Chapter Text
The energy of the office changed entirely after the great change over. It was announced that Nigel would officially be moving up, replacing Miranda as Editor-in-Chief of Runway. A position that was long awaited.
It was time for everyone to grow in some form.
For Miranda, that meant handing over her reins for even heavier ones, now watching over everything as the Global Head of Content--and Andy to lead the Features department in an office she deserved. The space was buzzing with motivation and a new sense of positivity, something none of them were used to. After a long run of fear and uncertainty in the office-place, Andy’s confident, bright smile walking through the halls each morning lightened the air dramatically. Not that there was anything casting a dark shadow over the office anymore per se, just a small show of optimistic emotion which changed that of everyone around for the rest of the day. Even for Miranda. A little wave and smile through the glass door of her office, or an occasional cup of coffee on her desk from the ex-assistant.
The little things made an impact.
The once small department of Features had turned into quite the hit. Magazine sales and subscriptions were going up. New crowds were becoming interested in Runway due to the unusual topics Andy managed to slide into the section. The interest of previous subscribers hadn’t been lost despite Miranda’s concerns, if anything they were more interested. With the change in ownership and upper management, it led to more attention overall, so now was Andy’s time to shine, publishing beautiful statements each month with full support from everyone around her. Both Nigel and Miranda stood out to her the most, coming in to check on her every so often. They knew full well that Andy was capable of doing her job, but wanted to give her the extra support they knew she quietly needed sometimes.
Not only were Miranda and Nigel extra supportive, but as was Emily. After their lunch downtown, they agreed--without a handshake--that they would be friends, close friends at that. To stick to their agreement, they decided to have dinner together every couple of weeks, with texts sent every few days.
In the beginning of their newfound friendship, Emily was still struggling with her new position at Coach--a text message with a tinge of regret passed Andy’s way every so often, though she grew to like it as time passed. The people were more relaxed and polite, less high strung and snobby like those at Dior. It was a breath of fresh air after having been choked out.
++++
Their first couple of dinners flew by easily. Conversations about past lovers, career choices, their parents, and even children floated around. The term family came up quite often between the two.
One of those dinners was a ripple in the water, changing how they’d meet from here out. Emily had insisted Andy come to her home this time, “No more of those dimly lit places where I can’t properly judge the plating,” she’d said--and Andy had agreed without much thought. The moment she stepped inside Emily’s home, it felt different--lived-in and warm.
Roark had been the first to greet her at the door, all quick steps and curiosity, Bronwyn not far behind, peeking out from around the corner before deciding Andy was safe enough to approach. Emily appeared, just behind them--rolling her eyes lightly at the display, but hadn’t hidden the small smile that followed.
Dinner itself had been a blur of half-finished conversations and interruptions--small voices asking questions about how Emily and Andy used to work together and such, tugging at sleeves, laughter breaking through. It was nothing like the restaurants they usually sat in, nothing prim and proper. Andy found herself relaxing into it without realizing.
At one point, Bronwyn had climbed up beside Emily, putting herself between the two women on the couch, leaning into her mom’s side comfortably. Emily hadn’t even paused her sentence--just lifted her hand, brushing it gently through her daughter’s hair, smoothing it back with absent ease. The motion was so simple.
Andy couldn’t look away.
There was something in the way Emily softened--barely noticeable. The sharpness she carried so effortlessly elsewhere dulled. Andy felt it then, that ache deep within her chest. Motherhood fit Emily perfectly.
Emily must have caught her staring.
“What?” she asked, glancing over, her tone light but curious.
Andy blinked, pulled from the moment. For a second, she considered brushing it off--deflecting like she normally would. But something about the warmth of the room, the softness of it all, made that feel unnecessary. She smiled instead, small and genuine.
“Nothing,” she said softly. “It’s just… nice. Seeing you like this.”
Emily held her gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes before she looked away, clearing her throat lightly as she adjusted Bronwyn against her side.
“Well,” she muttered, just a touch more composed now, “don’t get used to it.”
Due to her deep thoughts, the rosey color that had risen in Emily’s cheeks went unnoticed.
