneath the headline.  

Emily hovered anxiously. “They’re calling her The Phantom. No one’s identified her yet, and I’ve already declined six interview requests. It’s also–” 

“That’s enough, Emily.” Miranda said, handing the iPad back with calm finality.  

Emily snapped her mouth shut. “Of course. I’ll be downstairs.” 

When the door shut closed behind her, the silence stretched wide.  

Andy sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well...that’s...something.” 

Miranda turned to her fully then. “It was inevitable. As I said...it was not the wisest thing for me to do. The last thing I want is strangers prying into your life. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Andy assured her. “Let the public pry. Let them speculate. It doesn’t scare me. I already have what matters.”  

 

<> 

 

The November wind whipped across the Briarwood construction site, carrying with it the scent of fresh lumber and damp concrete. The steel bones of the new auditorium rose against the grey sky. Workers moved across the grounds with practiced precision, shouting measurements, guiding machinery, welding beams that sparked like fireworks.  

Andy stood beside Doug near the front of the construction site.  The auditorium’s outer shell had taken shape. Andy’s hard hat was slightly askew from the gusts of wind; clipboard tucked under one arm, steel-toe boots planted amid gravel. 

"Tell me we’re actually on schedule this time, Doug.” Andy pleaded, stepping carefully over a cable. 

Doug huffed a laugh, “Define ‘on schedule’.” 

“Don’t start.” Andy groaned. 

Her colleague grinned. “Don’t worry. We’re good. Plumbing is catching up.”  

Andy sighed, “I feel like we should be further ahead, still.” 

“Give us another week and we’ll have this place looking less like a crime scene and more like an auditorium.” 

“Music to my ears.” 

“ANDY!” 

The architect spun toward the sound and felt her stomach drop. 

Caroline. 

The girl barreled toward her from beyond the safety barricade, backpack still slung over one shoulder. She ducked under the caution tape without slowing down.  

“Caroline! No, stop!” Andy shouted across the landscape.  

The girl moved faster than a bullet. She was well into the active working zone when a forklift had jerked around the corner, its operator oblivious to the child in his trajectory.  

Time snapped into sharp focus.  

Andy dropped her clipboard and sprinted.  

She reached Caroline just as the forklift’s extended prongs were just out of reach. Andy hooked an arm firmly around the girl’s waist, pivoted and guided her back toward the taped border.  

The forklift operator had slammed the brakes and cursed loudly.  

Caroline let out a startled squeak.  

Andy was breathing hard as she walked toward safety. “This zone is dangerous, Caroline. You could've been hurt.” 

The girl frowned, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get in the way.” 

“It’s okay.” Andy sighed, “So long as you’re not hurt.” She guided Caroline to a nearby bench.  

“I just wanted to talk to you,” the girl said. 

Once the adrenaline wore off, Andy gave Caroline her attention. She took a breath, “Sure, kid. What’s up? Everything alright?” 

The girl twiddled her thumbs, “Well, I was thinking...since you're Mom’s girlfriend now, you might want to help Cass and I come up with ideas for her birthday?” 

Andy stuttered like a fish out of water. “I –ahm...huh??” 

“She’s turning forty just after the new year and she usually doesn’t like to celebrate. But maybe we can convince her to have a little fun this time.” 

Andy blinked, “Miranda’s birthday is coming up?” 

Caroline nodded, “Mhmm. In like, a month or so.” 

The architect was surprised. Not only because of Caroline’s casual use of the word ‘girlfriend’, but because, “Your Mom hadn’t told me her birthday was soon...” 

Caroline shrugged, “She’s a little sensitive about getting older, we think.” 

Andy cleared her throat. “I could see that being the case. Well, what did you two have in mind?” 

“Cassidy wants us all to go to the Lantern Festival.” 

“Oh really?” 

The Lantern Festival was a popular event. It was held on the outskirts of the city where the skyline faded into open air. It wasn’t crowded or chaotic like a fair. So, it would afford them the luxury of going unnoticed. Andy had never gone before, but she’d heard a lot about it through water cooler chat over the years.  

“Don’t worry,” Caroline grabbed her wrist. “We can figure out the details tonight after dinner.” 

“Dinner?” Andy was flabbergasted. “Tonight?” 

“Well yeah.” Caroline gave her a blank look. “It’s Thanksgiving. You’re coming over, aren’t you?” 

“Well I...I’d love to. But I’d have to speak with your mom about it.” 

“Okay, awesome!” The teen squeezed her impossibly tight. “So, we’ll see you tonight. And remember...” Caroline gave her a look, “be discreet.” 

And the girl was off, skipping across the school yard as the bell rang. 

“What was that about?” Doug approached the bench. 

Andy shook her head, “I’m not sure.” 

She pulled out her phone. 

A: Apparently, I’m invited to dinner tonight? 

M: Oh, yes. I forgot to mention it considering everything else we talked about this morning. 

M: Would you like to come? Unless you already had plans... 

A: No-no. No plans. What time did you have in mind? 

M: Anytime after 7pm is fine. 

A: I’ll be there. 

M: I look forward to it. 

 

<> 

  

The wrought-iron gate to Miranda’s townhouse stood partially ajar, as if the house itself had been expecting her. Andy barely made it up the stone walkway before the front door flew open.  

“Mo-ooom! She’s here!” 

Cassidy beamed up at her, bundled in an oversized knit sweater while Caroline hovered behind her sister with an equally delighted expression. The warmth that flooded Andy’s chest was instant and disarming.  

“Happy Thanksgiving, guys.” Andy laughed.  

“Happy Thanksgiving, Andy!” Cassidy chirped and yanked her by the wrist, pulling her inside.  

Andy was removing her shoes in the foyer when an enormous blur of brown and white fur barreled into her legs with a force that knocked the air from her lungs.  

“Oh –!”  

The twins’ massive St. Bernard.  

“So, this must be Patricia,” Andy groaned, stumbling as the giant dog pressed her solid paws against Andy’s chest. “Guys, I think your dog might actually be a bison.”  

Patricia responded by shoving her snout into Andy’s face, sniffing with wild devotion. 

“Well, look at that.” Miranda commented from the opening of the adjacent room. “She likes you.” 

Andy glanced up, breath catching despite herself. “Hey, you.” She gently pushed the dog back down.  

"Congratulations.” Cassidy declared, “You’ve passed the Patricia Test.” 

“And Mom won’t admit she lets Patricia sleep on her bed.” Caroline stage-whispered. 

“Caroline.” 

“Well, you do!” 

Andy laughed. “Don’t worry I won’t tell the press.” 

“See that you don’t.” Miranda tilted her head slightly, expression softening as she stepped closer. “How was your commute?” 

"Not bad,” Andy admitted. “I kept thinking about dinner the whole drive. Motivation works wonders.” 

Miranda hummed sympathetically and leaned in just enough to brush a warm, chaste kiss against Andy’s cheek.  

The twins exchanged a look that could only be described as victorious.  

Andy caught it immediately, “What are you two looking all smug about?” 

Cassidy laughed, “Nothing! We didn’t say anything.” She tugged at Andy’s sleeve. “Come on. House tour time!” 

The girls dragged Andy down a sweeping hallway, pattering through the elaborate home with breathless excitement. They narrated every detail with overdramatic flair; from the grand piano room to the cavernous study that was “boring and way too cold”. 

Dinner had passed in a haze of warm laughter and clinking china. Candles flickered softly as dishes rotated from hand to hand. The twins spoke over one another, eager to share stories from school.  

Once they had their fill, they migrated to the entertainment room. 

There were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive sectional couch, and shelves lined with board games in pristine condition. A fireplace crackled quietly in the background.  

“This is where everything happens.” Cassidy declared with ceremony.  

Andy laughed, “Everything, huh?” 

“Everything.” Caroline gestured at the numerous games on display. “Come on, Andy. Pick one.” 

They cycled through three different games in the span of one hour. There was an overly competitive round of Scrabble, a chaotic trivia game that Andy somehow dominated, and a dramatic, laughter-filled game of Charades. Caroline’s interpretation of “octopus” was an aggressive flailing dance that caused Miranda to choke on her wine.  

Andy’s cheeks hurt from smiling as much as she did.  

Life was good. 

The giant flatscreen flickered on, and the girls negotiated a movie choice. 

They settled on something nostalgic; an old, animated film Andy was unfamiliar with, but they’d apparently watched a thousand times.  

Andy sank into the middle cushion and the twins flanked her without hesitation. Caroline’s head settled against her shoulder while Cassidy curled up with her feet beneath Andy’s thigh.  

“Now I’m feeling somewhat lonely,” Miranda smirked over her wine glass from the opposite side of the couch.  

Andy genuinely felt bad, wishing she had another limb to reel Miranda closer. 

“Sorry, Mom.” Cassidy murmured. “It’s illegal for Andy to move.” 

The brunette shrugged helplessly towards Miranda. “I think you’re gonna have to come closer. I’m not sure I can take the risk. The kid seems serious.” 

There was a sparkle in Miranda’s eyes when she responded, “That’s okay. I’ll just have to wait my turn.” She licked the wine from her lips. 

+ 

By the midpoint of the film, both girls had slipped into soft sleep. Their breathing was slow and peaceful in the gentle hush of the room.   

Andy barely noticed when her phone vibrated in her pocket.  

Her mother was calling.  

Carefully disentangling herself, she rose slowly and tiptoed toward the hallway.  

“I’ll be right back,” She whispered to Miranda. 

Miranda nodded once.  

In the quiet corridor, Andy answered, “Hi, Mom.” 

“Happy Thanksgiving, Sweetheart!” Pam’s voice burst through the line, warm and familiar. “I just wanted to check in. Are you eating enough? Are you keeping warm? You’re not working tonight, are you? You always work so much.” 

“Mom, slow down.” Andy said, “I’m not at work. I’m actually with someone special tonight.” 

“Oh?” Pam perked up immediately. “How special? Special special?” 

A soft laugh escaped Andy. “Yeah. Special special.” 

“Well, I’m glad. You deserve that, Andy.” 

They spoke for several minutes before Andy promised to call again soon.  

When she returned to the entertainment room, it was empty of sleeping teenagers.  

Miranda stood near the doorway, “They’re upstairs. I’ve sent them to bed.” 

Andy reached for her and pulled Miranda close. “Thanks for having me tonight.” She kissed the editor’s wine-stained lips.  

Miranda wordlessly took Andy by the hand, her grip confident as she guided them towards the study. Once inside, she dimmed the lights into a low glow and turned the lock with a quiet, deliberate click.  

“What are we doing in here?” Andy asked. 

888 

Miranda didn’t answer. Instead, she moved away, crossing the room with unhurried purpose toward the solid oak desk. Miranda perched herself onto the edge of the desk and slowly drew her thighs apart. The fabric of her skirt slid higher along her thighs.  

Her gaze finally lifted to Andy. Her sapphire eyes burned with intent.  

The woman rubbed at the seat of her damp satin underwear. 

“Would you prefer to stand and watch...” Miranda gasped as she slipped two fingers inside herself. She shuddered from her own touch. “I hope not...” 

Andy nearly growled as she rushed over. She tugged Miranda’s fingers from the opening of her pussy. 

“You really do enjoy provoking me,” Andy breathed before wrapping her tongue around Miranda’s wet fingers. 

Miranda hadn’t denied it. 

Andy loosened her pants to relieve the pressure. She watched Miranda’s gaze lock onto her leaking cock. 

Andy pulled the older woman’s hips toward the edge of the desk. “Let me taste you first,” she insisted. 

Andy crouched low until her head was between Miranda’s thighs. She looked directly into Miranda’s eyes as the tip of her nose nudged the woman’s clit. 

Above her, Miranda released a quiet, feminine whimper.  

Andy happily drowned. 

The smell of Miranda’s desire clouded her senses. The sound of her heavy breathing was like a match struck in the dark. Andy lapped it all up. The brunette’s jaw flexed and relaxed as Miranda’s hips gyrated, pressing her wet pussy firmly against Andy’s face. 

Miranda gripped the curls at the back of Andy’s neck, “Yes, Darling...” she cooed. 

Right when Miranda’s thighs started to tense, Andy pulled away with a devilish grin. Moisture coated the lower half of her face, dripping down her chin. “See...I can be mean too.” 

Miranda looked ready to claw Andy’s throat out. “Or I can just put you out on the porch and handle my own pleasure.” 

“We both know you’re bluffing, Miranda.” Andy jerked her length. “You want my cock just as bad as I want to split your pussy in half.” 

“I think you talk too much,” Miranda shoved Andy away. 

Taken by surprise, it was easy for Miranda to push Andy toward the leather couch that lined the wall. She had no patience left as she yanked Andy’s pants to her ankles. 

Miranda caressed Andy’s sac. 

“Shit,” Andy’s knees quivered. 

“Condom?” 

“Front left pocket.” 

Miranda searched her pockets and soon rolled the ribbed latex down Andy’s rod. She pushed the brunette back and Andy fell into the couch with an audible “humpff”. 

In no time, Miranda’s skirt was bunched around her waist while she straddled Andy’s lap. 

Andy reached behind and dug her blunt nails into Miranda’s ass. She braced herself as inch-by-inch, Miranda’s tight heat enveloped her. 

Miranda’s hand pressed into Andy’s chest as she struggled to take the bottom half of Andy’s cock. 

Andy didn’t rush her. She caressed Miranda’s ribs beneath her blouse. “You can do it, baby.” 

Miranda choked on her own breath as she sunk deeper on the remainder of Andy’s length. 

