Worth it, Astoria thought.All of it.
Miller reached across the console and laced their fingers together. “Ready?”
Astoria squeezed her hand. “Ready.”
The Heights district looked exactly the same as it always did: tree-lined streets, modest homes with well-kept yards, the kind of neighborhood where people knew their neighbors and left their porch lights on. Miller’s childhood home sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, a three-bedroom with faded blue paint and a front porch that sagged slightly to the left.
Astoria had been terrified of this house the first time Miller had brought her here. Now, she parked in the driveway like she belonged there, because she did.
Willow knew the routine. The moment the car stopped, she pressed her nose to the window and whined, her tail a blur of anticipation.
“Yes, we’re here,” Miller told her, unclipping the leash. “Try to contain your excitement.”
Willow bolted from the car the instant the door opened, racing up the front walkway with complete disregard for leash protocol. The front door swung open before they reached it, and Nadia appeared, her silver hair pulled back in a loose twist, wearing a soft cardigan and an apron dusted with flour.
“My favorite daughter-in-law!” She opened her arms, and Willow crashed into her legs first, demanding acknowledgement.
“Hello to you, too, Willow.” Nadia scratched behind the dog's ears before stepping forward to pull Astoria into a warm hug, the kind that lasted a beat too long and felt like coming home.
“I’m your actual daughter,” Miller said from behind them, carrying the wine.
“And yet.” Nadia released Astoria and turned to Miller, her smile soft. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Mom.”
Harper’s voice carried from inside. “Are we eating today or are we standing on the porch having feelings?”
“We can do both!” Nadia called back.
The house smelled like roasted chicken and herbs, warm and welcoming. Astoria had grown up in apartments that smelled like old carpet and was full of her mother’s exhaustion. Her house with Valerie had smelled like expensive candles but was full of unspoken resentment.
This house felt like family.
Willow disappeared into the living room, her nails clicking on the hardwood, and Astoria heard Harper’s greeting, low and amused. “There’s the real guest of honor.”
They followed the sound to find Harper standing at the kitchen counter, her sleeves rolled up and hands busy with a cutting board. She looked up when they entered, blue-gray eyes sharp and assessing in the way that had intimidated Astoria for months before she realized Harper saw everything because she cared, not because she was looking for flaws.
“You brought wine,” Harper said, nodding at the bottle Miller set on the counter. “Let me guess.” She paused for dramatic flair. “Pinot noir.”
“Did you want me to bring something else?”
“No.” Harper picked up the bottle, examining the label with theatrical skepticism. “This’ll do.”
Astoria bit back a smile. This was their routine: Harper pretending she didn’t care about the wine, Astoria pretending to believe her, both of them knowing exactly what they were doing.
“What do you think?” Astoria asked, moving to Harper’s side. “Should we open it now or wait until dinner?”
Harper glanced at her, and something warm flickered in her expression. “What’s the food?”
“Roasted chicken, potatoes, and green beans.”
“Now,” Astoria said immediately. “It needs to breathe.”
“Agreed.” Harper handed her the corkscrew. “You open, I’ll pour.”
It had taken Astoria a year to relax into this. The easy banter, the casual touches, the assumption that she belonged in this kitchen. That first Sunday dinner, she'd stood in the corner like a guest at a formal event, uncertain where to put her hands or how to contribute. Miller had introduced her carefully, and Astoria had shaken their hands and answered questions and waited for the judgment she was certain would come.
But it never did.