++++
Andy had brought up the topic of freezing her eggs to Emily--a conversation that had unexpectedly captured the blonde’s attention. What started as a passing comment turned into something far more detailed, with Emily asking questions that were more curious than judgmental. Andy found herself explaining far more than she had anticipated. A surprising amount of time was spent going over the process itself, from the initial hormone treatments and retrieval procedure to the practical realities of how the eggs could be stored, preserved, and potentially used in the future.
What had begun as a hypothetical idea slowly shifted into something more tangible the longer they spoke. Emily asked the question of when Andy would use them, but nothing more than an “eh” paired with a half-shoulder shrug was offered. Still, it got Andy thinking.
Her career was blossoming again.
She could wait a while longer. Right?
The right moment will come.
Right…?
Each night the want grew more. A baby… Oh how badly she wanted to have a baby.
The conversation with Miranda in the backseat of her car flashes through her mind.
How much of my children’s lives I’ve missed… There’s a cost…
She wasn’t in the same position Miranda had been in back then when she got pregnant with her girls, but her workload was still relentless--taking up most of her time before she even realized it was gone. Days blurred into nights, deadlines into meetings, one issue folding into the next. She made time where she could--she always did--for Emily, Lily, and Mack, holding tightly to those little moments. But beyond that, there wasn’t much left.
There was no room for anything softer or slower, nothing that required more than the fragments of time she had left at the end of the day.
That was what unsettled her. A baby wouldn’t fit into just those pieces of her life--it would be her life.
Andy exhales slowly, her fingers curling against her sleeve as the thought settles deeper. She didn’t know when the “right moment” was supposed to arrive; she just knew that waiting for it suddenly felt a lot harder than it used to. It wasn’t just about wanting it anymore. It was everything that came with it--the timing, the logistics, the reality of trying to build a career that demanded everything from her while making room for something that would demand even more.
When, exactly, was that supposed to happen? Her days were already spoken for before they began--early calls, late nights, a schedule that changed without warning at times. And even now, months into being back at Runway, the pace hadn’t eased. If anything, it had intensified--expectations higher, responsibilities heavier. The drive to produce something as impressive as Sasha Barnes’ profile only pushed her further.
There was no clear opening. No obvious place where a life like that would fit. And it wasn’t just about getting pregnant--it was everything after.
The thought makes her chest tighten.
She presses her lips together, staring down at her hands. Maybe there wasn’t a “right” time. Maybe that was the problem--waiting for something that didn’t exist yet. She felt as though she was trying to plan around something that refused to be planned.
Her mind searched for someone she could go to for advice. She had Emily, but… the thought stalled there, unfinished, as something else surfaced instead.
Miranda.
Over the past few months, things had changed between them. Subtly, but undeniably. What had once been distant and sharp had softened greatly. Both Miranda and Nigel took on roles of guidance and friendship. If there was anyone who understood the weight of this--of building a life inside a career like this--it would be Miranda.
Andy exhales, her nerves still on fire at the possibility of everything changing.
She couldn’t figure this out on her own. She needed more than passing thoughts and late-night spirals. She needed a real conversation. Lunch, maybe. Or at the very least, a moment where Miranda wasn’t rushing to the next thing, where Andy could actually ask.
++++
Andy is pacing before Emily even has the chance to say anything, her words tumbling out faster than she can keep up with them.
“Em, I don’t— I don’t even know how I’m supposed to bring this up to her,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “Like, what do I say? ‘Hi Miranda, quick question, how do I have a baby without completely destroying my career and disappointing you in the process?’”
She lets out a strained laugh, already shaking her head. “No, that’s— that’s awful. That’s not— I can’t say that.”
Emily watches her quietly from the sofa, a glass of wine forgotten in her hand.
“I mean, what if she thinks I’m not serious about work anymore?” Andy continues, her pacing picking up speed as she speaks. “Or worse, what if she isn’t surprised? What if she just--expects me to fall behind, or—” She stops abruptly, pressing her fingers to her temples.
“God, I’m overthinking this, aren’t I? I just— I don’t know how to say it without it sounding like I’m about to ruin everything.”
“Andy.”
She doesn’t stop.
“Because there’s no good way to phrase it, right? There’s no version where she just nods and says ‘oh yes, perfect timing, go ahead’—”
“Andy.”
This time, Emily sets her glass down and stands, closing the distance between them in a few quick steps.