“That’s it.” Andy marveled at the feeling. It was becoming increasingly hard to keep her voice below a whisper, and she fought the urge to spank Miranda’s ass.  

The moment Miranda adjusted to the feeling of being fully and rightfully stretched, she leaned forward into Andy while her hips began a steady rhythm, rising slowly and falling fast into Andy’s lap. 

Andy swallowed each of Miranda’s pretty, little cries as she let her woman take what she needed. A mixture of sweat and Miranda’s desire pooled onto the couch, making Andy’s thighs cling to the leather. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Andy groaned as Miranda rode her earnestly. “I’m the luckiest person on the planet.” She sighed.  

Andy completely lost herself in the moment.  

She widened her stance and planted her feet firmly into the carpet. 

“I need you to keep quiet, okay?” was her only warning before she hoisted the woman up off the couch. 

Miranda squealed. 

Andy’s cock was still lodged deep inside Miranda’s hot snatch as she supported the older woman by the backs of her thighs. 

She pressed Miranda into the wall and hammered into her, withholding nothing. “This pussy is mine.” Andy whispered directly into her ear before nipping at Miranda’s earlobe. “Say it.” 

Miranda tried to steady herself by holding onto Andy’s shoulders, but she was gradually slipping into an intense orgasm. “It’s y-yours,” she hiccupped. 

Andy shook her head in disappointment. “I know you can do better than that.” 

“Please.” Miranda cried. Her voice cracked, “It’s all for you.” 

Andy’s mouth latched onto Miranda’s neck and her hips staggered. What she began to lack in speed, she made up for with the power of her thrusts.  

FAP. 

Miranda bit her own knuckles. 

FAP. 

Her ankles locked around Andy’s waist. 

FAP. 

Andy’s bones turned into silk ribbons as they both fell apart. “Oh, baby.” 

Miranda grabbed Andy’s jaw to pull her into a bruising kiss as her walls contracted around Andy. 

As their lust-filled haze slowly faded, Andy carefully lowered Miranda back to the floor. 

They held each other’s gaze as Andy brushed Miranda’s white forelock from her eye. 

Her face broke into a silly grin. 

“Best...Thanksgiving...Ever.” 

 

<> 

 

Three weeks later. 

 

The office buzzed with its typical weekday energy: phones ringing, muted conversations echoing off exposed brick, the steady hum of printers churning out fresh blueprints. Andy stood by the window overlooking downtown, one hand in her pocket, the other holding her phone to her ear as she watched pedestrians blur below.  

“London?” Miranda echoed on the other end of the line, her voice clipped but carefully neutral. “And you neglected to inform me until now?” 

“I know it’s sudden,” Andy sighed lightly. “One of our investors secured a potential partnership with a UK-based firm. They want me there for some on-site evaluations and negotiation meetings. It’s a pretty big opportunity.” 

A pause. Heavy with thought. 

“And how long will you be gone?” Miranda asked. 

“Three days. I leave tomorrow morning, back by the weekend. I’ll be home just in time for Christmas. I promise.” 

Miranda sighed over the line, “These things are unavoidable, I suppose. You have obligations, Andrea. Fulfill them.” 

“Is that your professional way of saying you’ll be counting down the days until I return?” Andy teased. 

“I’ll be waiting by the window in an apron with a freshly baked pie like some dutiful Stepford wife.” 

Andy laughed but she was suddenly bombarded with the vision of threading a sparkling wedding band onto Miranda’s dainty left hand. 

“Just promise me you’ll be safe.” 

“I will,” Andy breathed. “I’ll call you as soon as I land.” 

A tender silence swelled between them. 

Until Andy decided to be brave enough for the both of them. “I love you.” 

Miranda’s breath hitched over the line. 

More silence. 

“Miranda?” Andy called, “I said I love–” 

“I love you too, Andrea.” 

Andy exhaled, unaware she’d been holding her breath. “I needed to hear that.” 

“And I needed to say it,” Miranda replied. “I’m afraid I must go now.” 

“Okay,” Andy whispered. 

“Goodbye, Andrea.” 

“Goodbye, Miranda.” 

The line went dead and Andy found herself immediately daydreaming of whatever the future held for her and Miranda.  

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.  

“Come in,” she called. 

Natasha entered Andy’s office.  

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I just finalized your itinerary for tomorrow.” 

“Good timing,” Andy replied. “I was actually about to ask. Have you booked the flights yet?” 

“Already in progress.” The short blonde tapped at her iPad. “But there’s been a complication.” 

Andy frowned, “What kind?” 

“Lily won’t be going.” 

That gave Andy pause. “Why not?” 

Natasha’s expression softened, “Her father’s been admitted for an emergency surgery in Vancouver. Apparently, it’s serious. She requested compassionate leave.” 

“Oh, well of course.” Andy exhaled. “That’s awful. I’ll reach out to her later.” 

“Only now you won’t have any support on this trip...” 

Andy went and sat behind her desk, “I can handle it solo this time around.” 

“I’m certain you could,” Natasha replied, tone sweet. “But you don’t have to.” 

Andy glanced up, “What are you implying?” 

Natasha tucked her straight blonde hair behind her ear, “I could go with you. I have a thorough understanding of all your meeting timelines and your client files. I’m sure I'd be useful.” 

Andy blinked. “You’re not a field negotiator.”  

“I know the client portfolios better than Lily does. Better than you might expect.” Natasha countered.  

Andy hesitated, but the girl’s logic wasn’t flawed. She exhaled, “Fine. I guess you and I have a flight to catch in the morning.” 

Natasha was pleased by her response, “Perfect. I’ll arrange for an uber to have us by the airport an hour ahead of schedule.” 

“Thanks, Nat.” 

The blonde threw a coy smile over her shoulder before she left, “You’re welcome, Andy.” 

Andy stared at the quiet space left behind. 

Her phone sat faced down on the desk, still warm from the call.  

I love you too, Andrea. 

The words echoed in her mind. 

Despite the looming trip, Andy fantasized about Christmas morning. She saw Miranda in a silk robe, feet tucked beneath herself on the couch while the twins tore into wrapping paper with unrestrained glee. She saw Patricia sprawled across the carpet, tail knocking over delicate ornaments with reckless joy.  

She saw herself barefooted in Miranda’s kitchen, sleeves rolled up, sneaking tastes of whatever delicacy the chef insisted was “not ready yet”, while Miranda watched her with that rare expression that only ever appeared behind closed doors. 

Andy hadn’t even left yet, and she found that she was already eager to return home to her family. 

Three days, she reminded herself. 

Just three days. 

And then she’d be back where she belonged. 

 

<> 

Notes:

Recap:
- Andy & Miranda's 'Post Nut Clarity' Conversation
- An update on the auditorium
- Thanksgiving Dinner
- Pam Sachs entered the chat (heads up, we love Pam)
- Andy's going on a business trip

=D what are your thoughts? drop a comment below.

Chapter 9: London Fog

Chapter 9

 

<> 

 

Andy held her satchel overhead as she scurried across wet cobblestone. 

It was the tail of December in London, England.  

Of course it was raining.  

Ahead of her, Natasha laughed as she raced towards a nearby bus shelter, seeking refuge from the cold drizzle. They both huddled under the roof of the bus stop, their breaths coming out in plumes.  

“You were amazing in there!” Natasha shrieked with her rosy cheeks. 

Andy had just finalized a partnership with Westbridge Design. After three days of back-to-back meetings, site tours and tense negotiations, it all finally paid off. The European firm had agreed to terms that would elevate Sachs Design Group’s international client base. 

“I’m really glad that’s done,” Andy admitted as she shook drops of water from her bag. 

“We should celebrate!” Natasha suggested in her excitement. 

Andy studied the bright screen showing the bus times. “Celebrate?” 

“Yeah!” the blonde insisted. “This is an important milestone for you. You deserve to relax a little.” 

Andy checked her watch. “What time are we supposed to leave tomorrow?” 

“Just after 1pm.” Natasha said, blowing into the palm of her hands for warmth. “We should arrive in New York around four in the afternoon.”  

With Christmas only a day away, Andy was eager to return home.  

“Look, there’s a pub just around the corner.” Natasha insisted. “One drink before we leave can’t hurt.” 

Andy hesitated as the iconic red bus rolled slowly toward the curb, its headlights cutting through the mist. She glanced down at her phone. No new messages. No missed calls. The time difference had turned simple communication into a careful game of overlapping hours. The last time she’d spoken to Miranda had been a rushed call the previous afternoon before work pulled them both away again.   

Andy missed her. 

Maybe a single drink wouldn’t hurt. 

“Alright,” Andy agreed. “One drink.” 

 

+

 

The pub was warm and glowing with holiday charm.  Its wood paneled walls were wrapped in soft garlands and amber colored lights. The worn floorboards creaked as patrons came and went. There was muffled laughter and faint carols humming from an old speaker overhead. It smelled of spiced cider and pine. The place felt timeless, as if it had witnessed a thousand quiet confessions and even more reckless ones. 

They slid into a booth near the window. 

When their drinks arrived, Natasha raised her glass. “To success. To strategic brilliance. And to surviving three days of my color-coded schedules.” The blonde giggled.  

Andy smiled in good nature and clinked her glass against Natasha’s. “Cheers.” 

They drank. 

Conversation flowed easily between the two of them and somehow one drink had turned into three.  

Andy tugged absently at the collar of her quarter zip. “It's getting kind of warm in here.” She murmured. “Are you warm?” 

Natasha slid the cherry off the toothpick of her cocktail with a slow bite. “You’re real cute when you’re buzzed.” 

“I’m not–” Andy cut herself off with a soft, startled burp, covering her mouth with her fist. “I’m not buzzed.” 

Natasha grinned in amusement. “Whatever you say, Ms. Sachs.” 

Andy huffed, pushing herself upright. “I need the bathroom.” She glanced around until she spotted the sign hanging over a narrow corridor. “I’ll be right back.” 

Andy wove her way through the now crowded pub, steps less steady than she cared to admit. By some miracle she found a single-stall restroom with no queue on the outside. It was a small blessing too, considering the uncomfortable pressure she’d been ignoring for the past half hour.  

Once inside, she fished her member from her pants and finally let herself relax. Her eyes fell shut and her head tipped back in relief. The room seemed to tilt slightly, a faint fog settling behind her eyes as she steadied herself with a palm pressed to the wall.  

After washing her hands, she splashed a little water on her face and took a slow breath before heading back out.  

As Andy made her way back to their booth, she noticed Natasha speaking to someone on a facetime call. 

Andy squinted as she got closer, suddenly patting her pockets for her cellphone. Because once she was close enough, she was sure the blonde was on a Facetime call with Cassidy and Caroline. The twins’ voices filled the booth through the speaker of Andy’s phone.  

“Who are you?” Cassidy demanded.  

“And why do you have Andy’s phone?” Caroline followed sharply. 

What the hell was happening. 

Andy stumbled forward and plucked her phone from Natasha’s hands...only to come face to face with Miranda now in the frame.  

“Baby,” Andy breathed instinctively. Her thoughts were sluggish, heart thudding.  

Miranda frowned at her and her voice was dangerously calm when she spoke. “Who was that?” 

Nervous, Andy sat back into the booth. “That was just Nat.” 

“Just ‘Nat’.” Miranda spat the syllable like it pained her. “Why did she have your phone?” 

“That’s a good question, actually.” Andy shot Natasha a look. “I uhm, accidentally left it on the table when I went to the bathroom.” 

Miranda squinted at her through the phone. “And where exactly are you?” 

The brunette pressed her temple, “At some pub that was in the area.” 

“You’ve been drinking?” 

Andy had a bad feeling about where this was going. “...I’ve had a few.” 

“Very well,” Miranda licked her upper row of teeth. “Let’s try a little role reversal, shall we?” 

The pub blurred into muffled silence as something in Miranda’s tone made Andy’s stomach twist. 

Miranda looked directly at her as she started. “Imagine if I were in another country and you called me. You were excited to see me and couldn't wait to hear my voice, and instead of me answering the phone, a man picked up.” The woman paused for emphasis. “Imagine me then admitting to you that I went out for drinks with this man and we spent the entire night ogling each other across some filthy table at a random hole in the wall–” 

“Woah,” Andy sobered at the accusation. “Miranda, she works for me. What are you even saying?” 

“I’d like to know, Andrea, why some sun-bleached bimbo felt comfortable enough to answer your phone on your behalf.” 

“Okay, I see how it might look,” Andy swallowed, throat dry. Her head felt like it was full of cotton as she tried to clarify what happened. “But you have the wrong idea. We’re just celebrating.” Andy laughed, attempting to lighten the mood. “I got the partnership!” 

Miranda stared at her in silence. “Right.” 

“Miranda, come on.” Andy took a deep breath. “Whatever you’re thinking, I promise you have the wrong idea.” 

“And you’re going back to the same hotel with this woman?” 

“Well, yeah but–” 

The FaceTime ended. 

“Fffuuuuhh–” Andy loosened her ponytail to help the tension across her skull; her hair fell in waves down her shoulders. 

“So, you’re actually dating her, then?” Natasha was watching her steadily. 

“What the hell were you thinking, answering my phone?” Andy shook her head in frustration. “That wasn't okay, Natasha.”  

The blonde shifted her gaze to stare at the table. “Why her?” She whispered, ignoring Andy’s admonishment.  

“Excuse me?” Andy straightened in her seat. 

Natasha’s eyes became glassy. “I’ve always been invisible to you. I don’t get it. I work so hard to make your life as easy as I possibly can.” 

