Rachel nodded slowly, the way she did when she was choosing not to push. “Alright, let me know if you need anything.”
She left. Miller sat in the silence of her office and listened to her own heartbeat.
She should end it. That was the smart, safe play. Walk away before anyone found out, before Valerie could confirm her suspicions, before Rachel’s careful looks turned into direct questions Miller couldn’t answer. She could text Astoria right now:We need to stop. This is too risky. I’m sorry.
But her phone sat face-down on her desk.
The truth was she didn't want anything to stop. Not the sex, though that was revelatory in ways she was still processing. Not the stolen hours in anonymous rooms. Not even the danger, if she was being honest with herself.
She didn’t want to stop seeing Astoria—hearing her laugh and watching the mask slip away to reveal the woman underneath, the one Valerie had called cold and broken. Valerie had been wrong about that, and Miller was starting to wonder what else she'd been wrong about.
If it were just physical, she could manage it. She could compartmentalize, keep it in its box until the divorce was final and they could figure out what came next. But it wasn't just physical, and Miller was starting to suspect she was in over her head in ways she couldn't control.
She picked up the Stewart motion and started reading the same paragraph for the fourth time.
Saturday took forever to arrive.
Miller had tried to keep busy—the Stewart filing, a consultation with a new client, laundry that had been piling up for two weeks—but the hours stretched like taffy, each one longer than the last. By the time she pulled into the parking garage of yet another hotel, her nerves were humming with something that felt less like anxiety and more like hunger.
Astoria was already there when Miller knocked. The door opened, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Astoria wore a simple silk blouse, untucked, and her feet were bare. Her hair was down, loose around her shoulders, and she looked softer than Miller had ever seen her in public.
“Hi,” Miller said.
“Hey.” Astoria reached for her hand and pulled her inside.
This time was different. Miller felt it immediately, something unhurried in the air, a mutual unspoken agreement to slow down. They kissed at the door, but it didn't escalate the way itusually did. Instead, Astoria pulled back and led her to the small sofa by the window, where a bottle of wine sat open on the table.
“I thought we could talk first,” Astoria said. “If that’s okay.”
“More than okay.”
They sat close, their knees touching, wine glasses in hand. The city glittered beyond the window, and the room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning. Miller took a sip of wine she barely tasted and waited.
“Tell me something,” Astoria said. “Something I don’t know about you.”
Miller considered the request. There was so much Astoria didn’t know: her childhood, her failed relationships, the years she’d spent feeling like she was watching her own life from a distance. But those felt too heavy for tonight.
“I grew up with two moms,” she said instead. “Nadia and Harper. They’ve been together since before I was born.”
Astoria’s expression softened. “What was that like?”
“Normal, mostly. Phoenix Ridge isn’t exactly hostile territory for queer families.” Miller smiled. “I had friends with two dads, friends with single moms, friends being raised by grandparents. Nobody really batted an eye at my family.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was. Is.” Miller traced the rim of her wine glass. “But here’s the strange part. Even with that, even growing up in a house where two women loving each other was just…ordinary, I never considered that I might not be straight. It just didn’t occur to me.”
Astoria tilted her head. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because my moms never pushed. They let me figure things out on my own, and I just…didn’t figure it out. Until now.” Miller laughed quietly. “I dated boys because that’s what I thought I was supposed to do. And it was fine. Nice, even, but it was never…”
She trailed off, unsure how to finish.
“Never, what?” Astoria prompted gently.
“Never like this,” Miller said. “Not even close.”
Something flickered in Astoria’s eyes. She set her wine glass down and reached for Miller’s face, cupping her jaw with a gentleness that made Miller’s chest ache.
