“Hi,” Miller said.
“Hi.”
The greeting sat between them, inadequate yet enormous. A server appeared, and Miller ordered a glass of chenin blanc, a light and zesty white wine. When they were alone again, the air seemed to wait expectantly.
“You came,” Astoria said, then immediately felt stupid. Of course she came. She was sitting right there.
“I almost didn’t.” Miller’s honesty was disarming. “I sat in the parking garage for ten minutes trying to talk myself out of it.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I couldn’t come up with a single good reason to leave.” Miller’s mouth curved upward. “I had plenty of reasons, though, but none of them were good enough.”
The server returned with Miller’s wine. She wrapped her fingers around the stem but didn’t lift the glass.
“I need to understand something,” Astoria said. “What you did with recusing yourself, that wasn't a small thing. Someone like Rachel Hartwell is going to remember, and Valerie is going to weaponize it. You might have damaged your entire career.”
“I know.”
“Then…why?”
Miller was quiet for a moment. Her thumb traced the base of her wine glass, back and forth, a nervous gesture that Astoria had filed away.
She looked up, and her gaze was unwavering despite the slight tremor in her voice. “I couldn't be her lawyer and want you this much. It's not ethical. It wasn't fair to her or to you or to myself.”
The words “want you this much” rooted somewhere beneath Astoria’s ribs and stayed there, warm and terrifying.
“And so, you chose this,” Astoria said. “Whatever this is.”
“I chose to be honest with myself. The rest”—Miller gestured vaguely between them—”I don’t know what this is either. I just know I couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t there.”
Astoria lifted her gin and tonic, took a sip she didn’t really taste, and set it down. She was buying time, trying to find her footing in a conversation that felt like standing on shifting sand.
“You know…this is still complicated,” she said. “Even without the ethical issue. If anyone found out…”
“Valerie would say she was right all along, that you seduced me or I was compromised from the start or whatever version of events makes her the victim.”
“Yes.”
“And it could affect your case and give her ammunition.”
“Yes.”
“And we could both end up humiliated in ways that follow us for years.”
Astoria almost smiled.”You’re really good at listing problems.”
“Professional habit.” Miller's answering almost-smile faded. “I've thought about all of it. I thought about it all night and all day and I'm still here, so apparently the thinking isn't helping.”
“What would help?”
The question hung between them. Miller’s eyes dropped to Astoria’s mouth, a flicker that was so quick it might have been imagined, then she backed up.
“You could tell me to leave,” Miller said quietly. “Tell me this was a mistake, that we should chalk the library up to temporary insanity and go back to being strangers. I'd go if that's what you wanted.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No.” The word came out rough. “But it’s probably what I should want.”