Andy’s jaw fell, “That’s quite literally your job, Natasha. Where is this coming from? What are you getting at?” 

“Are you really going to pretend like you don’t know I have feelings for you?” The blonde was actively crying now, tears rolling mascara down her cheeks. 

“What?” Andy nearly fell out of the booth. “Feelings for me? I’m your boss.”     

“Am I not pretty enough for you?” 

“Nat,” Andy clapped her hands above the table. “You need to take a step back and really digest what I’m about to say.” The architect took the deepest breath her lungs would allow. “Respectfully, I am not, nor will I ever find myself interested in you romantically or sexually. Okay?” 

“Wow,” Natasha sniffled as she brushed her tears in frustration. “Way to let a girl down.” 

“I’m being honest with you.” Andy sighed. “Forgive me if I’ve blurred the lines between work and friendship, but I am happily in love with someone else.” 

Natasha couldn't even bring herself to look at Andy anymore.  

Andy continued. “And you’ve just gone and painted a really bad picture in her mind that I now have to explain.”  

At this point, the night was properly ruined, and Andy’s good mood had disappeared. They left the pub with Natasha hurrying ahead of her as they made their way back to their hotel. The elevator ride up to their suites was silent and more than awkward.  

By the time Andy had showered and crashed into bed, she found herself staring at the ceiling wondering what she would say to Miranda once she returned to New York tomorrow.    

 

<> 

 

The flight back to New York had been quiet in a way Andy wasn’t used to. The aftermath of last night left her feeling weighed down.  

London disappeared beneath the clouds with a finality that made Andy breathe a little easier. Beside her, Natasha busied herself with her phone; her composure carefully restored. They’d barely spoken until the Uber ride to Heathrow, when Natasha finally broke the fragile silence.  

“I owe you an apology,” she said, staring straight ahead as the grey city blurred past the windows. “For last night. I crossed the line. It won’t happen again. I don’t want it to affect how we work together.” 

Andy had nodded, relieved but still uneasy. “I appreciate that. I just...want things to stay professional.” 

“They will,” Natasha assured her, though her smile was strained. “You have my word.” 

So, they’d parted at the terminal with an awkward wave, a mumbled Merry Christmas, and the mutual understanding that they were now walking a tightrope of normalcy.  

And now Andy was back. At JFK. Feeling a bit disoriented as she stood still in the middle of a bustling crowd.  

The Uber ride into the city was swallowed by traffic and holiday lights, New York dressed in its festive chaos. Andy barely noticed. Her phone rested in her hands, screen glowing as she scrolled back through her most recent messages sent to Miranda.  

A: I’m about to board my flight now.  

A: I can’t wait to see you. You need to know that last night was all just a simple misunderstanding. But I’ll clear everything up in person. 

A: Miranda?  

The carefully worded reassurances were all read without a response.  

Another knot twisted in Andy’s stomach.  

Her thumb hesitated before drifting to her photos. She scrolled through the countless shots of projects under construction until she found the image she was looking for.  

It was of Miranda, two months ago, asleep in Andy’s bed, bathed in morning light. Andy zoomed in without thinking, studying the serenity of Miranda’s face.  

“I just want to fix this,” Andy murmured under her breath.  

The driver didn’t hear. Or pretended not to.  

When she reached her apartment, the silence was immediate and suffocating.  

Maybe she should leave the ball in Miranda’s court...give her some time. Or maybe Andy should take initiative and try harder to make amends. Andy really disliked any kind of conflict. She didn’t know how to go on as usual, knowing that Miranda was obviously upset with her.  

She had to try again.  

She dialed the woman’s number. It rang once and then immediately went to voicemail.  

Andy deflated.  

Outside, snow began to drift, slow and quiet. It was Christmas Eve and she was truly alone for the first time in months. She had taken off time from work for the remainder of the year specifically to spend it with Miranda and the girls. But now, she was uncertain if she would actually get to have that.  

The hell with it. 

Against every logical instinct she possessed, Andy grabbed her keys along with the three gift bags tucked away carefully in her hallway closet. Moments later, she was out the door again. 

 

<> 

 

Miranda’s townhouse glowed like something from a design magazine, every decoration flawlessly placed. White lights traced the iron railings, an elaborate wreath hung from the door, and the faint scent of pine greeted Andy before she even knocked.  

Cara opened the door, surprise flickering across her face before easing into polite recognition. “Oh! Hi.” The twins’ caretaker smiled demurely. “Miranda’s not home yet, but the girls will be happy you’re here.” 

“Merry Christmas,” Andy offered softly as Cara stepped aside to allow her in. The brunette stepped out of her boots and unlaced her scarf, already feeling more at home than she did in her own apartment. “Cara, would you mind sneaking these under the tree for me?” She asked, lifting the gift bags slightly. “I’m hoping the girls don’t notice until tomorrow or else they’ll beg to open them before then.” 

Cara smiled, conspiratorial. “Of course. They’re just in the kitchen. Baking, I’m afraid to warn you.” 

Andy laughed, “I think I can handle it.” 

As soon as Andy headed towards the kitchen, the twins’ laughter echoed through the house, bright and electric. The moment they spotted her they abandoned their gingerbread operation entirely.  

“YOU’RE BACK!” They cried in unison. "Finally!” They sprinted over and wrapped their slender, freckled arms around her.  

“You’re both covered in icing!” Andy howled, hugging them both.  

“That’s the point!” Cassidy announced.  

Patricia trotted over, tail wagging furiously, nudging Andy’s hand with her wet nose. “Hi, girl,” Andy murmured, crouching briefly to scratch behind the dog's ears. “I missed you too, Patricia.” 

Flour dusted the counters. Gingerbread figures lay dismembered across baking sheets. Andy rolled up her sleeves without hesitation, stepping into the whirlwind of sugar, giggles, and quality fun like it was familiar territory...because somewhere along the way, it had become exactly that.  

They laughed. They baked. They made a mess Miranda would absolutely hate and yet secretly forgive. 

Time passed more easily than Andy expected.  

The front door clicked.  

The shift was immediate. The air seemed to recalibrate.  

“I’m home.” 

Miranda’s dulcet voice carried through the house.  

She appeared in the kitchen doorway moments later, coat still on, expression giving nothing away. Her eyes landed on Andy and stayed there just a beat too long.  

“Hey, you.” Andy said carefully, trying for normal.  

“Andrea,” Miranda replied, measured.  

No warmth. No softness.  

Then, all softness, Miranda leaned briefly to kiss the girls’ cheeks. “You two have made an impressive disaster of my kitchen.” 

“It’s Christmas, Mom!” Caroline defended proudly. 

“Yes, so I see.” 

Miranda removed her leather gloves then glanced back at Andy. “Excuse me. I’m going to change.” 

And just like that, she disappeared upstairs.  

The girls said nothing of their odd exchange as they went to spy on their treats in the oven, but Andy’s mood had soured.  

She didn’t even get a hug.  

Every nerve in her body sang with unease.  

A few tense minutes passed before Andy quietly wiped her hands on a dish towel and excused herself. Her feet carried her upstairs before her mind could catch up, through the familiar corridor, to the bedroom she knew far too well.  

She knocked once.  

No response.  

So, she pushed the door gently open.  

Miranda sat at her vanity, her reflection cool and immaculate in the mirror. She didn’t turn, only lifted her eyes, meeting Andy’s through the glass.  

The silence pressed between them, heavy with everything unsaid.  

“You shouldn't have come,” Miranda said at last, her voice calm but edged with something sharper beneath it. 

Andy swallowed, “You wouldn’t answer my calls.” 

“I saw your messages.” 

“And you chose not to reply.” 

Miranda’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I have my reasons.” 

Andy stepped further into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. “Look Miranda, Natasha answered my phone. That’s it. Nothing else happened. I would never disrespect you like that.” 

A faint, mirthless exhale. “And yet I was made to feel as though I were the one intruding.” 

“That wasn't my intention.” 

Miranda finally turned in her seat, cool eyes assessing her like she was a stranger rather than the woman who slept beside her, shared her space, her silence and her vulnerability.  

“This is insane,” Andy said. “Why are you being so cold? I thought you trusted me.” 

Miranda folded her arms. Creating a barrier between them. “I need you to leave,” she said.  

Andy blinked. “What?” 

“I need space, Andrea.” Her voice had sharpened, but underneath it there was something tremulous, almost fractured.  

“Miranda, I just flew across the Atlantic and drove here in the snow because you wouldn’t answer me. I’m not leaving until we at least talk this through.” 

Miranda snapped, “There is nothing to discuss.”  

Andy took the biggest breath. “I am trying so hard to be patient with you, but you’re not making any sense. You’re acting like I cheated on you.” 

A flicker passed through Miranda’s expression. “You cannot just show up and demand me to dismiss how what happened made me feel,” Miranda whispered.  

Andy stepped closer, just enough for the air between them to feel charged. “Then tell me what you need. Because I’m standing here, on Christmas Eve, in your bedroom, instead of my empty apartment...eager to simply be with you and the kids.” Andy tipped Miranda’s chin upwards, forcing her to look directly into Andy’s eyes. “What does that say?” 

Miranda held Andy’s wrist and released a shuddering breath. “I’m pregnant.” 

 

<> 

 

Chapter 10: Genesis

Notes:

Trigger Warning: Mentions of Abortion. Nothing graphic. NSFW @ Flashback. Happy Sunday.

Chapter 10

 

<> 

 

Emotionally, Andy flatlined.  

Her mind went blank and for a moment she felt like she was watching someone else’s life unfold in front of her. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Miranda’s words ricocheted between her ears. 

“What...?” Andy’s arms fell limp at her sides, fingers numb. 

Miranda bowed her head, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “When you left for London, I had a doctor’s appointment. My annual.” Her throat bobbed, “Just a routine checkup. Or rather, it was supposed to be. My doctor called me this morning to share her report.” 

Andy barely registered what Miranda was saying, still stuck on the woman’s blunt confession. "You’re pregnant?” 

“Yes, Andrea.” 

“And you’re absolutely sure?” 

"Would you like to see the results of my blood work?” Miranda scoffed. “Of course, I’m sure.” 

“But how?” Andy was baffled. She never could've predicted this. “We’ve always used protection. Always.” 

Miranda sighed, “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

The brunette cleared her throat. “How uhm...how far along are you?” 

Miranda bit her lip, “Three weeks.” 

“Three weeks...” Andy echoed as her mind raced through the last month like she was flipping pages of a book at high speed. By the end of her mental math, her eyes went wide and her jaw fell slack in disbelief. “That means...just after Thanksgiving.”  

 

<> 

 

< Flashback – December 3rd > 

 

They were returning to Runway after an impromptu lunch date between work hours.  

The concrete ramp spiraled downward into the dim belly of the Elias-Clarke parking garage. Andy guided her work truck through the maze of parked cars; the GMC’s tires crunched softly across the pavement.  

Beside her, Miranda sat rigidly in the passenger seat. With one leg crossed over the other, her fingers angrily stabbed at her phone’s keyboard. Each tap against the screen felt like punctuation for her irritation. 

“Unbelievable,” Miranda muttered.  

One of Andy’s hands steered the wheel while the other bridged the middle console, resting on Miranda’s thigh. “What’s wrong?” Andy asked, glancing sideways. 

“I loathe micromanagement.” 

Andy hummed sympathetically, “Irv?” 

“Yes.” Miranda sighed in frustration. “Who else? He’s throwing a tantrum about the budget. Again.” 

Andy was intentional by being the safe space Miranda needed to offload her emotions. She listened attentively and she kept Miranda grounded when the woman was troubled.  

She found an empty parking spot in the corner of the parking garage. She reversed into the spot before shutting off the engine. 

A moment of silence passed.  

Andy turned to face her, “You and I both know that you’re so much bigger than your circumstances.” She encouraged, “Runway would crumble without you.” 

“Yes, but having to engage with a sexist pig like Irv Ravitz would wear anyone down over time.”  

Andy nodded, “Fair point.” And before Miranda could reply, she hopped outside the truck. She circled the front and opened the door to the passenger side.  

“What are you doing?” Miranda asked, confused. 

“I have an idea,” Andy said. “I’m sure you’ll love it. But you have to trust me.” 

Miranda seemed skeptical at first but eventually followed Andy’s lead.  

“Come here,” The architect prompted.  

With Miranda now sitting sideways in the passenger seat, Andy surveyed the parking garage before she hooked Miranda’s panties around her fingers and slid them down the woman’s legs from beneath her dress. Andy tucked the skimpy lace in her back pocket.  

She then took Miranda by the hand and helped her step down the running board of the truck.  

“What are you getting at?” There was an undertone of panic in Miranda’s voice when she heard a car door close shut across the lot. 

“Just a second,” Andy said. After wading through a stack of invoices in the glove compartment, the brunette found the stray condom beneath the mess. 

Andy maneuvered the passenger seat forward then closed the passenger door.  

“That should give us a little bit of room,” Andy said as she opened the back door of the truck and stepped up inside. She held her hand down and out to Miranda. “Hop up.” 

Miranda took Andy’s hand and was soon sat in the brunette’s lap; but she was visibly worried, afraid of being seen.  

Andy kissed Miranda gently. “It’s okay,” she promised. “No one will see. The windows are tinted. You’re safe with me...but you’re stressed.” Andy’s hands pinched the hem of Miranda’s dress. “Let me help you.” 

Andy hiked the editor's dress up and around her waist. She spread Miranda’s thighs by splaying her own knees, allowing Miranda’s smooth legs to rest on the outside of her own. 

Andy washed her fingertips with her tongue before spreading Miranda’s labia.  

The cabin of the truck was dead silent, which made it easy for Andy to hear the change in Miranda’s breathing. It became more erratic, air sputtering through Miranda’s nose as her chest rose and fell rapidly.  

“Unff.” Miranda moaned beneath her breath as Andy dipped into the moisture at her opening.  

It gathered on Andy fingers like warm honey. Andy massaged the slick into Miranda’s peeking clit and Miranda melted in Andy’s lap, leaning back against her chest. She turned her head slightly to gaze up at Andy as her jaw went slack.  

Andy smiled at her, nipping Miranda’s bottom lip. She looked at the woman in her arms with hooded eyes. “Feel good, baby?” 

Miranda nodded mutely.  

“You needed this,” Andy asserted. The moment she pulled her hand away, Miranda whined in discontent. “Be patient,” Andy said. “Hold the headrest and sit up for a second.” 

Andy failed to realize the snag at the edge of the foil.  

She yearned, hastily shoving her pants down to the middle of her thighs. Andy took her hard-on and slipped the faulty contraceptive in place.  She grabbed Miranda by the back of her hips, pulling her back into her.  

With Miranda on her lap again, Andy’s cock stood at attention between Miranda’s soft thighs. The leaking head of her shaft tickled Miranda’s navel.  

Andy looked down at where their bodies met. Then whispered into Miranda’s ear, “Do you see how deep I’ll be?”  

Miranda attempted to grind herself into the curve of Andy’s stiff prick.  

“You want it, baby?” Andy licked the side of Miranda’s throat. “Need me where your fingers can’t reach?”  

“Pl-ease,” Miranda trembled in her lap, nodding frantically. “Don’t tease me...please.” She begged.  

Andy took pity on her. “Up,” she said. 

Miranda raised her hips and, with Andy’s careful guidance, she fed her cock into Miranda. The mushroom tip caught on Miranda’s front wall before it popped properly into place. 

Miranda dug her stiletto nails into Andy’s forearm as Andy’s scrotum fit snugly into the pocket of the editor’s thighs.  

Andy groaned. This feeling was incomparable to anything else.  

Miranda attempted to gyrate her hips, but Andy smacked the outside of her knees. “No.” Andy chided. “You stay still. Just lay back into me.” 

And although she did as Andy told her to, Miranda whimpered in protest.  

Then...lazily, leisurely, Andy simply rubbed at Miranda’s stuffed pussy. 

 

Miranda’s first orgasm made Andy bite the inside of her cheek to deter her own climax. She hadn’t slowed or stopped. Andy maintained the same pace, the same firm, tight circles. Around and around Miranda’s glossy little clit.  

She squirmed on Andy’s thick cock, effectively wetting Andy’s ball sack.  

“It’s interesting how you have all those people upstairs terrified, tripping over their own feet to please you.” Andy hummed. “And here you are...making a mess in my lap with my dick in your belly.” 

“O-oh!” Miranda’s second orgasm was no different than lightening touching the ground. Her voice came out a strangled plea, “F-fuck me-e.” 

Andy’s hips jerked once, but she refused to thrust.  

“My beautiful cock warmer,” Andy husked as her other arm snaked to Miranda’s front. With one hand wrapped tightly around Miranda’s throat and the other playing the editor’s cunt like a fiddle, neither of them stood a chance at prolonging the moment.  

Miranda’s whole body locked up. 

Quickly changing pace, Andy spanked the editor’s sensitive pussy in rapid succession as Miranda squirted onto the back of the passenger seat. Andy nearly missed Miranda’s quiet, stifled mewl breathed into the crook of Andy’s neck, “Daddy.” 

Andy fucking lost it.  

Both of her hands clawed at the fabric of Miranda’s stomach as Andy's hips snapped up once, twice, staggered, and snapped a third time before she spilled her heated sperm into Miranda.  

 

< End Flashback > 

 

<> 

  

“Oh...” Andy’s eyebrows shot to her hairline as the memory clicked into place. 

It came back to her with absolute clarity. 

She remembered Miranda feeling embarrassed by her verbal slip. She remembered watching Miranda make her way toward the parking garage’s elevator, her steps unsteady. And she remembered keeping Miranda’s underwear tucked in her back pocket for the remainder of that day, a secret no one else could touch.  

“I would say the timing aligns perfectly,” Miranda conceded.  

“Wow,” Andy breathed. And she didn’t realize she was crying until she tasted the salt of her tears. “We’re really having a baby?” Andy laughed as she fell to her knees in front of Miranda. She held the woman by her waist as she gazed up at her in awe, “You’re gonna have my baby.” 

The pending reality solidified in Andy’s mind.  

Although they didn’t mean to, she and Miranda created life, and Andy couldn’t possibly dream of sharing this experience with anyone else. A real baby. The thought made Andy feel like everything she encountered in life served no other purpose than to lead her to this exact moment.  

Miranda would be the mother of her child. 

Holy shit.  

Andy wiped at her tears in an effort to contain herself. “When’s our first appointment, then?” Andy wondered with unmistakable glee. “We have to get you those vitamins pregnant women take. And – and we’ll have to shop for car seats.” Andy let out a wet chuckle, “Ironic that he’ll need a seat for the exact spot he was conceived in.” 

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Andy's shaky laughter and Miranda’s soft, uneven breathing.  

But Miranda didn’t laugh.  

She didn’t smile.  

She didn’t even blink. 

Andy’s grin faltered. “Baby?”  

Miranda’s gaze drifted past her, unfocused. Her hands curled into the fabric of her robe as if she desperately needed something to hold onto. 

“Please...stop.” Miranda whispered. 

Andy’s heart stuttered. “Stop what?” 

“This.” Miranda gestured weakly at Andy kneeling on the floor, at Andy’s excitement and her tears. Miranda looked away. “Stop planning and...acting as though this is already real.” 

That made Andy rise slowly to her feet, cautious. “But it is real, Miranda. I know it’s shocking but–” 

“I don’t know if I want it.” 

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water. 

Andy froze and all the air left her lungs. 

Miranda’s chin trembled before she hardened it, as if ashamed of her own vulnerability. “I’ll be forty soon. I’ve told you before that I never saw myself doing this again.” 

Andy couldn’t find her voice.  

Miranda inhaled shakily. “I’m exhausted, Andrea. I am overwhelmed. And I am terrified beyond measure.” The editor’s voice cracked around the edges. “I don’t know if I’m capable of doing this again.”  

Andy tried to close the distance, but Miranda lifted a trembling hand as if she couldn’t breathe without that very distance. 

“I know you’re happy,” Miranda whispered. “I can see it. And part of me...part of me wants to be happy with you.” Her blue eyes finally rose to meet Andy’s, wet and bright and heavy with emotion. “But I don’t know if I want this baby.” 

The words were soft, honest...and devastating.  

Andy stood there, rooted to the spot, the edges of the world going strangely soft.  

I don’t know if I want this baby. 

The sentence replayed on a loop, each repetition quieter and crueler.  

“I...” Andy swallowed, but her throat felt raw. She forced herself to meet Miranda’s eyes. “Okay.” 

Miranda’s lips parted but Andy kept going before she could speak.  

“You need time.” Her voice was too calm, too steady. It didn’t feel like it belonged to her. “This is huge. I get that. I’m not going to push you.” 

A sharp breath left Miranda. Her shoulders sagged with something like gratitude, something like misery.  

“Thank you.” She whispered.  

Andy nodded once. She felt nothing. Or maybe she felt everything at once. It was impossible to tell. 

The moment stretched between them, fragile and aching. 

“Do you still want to stay the night?” Miranda asked, barely audible. “The girls will have questions if they don’t see you in the morning.” 

“Of course I’m staying,” Andy said immediately. Leaving never crossed her mind. 

Miranda blinked up at her, eyes glassy. “Andrea...” 

Andy shook her head. “Really. It’s okay.” 

They both knew it wasn’t. But saying it out loud would likely break them in ways neither were prepared for. 

Miranda reached for Andy’s hand, hesitated, and let her arm fall back to her side. 

“We should probably go back downstairs, now.” 

Andy managed a small nod.  

 

They moved through the townhouse like ghosts.  

Dinner was quiet. Miranda pushed food around her plate. Andy pretended she wasn't nauseous. They spoke only when necessary, polite phrases standing in for real conversation. The girls noticed the tension but didn’t comment, choosing to focus on the festivities that would come by morning.  

After helping clean up, Andy turned to Miranda. “I think I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight,” she said softly. 

The editor wrapped her arms around herself, “Is that necessary?” 

“I think it’s best.” Andy tried to smile and failed. “Just for tonight.” 

Miranda’s lip quivered, “Alright.” 

Andy pressed a gentle kiss to Miranda’s forehead before she retreated upstairs. She entered the guest bedroom and shut the door gently behind her.  

Only then did she allow herself to fall apart.  

She sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the wall, feeling the silence close in on her like a second skin. 

She’d thought the future was clear. 

She’d thought that they were building something.  

But now, everything was suspended in uncertainty.  

If Miranda chose not to keep the baby... 

Would it change them? 

Would it change her? 

Would it be the beginning of a fracture? Or would it be a difficult chapter they survived? 

Andy didn’t know. And the not-knowing hollowed her out.  

She lay back on the cool sheets and went from staring at the wall to staring at the ceiling.  

This was a different brand of loneliness. 

 

<> 

Chapter 11: Silent Night Pt.1

Notes:

Christmas will be split into two parts. Here's part one. Tw: Mentions of Abortion.

Chapter 11 – Silent Night Pt. 1 

 

<> 

 

Andy couldn’t sleep. 

Each time she closed her eyes, she was tortured by her vivid imagination.  

She had visions of a chubby toddler with thick, unruly brown curls and clear, blue eyes. Miranda’s eyes. The little one would reach for Andy with a gummy smile and a cute button nose. But when Andy tried to clasp their tiny fingers, the child unraveled, chubby fists thinning into pale wisps of smoke. 

She gave up on sleep. 

Andy threw the bed covers aside, grabbed her phone and quietly padded her way to the kitchen. She was leaning against the counter as she dialed a number she knew by heart. 

The phone rang twice before the call was picked up. An unintelligible groan sounded from the other side of the line.  

“Mom?” Andy whispered into the speaker. 

“Andy?” Pam yawned. “Andy, honey, is that you?” 

Andy pinched her lips together, fighting the urge to cry. Something about hearing her mother’s voice softened her. “Yeah, Mom. It’s me.” 

There was clatter on Pam’s end. “Honey, it’s 4am. What is going on? What’s wrong?” 

“I’m sorry I woke you up.” Andy said, “But something happened and I...I wouldn’t go to anyone else with what I’m about to tell you.” 

Pam was audibly worried. “Andy, you’re scaring me. What is it? Are you hurt?” 

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Andy reassured her. “I’m safe. I just...I don’t know how to be okay right now.” 

There was a soft rustle, the unmistakable sound of Pam pushing herself upright in bed. “Alright,” her mother said gently. “Then take a deep breath and tell me what’s got you calling at four in the morning, sweetheart.” 

Andy pulled out a bar stool and took a seat. Her head fell into her hand, “Do you remember Thanksgiving?” She asked quietly. 

“I do.” Pam’s voice warmed at the memory. “You said that you were spending it with someone special. I had a feeling that meant something serious.” 

“It did,” Andy whispered. “It does.” 

There was a brief silence. 

“I see. What’s her name?” 

Andy’s heart swelled. “Miranda.” She sniffled. “Her name is Miranda.” 

“Ahh,” Pam made a sympathetic sound. “Just the way you say her name tells me everything I need to know.  Well, how did you and this Miranda meet?” 

Despite herself, Andy smiled fondly at the memory. “Work...” 

“Of, course.” Pam sighed.  

“She’s incredible, Mom.” Andy breathed. “She’s brilliant and she’s beautiful and funny in a very dry-humor kind-of-way. She has two kids and...I don’t know how else to explain it, but they matter to me. A lot. Everything has been really good. I wake up every day feeling like I've somehow landed exactly where I should be.” 

Pam hummed thoughtfully on the other end. “But something’s wrong. I can hear it.” 

Andy swallowed audibly. “She’s pregnant.” 

A quiet gasp left Pam’s lips. “Is it...yours?” 

“Yeah, Mom.” A tear rolled down Andy’s cheek. “It’s mine.” 

“Oh, sweetheart...” Pam’s voice cracked with emotion. “That’s big.” 

“She doesn’t know if she wants to keep it.” Andy got up from the bar stool and paced the kitchen floor. “But I want this, Mom.” Her words came out rushed and desperate. “I want it so badly. I can see it already. I can see a little kid running around. Tiny socks left everywhere. I see myself pushing a stroller at the girls’ games. I can see my whole life with her.”    

Andy rambled, “And I know, I know. Her body, her rules. But how am I supposed to feel if she decides not to keep our baby? How do I pretend it wouldn’t tear me apart?” 

Pam was quiet for a long moment. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to pretend,” She finally said. “You’re allowed to grieve a future that you can already see with your heart, even if it’s not guaranteed to happen.” 

Andy leaned over the sink, head bowed. “I’m scared, Mom. If she ends this before it even begins...I don’t know how I’ll be able to move forward with her. Not without constantly wondering who my son or daughter would've been.” 

“Andy, listen to me,” Pam said more firmly now. “This is not just about the baby. This is about how deeply you care about Miranda.” 

“I know.” Andy shook her head and whispered, “She’s just upstairs and I feel like we’re miles apart.” The brunette started to pace again. “I don’t want to lose her.” 

“Then that’s what you need to focus on,” Pam murmured. “Not the what-ifs. Not the could-have-beens. If you really love her, you’ll do your best to remember that that child, real or imagined, is part of her right now. And whatever she decides, she’s going to remember how you reacted. Whether you held her or pressured her. Whether you listened or panicked.” 

Andy felt like she was unravelling from the inside out. “What if I say the wrong thing?” 

“Then you learn from it, apologize and try again.” Pam said simply. “That’s what love is, Andy. It won’t be perfect. You won’t always know the answer.” 

“I just wish I could make her see what I see.” Andy whispered. 

“Don’t try to convince her.” Pam replied softly. “Just love her where she is. Let her be unsure. Let her feel. And just be there for her.” 

“Okay.” Andy forced herself to sit back down. “Okay, I’ll do my best.” 

“And whatever happens,” Pam added, her voice thick with emotion. “You are not going through it alone. I’m here for you.” 

Andy exhaled deeply, clutching the phone a little tighter. “I love you, Mom. Thank you.” 

“I love you too, Andy.” 

 

+ 

 

After the call ended, Andy simply stood there listening to the faint hum of the refrigerator.  

She ran the tap and rinsed her hands in ice cold water in an effort to ground herself. Andy reached for the kettle out of habit and set it on the stove. The soft click of the burner sounded unnaturally loud in the silence. 

Andy startled when a small voice came from behind her. 

“Jesus!” Andy spun around, heart leaping up into her throat. Cassidy stood a few feet away in oversized pajama bottoms and a fuzzy sweater. The teen’s hair was an orange bird’s nest as one hand rubbed absently at her eye.  

“Sorry,” Cassidy mumbled, a hint of a lazy smile tugging at her mouth. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Andy exhaled slowly, her pulse gradually easing. “It’s okay. I was just...in my own head.” She forced a soft grin. “What are you doing awake, kid?” 

Cassidy shrugged as she ambled closer to the counter. “Thought I’d get a snack.” 

Andy turned down the burner, “How about a hot chocolate?” 

“Only if I can have it with whipped cream...” Cassidy smirked. 

“Sure, why not.” Andy agreed. 

The girl swung herself up onto one of the bar stools, watching Andy with mild curiosity. “Does Mom know you’re awake?” 

Andy’s hand tightened briefly around the kettle handle before relaxing again. “No...she uhm... she needs her rest.” 

“Are you and Mom fighting?” 

The question was too soft to be an accusation. 

Andy didn’t turn around right away. She busied herself with the mugs, measuring cocoa powder.  

“No,” she said gently. “Not fighting.” 

Cassidy tilted her head, “But something’s wrong.” 

Andy glanced over her shoulder, “You’re really observant, you know that?” 

Cassidy shrugged one shoulder, but there was no pride in it. “You kind of have to be in this house.” 

“You want to tell me what you’re seeing, then?” 

The girl picked at the sleeve of her sweater for a moment before answering. “Mom’s been...quiet. The kind of quiet she gets when she doesn’t want anyone to ask questions. And you’re here, but it feels like you’re not here.” Cassidy looked up. “I don’t like it.” 

Andy softened instantly. She stepped closer and handed Cassidy her mug, topping it with an almost scandalous amount of whipped cream. Andy blew across her own mug, watching the small waves settle. “Listen, Cass. Sometimes even when people love each other, they hit bumpier parts of the road. That doesn’t mean the car is crashing. It just means you slow down a bit.” She glanced at Cassidy. “You know what I mean?” 

“Yeah.” Cassidy considered it. “Caroline and I...we’ve seen that before. The crashing part.” 

Andy didn’t miss the way the girl’s eyes dropped to the counter. 

“With James, the guy Mom married after our dad. It was weird when he moved in.” The teen sipped her cocoa. “He wasn’t mean or scary or anything. But he was distant.” 

“Distant how?” Andy asked carefully.  

“He didn’t really talk to us. He talked at us.” Cassidy continued quietly.  “He was never really interested in who we were.” 

Andy sighed. “That must have been hard.” 

Cassidy nodded. “It was. But Stephen was worse.” 

Andy’s jaw clenched in apprehension. 

“He was so angry all the time. I’ve never heard him and Mom laugh. They never ate together. Never sat together.” Cassidy looked up at Andy, searching her face. “You know how you sit with her on the couch and she pretends like she’s cold just so you hold her? They never did that.” 

Andy’s heart cracked wide open. 

“He cheated on her, you know.” Cassidy added, almost casually. “With his secretary. Mom doesn‘t think Caroline and I know. But we were home that day. When she saw the lipstick on his collar.” 

Andy went still. Is this why Natasha triggered Miranda the way she did? 

“She threw her ring at him and called him a 'withering cliche'.” 

Andy couldn’t help the breathy sound that escaped her. 

“So, yeah.” Cassidy went on, looking at the last of her cocoa. “We’re kind of experts at telling when something is off. And right now, something is off with you and Mom.” 

Andy rested her hand over Cassidy’s on the counter. “You’re right.” She said quietly. “Your Mom and I are working through something. But I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Cassidy looked her dead in the eye. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Mom. We’ve never seen her as happy as she is when she’s with you.” Cassidy picked at her fingernails, looking away. “And...you...you make our family whole. It’s weird when you’re not around.” 

“Awe kid, you’re gonna make me cry.” Andy’s smile was watery as she went around the counter to pull Cassidy in for a hug.  

In that moment, Andy realized that she and Miranda had to make it, or else she would lose Cassidy and Caroline too. They’ve had enough instability in their lives, and Andy refused to contribute to that.  

“Can we watch something?” Cassidy mumbled into Andy’s shoulder.  

Andy pulled back, “Don’t tell me you want to watch the Titanic again?”  

It was the girl’s comfort movie, apparently.  

“Can we?” Cass pouted. 

“Fine,” Andy groaned playfully. 

They padded into the living room together. Outside the tall windows, snow drifted lazily from the sky, catching the glow from the streetlights.  Andy switched on a small lamp instead of the overhead light. They sank into the couch with an oversized blanket Andy had draped over them both.  

The opening notes of My Heart Will Go On filled the room. 

“Classic,” Cassidy murmured. 

Half an hour passed in a hush of quiet dialogue from the screen. The house felt like it had exhaled, every room suspended in temporary peace. 

Footsteps padded down the hallway.  

Caroline appeared in the doorway, long hair tangled and eyes foggy with sleep. She squinted at the TV, then broke into a sleepy smile. She wiggled her way beneath the blanket, tucking herself under the weight of Andy’s arm. 

“Merry Christmas,” Caroline mumbled up at her. 

“Whew.” Andy pinched her own nose. “Merry Christmas to you too. But, uh...we’ve gotta work on your morning breath, kid.” Andy fanned her nose playfully. 

“Rude,” Caroline grunted as she burrowed into Andy’s side.  

Across the cushions Cassidy was snoring. Her mouth hung slightly open, an unbothered little wheeze escaping each time she exhaled. Not long after, Caroline’s breathing evened out, too.  

Andy stared at the muted colors flickering across the television, no longer really watching the film. 

Her thoughts slowed. 

The brunette rested her cheek lightly against the crown of Caroline’s head and let her eyes drift closed. 

Andy finally slept.   

 

<> 

Chapter 12: Silent Night Pt.2

Notes:

Happy Friday! Trigger Warning: Mentions of Abortion / Miscarriage

Chapter 12 – Silent Night Pt. 2 

 

<> 

 

“Darling, wake up.” 

Andy’s joints clicked and popped as she stretched her limbs like a cat rousing from a milk-drunk slumber. The familiar scent of chamomile and powdered lavender covered her like a cloak. A gentle hand brushed the hair from her face.  

It was entirely natural for Andy to lean into Miranda’s touch. 

Her eyes blinked open. 

“Good morning,” Miranda greeted her softly, looking down at her. 

Andy’s voice was raspy as she replied. “Hey, you.” 

Miranda smiled hesitantly. “There’s breakfast. The girls are already halfway through a stack of waffles. And I’m afraid they’ll devour all the bacon before you get there.” 

Andy let out a huff of laughter as she slowly sat up on the couch. “They’re feral in the mornings, aren’t they?” 

“Like a fox in a henhouse,” Miranda confirmed.  

Andy quietly observed her. “You didn’t sleep much.” 

It wasn’t a question. She saw it in the way Miranda’s shoulders sloped, like she’d carried cinderblocks for miles without reprieve. 

Miranda’s gaze flicked down, then up again. “Neither did you by the looks of it.” 

The weight of yesterday’s revelation settled between them. 

There was an opportunity in this moment, Andy realized. She could: choose to worry about the future or ground herself in the present. 

She chose the latter. 

Andy fingered the loop of Miranda’s robe. "I’m a little nervous about their reactions to the gifts I got them.” 

Miranda must have been bracing herself for the moment Andy inevitably brought up the pregnancy. The older woman visibly relaxed before glancing over at the hoard of meticulously wrapped gifts beneath the massive evergreen in the corner of the living room. 

“You got them something?” Miranda seemed pleasantly surprised. But– “Andrea, you didn’t have to. They’re spoiled as is.” 

“It’s okay. I wanted to.” Andy went from toying with the sash of Miranda’s robe to rubbing the pad of her thumb across the woman’s fingers. "Besides...” she shrugged. “One of their gifts is partly for my enjoyment as well.” Andy grinned slyly as she was sure the gift would ruffle Miranda’s feathers.  

“I don’t like that look in your eyes.” Miranda tutted. “Andrea, what did you do?” 

Andy got up abruptly, “Did you say there was breakfast waiting for me?” She quickly shuffled towards the kitchen, leaving Miranda to stew in curiosity. 

  

<> 

 

About an hour later, they’d all had their fill. 

Patricia lay upside down in a sea of wrapping paper covering the living room floor as Cassidy and Caroline kneeled at the perimeter of the Christmas tree. Miranda sat on the ottoman nearby with a steaming cup of tea. In quiet amusement, she watched her children indulge themselves while Andy stood and recorded the scene from her phone. 

“Okay, okay.” Andy pointed, “That one next.” 

Cassidy grabbed the iridescent gift bag overflowing with tissue paper. She read the label out loud. “To Caroline. Love Andy.” Cassidy politely handed the bag over to her sister.  

Caroline wasted no time as she clawed at the decorative stuffing. Her reaction was immediate once she got to the bottom of the bag. “No way...” The teen squealed. “NO WAY!”  

Cassidy was stunned at her twin's reaction. “Carrie, stop being dramatic. What is it?” 

“Harry Potter!!! But, how?!” The girl had actual tears in her eyes, theatrical as ever. “Andy!” She cried. 

“What do you think, kid?” Andy's cheeks hurt from smiling behind the camera. “How'd I do?” 

Caroline shot up and charged at Andy. Before she knew it, her arms were full of one emotional fourteen-year-old. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cheerfully stressed, squeezing Andy around the waist. 

It made Cassidy scramble to find her own gift from Andy. “What about me? What'd I get?”  

“Yours is in the sparkly black bag, Cass.”  

Cassidy located the bag and soon pulled out a sleek, hard-shelled case. She looked up at Andy, momentarily confused. "How do I open it?"  

Andy glanced anxiously at Miranda, whose eyes narrowed at Andy. “Uh, just pop the tabs on the side.”  

Cassidy did as instructed and her eyes went wide in pure joy. She pulled a sleek, solid item from the cushioned case.  

"You bought her a gun...??" Miranda stood slowly. “Andrea, tell me that isn’t real.”  

"Miranda, wait. Relax, it's okay." Andy quickly explained, "Look. It's just a paintball gun." Andy gestured for Cassidy to pass it over. "See? It's fine." 

“You’re kidding!” Cassidy was practically vibrating. “It’s so cool!”  

“Bobbsey,” Miranda sighed. “I’m not sure I approve of this,” The woman shot Andy another death glare. 

“Babe, I swear on my life it’s safe. It won’t be any more dangerous than Cassidy riding her horse.” 

Miranda still looked skeptical. 

“There’s a spot I want to take her so we can do some target practice.” Andy tried to reason with her. “It shoots biodegradable pellets. No metal. No recoil. I’ll just have to take her to get safety gear that fits. And she won’t use it unless it's safe to do so.” Andy raised an eyebrow at the teen, “Right, Cass?” 

The girl nodded frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I promise! Please Mom can I keep it?” 

Miranda exhaled through her nose, clearly weighing the risk against her daughter’s sparkling eyes. She sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to deny Cassidy. “Fine. But if you get hurt or hurt anyone else, it goes to the local pawn shop.” 

Cassidy shrieked as she hugged Miranda in her excitement. “Thanks, Mom!” She gestured at all the other gifts spread on the floor. “For everything.” Then she gingerly grabbed the paintball marker. “I’m gonna go make a TikTok and it’s gonna go viral.” 

“Thanks, Mom.” Caroline parroted as she hugged her mother with one arm, already distracted with a world of fiction. Caroline’s nose was buried in the pages of her story, lips moving as she read under her breath. 

Once they had cleaned up, the girls gathered their gifts and went upstairs to give all of their new belongings a proper home.  

“How did you manage that?” Miranda marveled, head propped up by her hand. “An unpublished manuscript for a national bestseller...” 

Andy shrugged, “One of my contacts owed me a favor and he has a foot in the publishing world.” 

Miranda made a gesture as if to say *ahem*. “I also have a foot in the publishing world, but even for me, that’s a big ask.” 

Andy settled next to Miranda on the couch with her own cup of coffee. “In any case, I figured out a way to get it, and they’re both happy with what they got. They deserve it.” 

A soft expression settled on Miranda’s face as she looked at Andy. She leaned over and properly kissed the brunette’s full lips. “Thank you.” 

Andy’s features slackened as if her world slowed down. She replied breathlessly. “You don’t have to thank me.” Her mouth stretched into an easy smile as she blew at the surface of her coffee. “Are you ready for your gift, now?” 

“My gift?” Miranda smirked, “What are you–”  

Miranda froze, stopping mid-sentence. 

Her nostrils flared as she studied Andy’s coffee cup. 

“Baby?” Andy sat forward, slightly panicked. “Are you okay? What’s happening?” 

Miranda’s lips parted as she inhaled again. “I...” She shook her head, immediately covering her mouth. Without warning the woman sprung up and hastily made her way to the downstairs bathroom. 

Worried, Andy followed her. She found Miranda hunched over the pristine toilet, bringing up this morning’s breakfast. 

Andy’s eyes widened. “Oh...” Morning sickness. Right. One of the first obvious signs and a loud reminder of what they hadn’t acknowledged all morning. “It’s okay,” Andy rubbed soothing circles into Miranda’s back. “I’m here,” she whispered. 

After a full minute of Miranda puking her heart out, she sat back against the bathroom wall looking wan and bleary-eyed. 

Andy’s heart broke as she crouched down beside her. The brunette bit her lip, uncertain of herself. “What do you need me to do?” She thought fast. “Water, maybe? Would that help?” 

For a moment, Miranda said nothing. She simply looked at Andy as the sound of the bath fan filled the room. 

“The next eight months are going to be quite the treat,” Miranda mumbled, almost to herself. 

“Huh?” Andy’s pulse fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird at Miranda’s words. But she refused to get her hopes up. 

“I’m sorry, I...” Andy swallowed. “If you mean what I think you mean...I really need to hear you say it.” 

Miranda’s chin trembled, “I’m having the baby.” 

Andy couldn't help her tears. “Yeah?” She rasped as she tugged Miranda close until they were both a crumpled mess on the bathroom floor. “You’re not talking about adoption, are you? Because I –” 

“No, Darling.” Miranda reached for Andy’s face. “I’m keeping our baby.” 

The words made Andy feel like she could climb the Empire State Building.  

“Thank God,” Andy laughed hysterically, peppering kisses across Miranda’s face. 

 “Wait.” Miranda pulled back . She steadied herself with a hand on Andy’s chest. “I have...conditions.” 

“Conditions?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” Andy nodded, “Let’s talk about it.” 

“Not here,” Miranda said. “Let’s go to the study.” 

She gave Miranda time to rinse her mouth in the sink before they relocated to the quiet solitude of the study down the hall. 

 

<> 

 

The study felt unusually small; the quiet pressing in from all sides. Andy’s leg bounced restlessly at the edge of the sofa, her nerves spilling out in the simplest way. Miranda sat beside her with her feet tucked beneath herself. She reached out and stilled Andy’s leg with a gentle hand. 

When Andy finally calmed beneath her touch, Miranda started, her voice delicate but unyielding. “I don’t say this to be malicious, but I’m not choosing to have this baby because you want me to.” 

“Okay,” Andy nodded, trying not to take it personally. “So, what was it then? How’d you make your decision?” 

“I’ve accepted that regardless of what I decided, our lives would change.” Miranda took a breath. “I simply chose the brighter path. The one where even with its challenges, there would still be room for love.” 

Truthfully, Andy didn’t want to dwell on the other path Miranda must have considered. Just the thought alone made Andy feel queasy.  

Yet, Miranda still said the quiet part out loud. 

“We both would have been left wondering about what could have been. Not just about the baby, but of how much further you and I could’ve made it if our relationship hadn’t ended prematurely.” 

“I would’ve stayed,” Andy defended. 

“You would have suffered. Silently.” Miranda countered. “Our relationship would’ve become a performance.” 

Andy wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t. She sighed. 

“Never mind that,” Miranda went on. “We don’t have to wonder. Because although none of this was expected, I’m choosing to have this child with you.” 

“But you said you had conditions?” 

“Yes.” Miranda nodded once. “I need you to sign a custodial agreement.” 

Andy sat forward with a frown. “Can’t we just discuss things as we go?” 

“No.” Miranda was adamant. “It’s not wise for us to put this off. In the event that our romantic relationship ends, this will give us the structure we need from the start.” 

“Why would our romantic relationship end?” 

“Andrea.” Miranda sighed, “Please try to look at this objectively. I’m not saying that you and I won’t last. But I will not leave it to chance whether or not our child has a stable upbringing.” 

“Okay.” Andy agreed. “What does the agreement entail?” 

“I will have primary physical custody. All three of my children will live here. With me. I will not have them divided.” 

“That’s fair.” Andy consented. “I wouldn’t want that either.” 

“You and I both will have joint legal custody. We both will have a say in major decisions regarding healthcare, education and travel matters.” 

Andy had to admit that she hadn’t considered any of that.  

“Your parental role will be permanent and legally recognized...regardless of our relationship status.” 

Andy dragged her hand down her face. A nervous laugh escaped her, “Obviously, I’ve never had a conversation like this before. So, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be thinking about yet.” 

Miranda scooted closer and reached for Andy’s hand. “That’s entirely normal considering this is your first child.” 

“I can still hardly believe this is happening.” 

“The agreement isn’t meant to frighten you. It is meant to protect all of us. To give structure where emotions might someday fail us.” Miranda said. “And we will go through it together, line by line, if you need.” 

“What about finances?” Andy wondered. “We’re both able, clearly. But I want something specific to carry.” 

Lightening the mood, Miranda smirked. “Would you like to cover the hospital bill?” 

“Sure,” Andy agreed blindly. “Whatever you think is best.” 

Miranda couldn't help but laugh. “You have no idea what it costs to give birth in New York, do you?” 

Andy gave her a blank look. “Not exactly, no.” She shook her head, “But it doesn’t matter. I’ll handle it.” 

Miranda’s eyes sparkled, “Okay.” She tilted her head. “Do you have any other questions? Or anything that you’d like to add to the agreement?” 

“Yes, actually.” Andy bit her lip anxiously. “I want the baby to have my last name.” 

“Oh?” 

The brunette shrugged. “Maybe it’s silly. But seeing that I’m an only child...I don’t want my family name to end with me.” 

Initially, Miranda seemed like she was against the idea. She considered Andy’s words carefully. After a moment, she nodded. “Okay. We can do that.” 

Andy’s smile could have lit up a stadium, “And I want you to meet my mother.” 

Miranda immediately recoiled, “Meet your mother?” 

“Well, yeah.” Andy said. “It doesn’t have to be immediately. But at some point, I’ll want the two most important people in my life to meet. You’re having her only grandchild. She’ll want to get to know you, Miranda.” 

“That all sounds very reasonable, but–” The woman cleared her throat. “I’ve never done well with...in-laws.” 

“Oh, come on.” Andy persisted. “I’m one hundred percent certain that you’ll love my mother.” 

“The real question, darling, is will she like me?” Miranda folded her arms in discomfort. Then asked in a much quieter voice, “Does she know that I’m...older?” 

Andy noticed Miranda retreating inwardly. “Don’t do that.” Andy said before pulling the woman to sit across her lap. She held Miranda tight around her waist. “Don’t pull away.” 

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Miranda said, pressing her forehead into Andy’s. 

“Just give it a chance,” Andy pleaded, kissing Miranda softly. “My mom means the world to me and...” Andy paused, almost bashful. “I’ve already told her about you.” 

“Have you?” Miranda seemed surprised. “When? Why?” 

“Doesn’t matter. She knows how much you mean to me.” 

“Would a Zoom meeting suffice?” 

Andy gave her a look, “Miranda.” 

“Andrea.” The woman met her look with equal intensity. Her fingers caressed Andy’s jaw before she leaned in to kiss the spot just below the brunette’s ear. 

Andy exhaled. “I see what you’re trying to do.” 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Miranda feigned innocence. She kissed the corner of Andy’s mouth. “Do you remember the last time we were on this sofa?” 

“Baby, no.” Andy nudged the woman from her lap so that she was able to stand. “That’s not fair. You’re not allowed to use sex to get your way out of this. It’s important to me. Seriously.” 

Miranda crossed her legs, leaning into the armrest. “What do you want me to say?” 

“Say that you’ll try.” The brunette sighed.  

Andy assumed that Miranda wasn’t being difficult just because. Her intuition told her that Miranda felt like her mother would judge them because of the years between them.  

“Well?”  

“Alright.” Miranda looked away. “I’ll try.” 

Andy's shoulders loosened, relief softening her face. “That’s all I want.” 

“Right.” Miranda got up. “Now that all of that’s been settled, I’ll have my lawyer create a formal draft of the agreement.” 

“Wait, one more thing.” Andy scratched the back of her neck. “What are we going to tell the girls?” 

“As of right now? We tell them nothing. I think it’s best to keep the pregnancy between us until I’m further along. Just in case...” 

Andy carded her hands through her hair, “And then what? What about the conception?” 

"They don’t need to know about the conception.” Miranda said, “When it’s time, all they need to know is that I’m having a baby and I’m having it with you. What more needs to be said?” 

“You think it will be that simple. They’re intuitive. They’ll have questions.” 

“I’m sure they will.” Miranda said, “If you’re comfortable with them knowing the details, we will tell them when they’re older.” 

“Okay. When the time comes, I don’t mind if they know.” Andy folded her arms. “But what do we tell everyone else? And how will you manage with work?” 

Miranda rubbed her temples. “Andrea, I think we’ve solved a lot already. We won’t have everything figured out in one day.” 

“You’re right.” Andy took a deep breath as she reached for her. “Are we actually doing this?” 

Miranda stepped into Andy’s space. She wrapped her arms around Andy’s neck, grounding them in the same truth. “Are you trying to talk me out of it now?” 

“Never.”  

Their breathing found the same rhythm.  

There was still so much they didn’t know. Details to work out. But the foundation had been laid. It was clear now that they weren’t on opposite sides of this. Andy placed a gentle hand on Miranda’s flat stomach. A weight had been lifted, and a shared future was beginning to take shape. 

  

<> 

Notes:

I'm curious, were any of you hoping for the opposite outcome?

Chapter 13: Lady In Red

Notes:

sorry for typos. it's 2am and i edited with one eye open lol.

Chapter 13

 

<> 

 

January 

 

“What do you gift a woman who already has everything?” 

“Well, that depends. What do you want this gift to say?” 

“I need her to know how much she means to me. I need her to see herself through my eyes.” 

“In that case, it sounds like the gift you’re looking for can’t be bought.” 

“You know...you might be right. I got her diamonds for Christmas. And I know she appreciated it, but her birthday is in two weeks, and I really want to impress her this time.” 

“Ah. Maybe you should make her something. Let it be one of a kind.” 

 

In hindsight, Andy had never met a more authentic salesperson. One who had approached her like a person instead of a walking commission. She’d just left a charming little boutique located near Greenwich Village in hopes of finding an adequate gift for Miranda’s birthday. Yet, nothing advertised felt adequate for the occasion.  

It was hard shopping for a woman like Miranda. There was nothing Andy could think of that the editor might want that she couldn’t acquire all on her own. It forced Andy to get creative in ways she’d never had to before.  

Maybe I should get her pearls this time? 

Or maybe something vintage, something you could only find through a private market.  

Perhaps a surprise getaway to a quiet coastal villa in Maine? 

But where would they find the time for something like that? 

Ugh. Andy groaned. Why was Miranda’s birthday so close to the biggest consumer holiday of the year? 

Speaking of the holidays, Andy had loved every minute of her time spent with Miranda and the girls. The late mornings wrapped in soft pajamas, the movie marathons, the quiet dinners where nobody rushed to be anywhere.  

All of it felt like a dream. 

Not to mention, they were now expecting a baby. The thought filled Andy with joy. She was going to be somebody's mom. She could hardly believe it. 

But time was moving so fast and before they knew it, the evidence of Miranda’s pregnancy would be impossible to hide. 

With the new year in full swing, Andy felt that familiar spark stirring within her. The itch to create, to design, to get her hands back on real work. She adored Miranda and she adored the twins, but Sachs Design Group was hers, too, and she missed the hum of it. 

Andy pushed through the glass doors of her office building, the familiar warmth of the lobby greeting her after the bite of the morning air. She gave a quick, friendly nod to the security guard behind the front desk. 

“Morning, Ms. Sachs,” he called. 

“Morning, Owen,” she replied with a small smile, already shifting her portfolio higher under her arm as she headed toward the elevators. The building hummed with quiet energy, and Andy matched her step to it, ready for whatever the day decided to throw at her. 

She had a whole new source of inspiration for working as hard and diligently as she did. She felt a different kind of motivation to establish a legacy she could at some point pass down to her child. 

Or, at the very least, Andy wanted her kid to know that it paid exponentially to believe in yourself and be persistent when pursuing your dreams. 

She found herself wondering what kind of parent she wanted to be. Her mother was her main reference for parental love and guidance. Andy figured if she was able to replicate the kind of relationship that she had with her mother with her own child, she’d be immeasurably glad. 

Exiting the elevator, Andy was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the figure stepping around the corner. 

“Oh!” Natasha gasped as her heel slipped and she stumbled backward. 

“Shit,” Andy lunged forward instinctively, catching Natasha’s arm before the blonde could hit the ground. “I’m sorry.” Andy apologized, “I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“It’s alright.” Natasha blushed. “I wasn’t looking either. Thank you.” 

There was a beat of silence as they took each other in. A shared, wordless memory of London hung between them like wet laundry. 

Andy steadied herself before slowly letting go. “Uhh, you okay?” 

“Yeah,” The girl exhaled as she smoothed her skirt in place. “Welcome back,” she said with a warm smile. 

“Feels good to be back,” Andy admitted.  

The blonde folded her arms in a way that made her blouse shift just enough to draw attention...or maybe Andy was just hyper-aware now.  

“How was your holiday break?” The girl asked. 

“Good.” Andy said plainly. “Quiet. Family stuff.” 

Was Natasha’s skirt shorter than usual? 

“Yeah?” The blonde hummed, “That’s nice. I’m glad.” 

Andy stood taller. “How about you?” 

“Oh, you know. Same old.” The blonde waved her hand. “No one under my mistletoe or anything. But my sister got proposed to and she wants me to be her maid of honor so...I guess there’s that.” 

“Oh, how nice.” Andy cleared her throat, feeling completely disturbed by their new dynamic. 

Natasha’s eyes lingered on her for a second too long before she switched the topic altogether. “Well, I hope you’re ready because your schedule is brimming for the month. Lily’s already waiting for you in the conference room.” 

The architect managed a polite nod. “I better get to it then.” 

“Wait.” Natasha reached for Andy’s bicep. “I just want to say that...things don’t have to be awkward between us. You seem tense and I... I want us to be okay. Like before.” 

Andy sighed. “Natasha, I just need you to be clear on where I stand.” 

“Of course.” The blonde pulled her hand away with a strained smile. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me.” 

Andy watched the girl retreat and with the way Natasha's hips swayed, she was certain the girl’s skirt was at least three inches shorter than usual. 

The architect shook her head. How had she been so oblivious before? 

 

 

Andy slipped into the conference room and found Lily already there sorting through a stack of files. 

“Hello, hello,” Andy greeted cheerfully, shutting the door behind herself. 

Lily looked up, tired but smiling. “Morning, boss.” 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. I heard about your dad. How is he?” Andy asked gently as she took a seat. 

Lily let out a breath and sat back. “Better.” She nodded. “Much better, actually. It was rough for a minute. They weren’t sure he’d make the transfer, but the surgeons said it went as well as they could’ve hoped. About a week after the surgery, he was awake and talking. Complaining about the food.” Lily gave a soft, relieved laugh. 

Andy smiled. “That’s good to hear, Lil. Really.” 

“Yeah. He’s a stubborn old man, but I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost him.” 

There was a comfortable pause before Lily narrowed her eyes, studying Andy’s expression. “Enough about me, though. What’s up with you? You look like you’ve got a confession brewing.” 

Andy groaned. “God. Fine. You were right.” 

Lily perked up immediately. “About what? You know how much I love being right. Please, continue.” 

“About Natasha,” Andy muttered, rubbing her forehead. “London...was a situation.” 

Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh-ho. Do tell.” 

“She came on to me,” Andy admitted. “Like...she specifically told me that she has feelings for me. And I shut it down, obviously. But it was weird. It still is. And apparently, she’s decided that it’s not a big deal. Wanting us to carry on as usual.” 

Lily slapped a hand on the table. “I told you she had a thing for you! You kept acting like she was just being nice. Girl, she was being nice in italics.” 

Andy winced. “Well, whatever it was, it was unprofessional. And I do not get involved with employees or any sort of colleagues.” 

Lily smirked. “So...what you’re saying is...if I put my hand on your thigh right now–” 

Andy’s head snapped up. “Lily.” 

Lily leaned forward dramatically, half-lidding her eyes. “– and whispered something reckless and impulsive–” 

“Lily.” Andy pointed at her. “Stop.” 

The woman burst out laughing. “Relax! You know I don’t swing that way. Even with your extra bits.” 

(They shared a dorm room in college. Of course Lily knew.) 

Andy groaned again, face in her hands. “Please never say ‘extra bits’ ever again.” 

“You’re too pretty for me anyway,” Lily said, waving her off. “I liked ‘em rugged. Big shoulders. Smell like a hardware store. Thick beard I can play in.” 

Andy looked up at her, deadpan. “A hardware store?” 

Lily shrugged. “Listen, everyone has their type.” 

“Well, even if I was the type to...dip my pen in company ink...Natasha’s definitely not my type.” 

“Is this the part where you finally admit that you’ve been hooking up with a certain fashion tyrant?” 

Andy’s jaw dropped. “You knew?” 

Lily shrugged, “Well duh. But I'm respectful. I figured you’d say something when you were ready.” 

“How long have you known?” 

“Since October. Your girl kind of outed you with that kiss.” Lily laughed, “What were they calling you? Oh, yeah, ‘the Phantom’. That was hilarious. Zero points for creativity.” 

“Ha-ha,” Andy deadpanned. “At least I got the girl.” A dreamy smile took over Andy’s face. 

“Awe. Look at you all smitten.” Lily smirked, “I honestly thought you were a little psychotic for even trying to get with her. Proved me wrong, didn’t you?” 

Andy rolled her eyes. 

“Seriously though,” Lily simmered. “How’s it been? Does she treat you well?” 

“Honestly? She’s amazing, Lil. I spent Christmas with her and her kids and had the best time.” 

Lily’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline. “Sounds serious.” 

Only if you knew. 

“Yeah.” Andy bit her lip, “I love her.” 

“Well. I’m happy for you, Sachs.” 

“Thanks, Lily.” 

 

<> 

 

Later That Afternoon 

 

The idea came to Andy when she was in the middle of a phone call with a rep from London. While she waited on hold, she wandered to the window in her office, watching the steady flow of people trudging through slush several floors below. 

Andy had a total light bulb moment. 

She knew exactly what she would surprise Miranda with for her birthday. 

While she didn’t have much time to pull it together, Andy already felt the spark of determination take hold. She’d make it happen. One way or another. 

Moments after the call ended, a knock sounded at her door. 

“Howdy-ho, partner.” Doug greeted, poking his head through the doorway. He stepped inside with his tablet at hand. “Quick thing, can you look at this before I send it off?” 

“Sure, what is it?” Andy nodded as he set the renderings in front of her. “I’m thinking of shifting the terrace three feet east,” he said. “More light that way.” 

Andy scanned it. “You’d need to reinforce the support. Thicken the column by a couple inches.” 

Doug snapped his fingers. "Mmm, I knew it. Thank you.” 

“Send it with that tweak,” Andy said. “And when you get the chance, I’ll need an update on the Briarwood auditorium. I believe we’re set for a site visit next week.” 

“Gotcha.” He turned to leave, “I’ll get on that.” 

“Hey, Doug?” Andy went on distractedly. 

He looked back, “Yeah?” 

“I have a favor to ask you.” 

Doug blinked. “Should I be excited or concerned?” 

“Is your cousin still in business? The one with the pottery studio?” 

Doug seemed confused at Andy’s question. “You mean Trevor? Yeah, he’s doing quite well, too. He recently expanded and had a grand opening for New Year’s. Why?” 

The cogs in Andy’s mind turned as she considered the fruition of her idea. 

“I’m planning something and I need you to put in a word for me.” 

  

<> 

 

One Week Later.  

 

Andy had spent the past week pouring every spare minute into perfecting her plans for Miranda’s birthday surprise. Long nights, early mornings, lunch breaks swallowed whole. She’d worked herself ragged, but in the best way because the reward would be worth it.  

With both Andy and Miranda back at work now, their days were fully occupied. They texted each other whenever they could, stole a call here and there, but talking less meant seeing each other even less. 

It made Andy's plans feel even more necessary. 

She knew Miranda’s birthday wasn’t for another week, but there was no way to work around the timing. Miranda was under the impression that they had dinner reservations tonight for 9 o’clock. A simple candle-lit dinner Andy had ‘insisted’ on arranging with no rhyme or rhythm. 

They had agreed that Andy would pick Miranda up from work and go to the restaurant immediately after. Andy could hardly contain herself because of how eager she was to get Miranda’s reaction to what she actually had planned. 

By this point, Andy faced no hassle whenever she dropped by the Runway office. The receptionist acknowledged her with a thin smile as she walked through the halls towards Miranda’s office.  

Andy had checked her watch to confirm the time.  

8pm. 

Perfect. 

They had more than enough time to make their ‘dinner reservation’. 

Andy was practically walking on clouds, overly excited to see Miranda for what felt like the first time in months. Really, it had only been about two weeks since they were properly able to share one another’s company. 

However, Andy’s good mood was short-lived. 

Disregarding Emily altogether, Andy stepped into Miranda’s office to see a tall brunette man towering over Miranda as she sat at her desk. He’d had his hand braced on the back of Miranda’s chair. He leaned over her as they both studied whatever it was scattered across the woman’s desk. 

“I think this will work quite well for the spring layout.” The man made a gesture over Miranda’s shoulder. His voice was deep and rich like a pot of dark roast coffee. “You have such an amazing eye, Miranda.” 

Andy’s spine went rigid. Her face warmed. Her nostrils flared.  

Miranda laughed in that delicate way she does, unaware of Andy's presence. The editor tilted her head up at the man. “Only if others shared your sentiment.” 

The man huffed a low, appreciative laugh. “Oh, I’m sure they do. But you know how it is. Profit margins say a whole lot more than either of us can.” 

He straightened to his full height, and that’s when he finally noticed Andy standing in the doorway. Miranda followed his gaze, her eyes widening softly when she saw Andy.  

“Andrea,” she gasped, startled but pleased.  

The man glanced between them. “I apologize.” He said to Miranda. “I didn’t realize you had an appointment this late.” 

Miranda cleared her throat. “Andrea, this is Jonathan Hale, one of our board members. Jon, meet Andrea Sachs.” 

Jonathan extended a hand. “Pleasure.” 

Andy shook it, firm but brief. “Likewise.” 

A complete lie. 

Because why was she able to smell Miranda’s perfume on him? 

Andy wanted to light his dimpled chin on fire. 

Jonathan turned back to Miranda. “Well, Miranda. Based on what you’ve shown me, I’m sure we’ll have a successful Q1.” He smiled at her over his shoulder, “Lovely seeing you. I’ll be in touch.” 

“Very well,” Miranda returned his smile. 

The man brushed past Andy, letting himself out.  

The door closed with a soft click.  

Silence settled. 

Andy tried for casual and failed. “So, why was Discount Christian Grey practically climbing into your chair?” 

Miranda must have sensed Andy’s displeasure as she got up from her seat. She crossed the distance and draped her arms around Andy’s neck. “I’m not sure who Christian Grey is, but I’m sure you meant it as an insult.” 

Visibly upset, Andy’s hands settled on Miranda’s hips, a little too possessive to pass as nonchalant. “Silly me for not being thrilled at seeing some random guy all up in your personal space. I mean, what was that about?” 

“Don’t think anything of it.” Miranda brushed Andy’s cheek with her thumb. “Jon is just a board member, Andrea. Nothing more.” 

“A board member that smells like you.” Andy muttered.  

Miranda sighed, “Okay.” She stepped away and went to tidy the chaos littering her workspace. “I’ll just be a moment longer while you tend to your ego.” 

Andy deflated. “Baby, we have to be at the restaurant in less than an hour.” 

“I won’t take long.” Miranda assured her, already sorting through papers. “There’s just a few things I need to look over in preparation for tomorrow. It’ll take me 20 minutes at most.” 

Andy started to panic, “But we’re gonna be late. Can’t it wait?” 

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, Andrea. It cannot wait. But I’m sure the restaurant will make an exception for us once we get there.” 

Well. 

Just peachy. 

As Miranda resumed her work, Andy slumped in one of the chairs in the seating area beside Miranda’s desk.  

The night was off to a great start. 

 

<> 

 

Twenty minutes became forty. Forty slid into an hour. By the time Miranda finally powered down her computer, an hour and a half had crawled by. 

Andy had remained quiet through all of it.  

It was her greatest lesson in patience. The knot in her chest tightened with every passing minute. Her plans were dust now. The surprise she’d arranged, the perfect timing she’d hoped for...all of it ruined before the night even began. 

When they finally left the office, Miranda shouldered her purse without meeting her eyes. 

The walk to Andy’s truck was silent.  

The drive was even quieter.  

Andy kept her hands on the wheel, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead while Manhattan blurred past the windows. Miranda sat angled toward her own door, as if the city lights outside were suddenly fascinating. 

“I’m sorry that we missed dinner. But I’m not sorry that I made my work a priority.” 

“Don’t apologize. I get it.” 

“Do you?” 

Andy sighed, “Miranda, I get being busy. I live it every day. But I arranged the whole night for us, a week in advance mind you, and...it would’ve meant a lot to feel like that mattered to you.” 

The taillights of the car ahead washed their faces in a soft red glow. 

“I already apologized.” Miranda whispered.  

“It’s okay.” Andy replied. “All we can do is try to salvage the night.” The brunette made a right turn and navigated traffic as quickly as she could without violating too many traffic laws. 

 

About fifteen minutes later, Andy turned the truck into a narrow side street and eased into a spot by the curb. From the outside, the place didn’t look like much. Just a modest storefront with a single window display. A row of hand-thrown vases sat behind the glass, each one lit by soft, golden bulbs that cast gentle shadows across the clay.  

Miranda stared at the building in confusion. “Andrea...what is this?” 

“Just trust me,” Andy said, cutting the engine. 

She rounded the truck and opened Miranda’s door before the woman could protest. Miranda stepped out slowly, eyes darting between the pottery studio’s faded sign and the dim interior visible through the window.  

She was clearly trying to make sense of what was happening. 

“Why are we here?” Miranda murmured. 

Andy offered her hand. “Come on. Just follow my lead. We’re lucky he agreed to wait for us.” 

Miranda hesitated, then placed her hand in Andy’s. 

“Watch your step,” Andy added gently as she guided Miranda toward the entrance. 

They crossed the threshold together, leaving the quiet street behind as the warm, earthy scent of clay wrapped around them. 

“Look who finally made it!” 

A scruffy man with a long blonde beard immediately greeted them at the entrance of the studio. 

He pushed his glasses up his nose and wiped his hands on a clay-stained apron. “You must be Andy’s lady.” He bowed his head respectfully at Miranda. “My name is Trevor. Welcome to my humble abode.” 

“I appreciate you keeping the place open for me.” Andy said. 

“Excuse me,” Miranda held her hand up. “Is anyone going to explain to me what in the world is happening right now?” 

Trevor’s face split into a toothy grin. He looked at Andy, “Oh, she doesn’t know?” 

Andy’s expression was equally mischievous. “No, I still haven’t told her.” 

“Told me what?” Miranda was clearly losing patience. 

“Here. Follow me.” He said, “It’s better that you see for yourself.” 

Andy’s nerves went into overdrive as Trevor led them past numerous shelves of vases and half-finished pottery pieces. They trailed him through a narrow hallway lined with drying racks. 

The space gradually opened around them, becoming wider and brighter. Then the hallway spilled into a cavernous room Miranda obviously didn’t expect.  

Her breath caught. 

The pottery studio transformed into a full-scale art gallery. The walls towered above them, bathed in warm light. There were scattered sculptures on polished pedestals and massive canvases stretching from floor to ceiling. 

The contrast between the humble storefront and the vast modern gallery had even caught Andy by surprise when she visited earlier in the day. 

She watched as Miranda stopped short, eyes sweeping the expanse with slow, stunned fascination. 

There was so much to take in, so much skill gathered under one roof. The air felt charged with talent.  

“This way,” Trevor said, excitement coloring his voice as he led them to a far wall. 

Andy felt her pulse pick up. 

“Here we are.” They rounded a corner, and Trevor stopped. 

Miranda did too. 

Her breath stilled. 

Before them hung a massive oil painting, nearly as tall as Miranda herself. The piece was entirely black and white. It illustrated a crowded street rendered in sweeping strokes. Dozens of blurred figures parted down the center, their bodies angled, expressions tilted, all creating a path for the woman commanding the scene.  

Miranda. 

Her lips were painted a vivid shade of red. 

Her floor-length coat, scarlet just like her lips, flowed behind her like a banner demanding attention. The only color in the entire painting.  

Lady in Red, the bronze placard stated. 

Miranda’s hand slipped from Andy’s without her even noticing. She stepped closer, eyes wide, searching the canvas as if it might breathe. 

Trevor leaned toward Andy, his voice low, barely a whisper. “By the way...someone put in a six-figure offer for this piece tonight. Great work, Andy.” 

Andy’s eyes flicked towards him, stunned. Before she could say anything, Trevor clapped her shoulder once and slipped away, giving the couple a moment of privacy. 

Miranda stood frozen, speechless in a way Andy had never seen. 

And for the first time all night, pride warmed Andy from the inside out. 

She had actually managed to surprise Miranda. 

Better yet, Andy had impressed her. 

Andy stood behind the woman and pulled her into a loving embrace. She kissed Miranda gently on the cheek and rested her chin on the editor’s shoulder. “I know I’m a week early, but Happy Birthday my love.” 

“Andrea...” The woman’s teary blue eyes met Andy’s. “You did this?” 

Andy shrugged, “I wanted to do something special for you. I nearly missed the deadline to submit it for the exhibition tonight. But I got it done. I just wish we didn’t miss the reveal.” 

“There was never a dinner reservation.” Miranda realized.  

“Nope.” Andy held her tighter, “But it’s okay.” 

Maybe it was meant to play out this way. With just the two of them here in the moment, it felt more intimate. Another shared secret they alone were privy to. 

“What do you think about it? Do you like it?” 

Miranda turned in her arms. “I think you’re more talented than you let on.” 

“Maybe.” Andy laughed. “Trevor says there’s already an offer for it. A whopping six figures, too.” 

“And?” Miranda scoffed, “You really mean to tell me you would sell my gift?” 

“Well, the option is there.” Andy considered it, “You’re always talking about how that old fart gives you a hard time about the company budget. Maybe I want to donate the profit to Runway.” 

Miranda softened in her arms. “You’ll do no such thing. You can kindly tell Trevor that it’s not for sale. Reject the offer.” 

“I’m just saying...if it would help you, why not?” 

“Darling, I appreciate that you’ve put so much thought into it, but I can fight my own battles.” 

“Well, yeah. I know that.” 

Really, she did. Andy knew that Miranda didn’t need her to interfere with whatever challenges she faced at work. But Andy just wanted to help however she could. 

“You really want to help me?”   

“Only if you’d let me.” 

“Okay,” Miranda’s hand slithered between their bodies. She palmed the firm length between Andy’s legs. “Take me back to your place and spread me on the floor.” 

The tips of Andy’s ears turned bright pink. Her breathing staggered, “Yeah?” 

“I’m already pregnant.” Miranda nibbled at Andy’s bottom lip. “At least you can come inside me properly now.” She lazily sucked the tip of Andy’s tongue. “Won’t you like that, Andrea?” 

“Fuh-.” Andy’s hips jerked into Miranda’s touch. 

“I’m sure you’d love that.” 

“Of course I would.” 

“Then take me home so I can thank you properly.” 

 

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Chapter 14: Germination

Notes:

SOME OF YOU MAY WANT TO SKIP THIS CHAPTER. This is the smut that didn't make it in the previous chapter. Nothing progressive plot-wise happens in this chapter. I REPEAT, NO PLOT IN THIS CHAPTER. Mind the updated tags. NSFW. For you filthy mfs, enjoy. For my more innocent people, see you next chapter :) ...Sorry for typos.

Chapter 14 – Germination 

 

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Miranda’s breasts were bigger. 

That was the first thing Andy noticed once the woman had peeled her own top off. 

It was a sight, Andy was sure, many would pay top dollar to see. 

Too bad.  

Andy wasn't keen on sharing. 

Miranda was kneeling for her while Andy stroked herself, sitting entirely naked on the sofa of her living room. 

Andy marveled at the way Miranda’s tits caught on the fabric of her bra before it fell to the floor.  

Brushing her thumb across the flared head of her cock, Andy husked, “Pinch your nipples for me, baby.” 

Eager to please, Miranda squeezed and twisted the tips of her erect areolas.  

She’d whined at her own touch and it made Andy pause mid-stroke. “What’s the matter?” 

“They’re just a little t-tender.” 

A fresh pool of pre-cum trailed down Andy’s veiny length, stopping at the cuff of her tightened fist. Evidently, Miranda’s body was preparing itself to nourish Andy’s child and the thought alone made Andy into something primal.  

“You always do this.” Andy gritted her teeth as she forced herself to fuck her own hand with a little less aggression. “You say these things knowing exactly what effect you have on me.” 

Miranda bit her lip in faux innocence. “Maybe I love watching you lose control just as much as you love me whimpering beneath you.” 

Andy’s full lips pulled into an amused smile. 

“Do you?” She asked as she abruptly stopped jerking herself off; never mind that it nearly killed her to do so. Andy now felt challenged to break this pattern. The one where Miranda knowingly triggered her into behaving like a thoughtless animal whose main objective was to stretch Miranda’s snug pussy to its absolute limits. 

Not this time. 

Andy clawed at the seat of the couch and bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. “Take off your skirt.” Andy growled, “Turn around and present yourself to me.” 

And if the sight of Miranda’s engorged tits was worth millions, the sight of her shimmering cunt spread by her own hand was priceless. Her pretty face was pressed into the soft carpet as she looked back at Andy for approval. Her back was arched like a bow pulled taut, exactly as she knew Andy expected of her. Miranda's manicured hands firmly gripped her pale cheeks apart for Andy to critique the pink, slippery mess between them. 

“How do you feel?” Andy wondered. 

“Powerful.” Miranda replied as her vaginal opening constricted, leaking with her sticky nectar. 

It must’ve been true, because even though Miranda was the one bent forward on her knees, Andy was the one fighting for her life trying not to retaliate.  

Andy took a deep breath. “Fuck yourself, then.” 

Miranda made a pitiful sound. 

“None of that,” Andy demanded. “Fuck yourself for me, and I’ll put us both out of our misery.” 

And so, Andy watched.  

It was almost hypnotic the way Miranda’s fingers disappeared inside herself, knuckle by knuckle. She did this all while maintaining eye contact with Andy. Miranda would reach as far as her fingers would allow, only to pull them back out completely glazed. 

“I know you, Andrea.” Miranda sighed in frustration as she rubbed tight circles into her cute little clit. “You’re not sorry that I’m pregnant,” she said. 

A torrent of blood rushed to Andy’s cock at Miranda’s words. Her scrotum felt impossibly full between her spread thighs. And Andy couldn’t deny Miranda’s claim, because she was anything but a liar. 

“You love that a part of yourself is growing inside me,” Miranda went on, now stretching herself with three of her fingers. Her dripping arousal was collected by the sparse tuft of hair on her pubic bone. Another breathy exhale left Miranda, “You’re proud.” 

Damn right, she was. 

Andy didn’t deny any of it. 

But she soon struggled to control her breathing. 

She was almost sure she saw tears in Miranda’s eyes when the woman asked her so politely: “Am I allowed to come?” 

“No.” Andy snarled, outright denying Miranda at the exact same moment her hard shaft erupted with her thick, white spunk. Andy’s blunt nails snagged the material of the sofa while they both watched the mess Andy made onto her flexed stomach. 

There were definitely tears in Miranda’s eyes by this point, as she continued to halfheartedly finger her soaked snatch. 

Andy had to reward her. 

She pounced to the ground and swiped her tongue across Miranda’s puckered hole. 

“Oh!” The woman lurched forward in surprise. “Ungh!” Her glistening fingers fell from her quivering pussy in defeat. 

“My good girl,” Andy moaned into the swell of Miranda’s ass. She was so consumed with lust. Swiping the ejaculate from her stomach with her index finger, Andy smeared it into Miranda’s asshole, barely breaching it. 

Maybe one day, Andy thought. 

With no release, Miranda was extra sensitive to Andy’s touch. 

And Andy was perceptive of every detail. She noticed Miranda’s irregular breathing, and she noticed the way her pale thighs spread a little further in hopes that Andy would finally mount her. 

A promise was a promise. 

Andy’s knees dug into the ground as she pinned Miranda in place.  

Undeniably, this was Andy’s favorite position.  

She flattened her hand on Miranda's upper back while she lazily swiped her mushroom-tip between Miranda’s folds, parting them repeatedly, drawing out the pleasure. 

“You’re right.” Andy confessed. “I can’t wait to watch you swell with my child.” 

Miranda made the filthiest moan, like a bitch in heat, once Andy’s girth finally filled her. 

Andy’s head fell back in ecstasy. 

This was their first time with no barriers. 

Skin to skin; fucking Miranda raw was inexplicable.  

Plus, being on the floor gave them leverage that a bed couldn’t. Each time Andy thrusted, the surface beneath them didn’t give away. Which meant, Miranda had to take her pounding like a champ. 

“Ye-eesss!” Miranda cried as her cunt queefed in the silence.  

The column of Andy’s neck turned red, and she felt sweat trailing down her spine. She couldn’t help herself when she popped her thumb in Miranda’s ass, pushing the dollop of her stale cum just beyond the tight little ring. 

“Oh, God!” Miranda looked back and thrashed her hips backwards into Andy, meeting the brunette’s aggressive thrusts. Miranda's jaw was slack as she pleaded softly, “Breed me.” 

And there it was. 

The trigger. 

Andy’s knees stung as she rammed her hips harder into Miranda. Her grip on the woman’s ass left imprints as Andy’s heavy sac slapped into Miranda's hooded little clit. 

Andy made an animalistic sound when Miranda’s warm, spongey walls clamped down on Andy’s painfully hard cock.  

“Thank y-youu,” Miranda babbled, “Feels s-so good...so big.” 

Without warning, Andy flipped the woman onto her back and mercilessly resumed pumping her slick shaft between Miranda’s legs.  

“Take it.” Andy groaned as she pinned the woman’s arms above her head. Her mouth clamped around Miranda’s puffy nipple and Andy’s hips gradually came to a slow while her warm semen flooded Miranda’s split, used cunt. 

Andy panted like she’d just run a marathon, looking down at where they were joined. Once she emptied herself completely inside Miranda, she slowly pulled her cock out until the head was released with an audible pop. 

She waited. 

Andy looked up at Miranda and spread the woman’s thighs obscenely wide. “Push it out.”  

Miranda’s abdomen visibly tightened as she did as she was told. 

She queefed again and Andy took great pleasure in watching the potent white filling oozing from Miranda’s properly fucked pussy.  

Andy swiped her broad cock in their combined mess and pushed her jizz back into Miranda.  

Miranda would sleep happily with Andy’s load coating the entrance of her womb. 

If there were any doubts before pertaining to Miranda’s pregnancy, after tonight, Andy made sure that Miranda would give her a baby. 

 

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