Andy barely registers it before Emily’s hands are on her arms, steadying her.
“Come here,” Emily murmurs, softer now.
Andy exhales shakily, like something in her finally gives, and lets herself be pulled in.
Emily wraps her arms around her without hesitation, holding her close, one hand coming up to rest gently at the back of her head, the other on the small of her back.
“There we are,” she whispers, voice low and reassuring. “You’re spiraling.”
Andy lets out a small, embarrassed huff against her shoulder. “I know.”
Andy pulls back ever so slightly, though Emily doesn’t let her go. She doesn’t really want to. There’s something about the way Andy fits there--tense at first, then slowly relaxing into the embrace as she continues to hold her. She brushes her hand lightly along Andy’s back, grounding and constant.
“It’ll be alright,” she murmurs near her ear. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.” Emily nudges closer into the crook of Andy’s neck. “And you never know, she might surprise you,” she pauses, “Or not—perhaps you’ll end up right back where you started...”
Andy’s grip tightens slightly in response, ignoring her comments on Miranda.
For a moment, Emily lets herself linger in it--the quiet, the closeness, the warmth of her. The smell of Andy’s hair fills her nose. She smiles as she inhales something close to oatmeal and cinnamon.
Andy pulls back just slightly, not enough to break the hold entirely, just enough to look down at her. Emily tilts her head up to meet Andy’s eyes--there it is again--that softness, those wide, searching eyes that seem to hold too much at once. There’s a faint flush rising across her cheeks now, her breathing still a little uneven.
Beautiful, the ginger thinks, before she can stop herself.
“You think I can figure it out?” Andy asks quietly, needing to hear the words of reassurance once more.
Emily meets her gaze, her own softening without meaning to as she nods. “Yeah.”
++++
The next morning at Runway moves quickly--too quickly. Andy barely has time to settle at her desk before she’s being pulled into a mid-morning meeting, a stack of notes in her hands and her mind still half-caught on everything from the night before. “Stay focused” became her mantra for the morning.
About halfway through their meeting, a dull ache forms low in her abdomen--familiar, unwelcome. She straightens slightly in her chair, trying to ignore it, pressing her knees together as if that might help. It doesn’t. Her breath catches subtly as the discomfort sharpens and spreads across her lower back. She keeps her face neutral, eyes fixed on the layout boards in front of her, but her focus slips.
Not now.
She shifts again carefully, testing whether or not she would need to go to the restroom yet. No one seems to notice her antsiness. Or at least, no one says anything. Nigel continues speaking at the head of the table, flipping through pages with practiced efficiency, rambling on about attire. Andy nods along when appropriate, though she’s not entirely sure she’s processing what’s being said anymore.
The ache deepens.
Her hand drifts toward her lower stomach beneath the table, pressing lightly, trying to ground herself through it. She disappointedly realizes she left her ibuprofen on the kitchen counter. Of course she didn’t bring it. The meeting stretches on another ten minutes before Nigel finally closes the book in front of him. “That will be all.”
Chairs scrape the floor. Papers gather. The room begins to clear. Andy exhales quietly, standing a little slower than usual. She checks her seat before making it out to the hallway, stopping next to Jin Chao’s desk.
“Hey,” she murmurs. “Do you--by any chance--have anything? Like… ibuprofen?”
She glances up, sympathetic but apologetic. “Sorry, no. I usually just tough it out.”
Andy nods, forcing a small smile. “Okay, no worries. Thank you.” Her lips tighten in pain. She quickly makes it into her office, setting her folders down on the desk and begins searching through her bag. A moment later she finds a tampon. She disappears to the bathroom, coming out a while later.
Hesitating for a second, she glances toward Miranda’s office. The door is slightly ajar. Andy exhales once, steadying herself, then moves. She knocks lightly before stepping in.
Miranda doesn’t look up immediately, finishing a note on the page in front of her before setting her pen down. “Yes, Andréa?”
Andy steps inside, closing the door gently behind her. “Sorry--I know you’re probably busy with stuff after the meeting, I just… needed a quick minute.”
Miranda’s eyes lift, taking her in more fully now. “What is it?”
Andy shifts her weight slightly. “Do you happen to have any… pain relievers?”
A brief pause. “For what, exactly?” Her eyes narrow in curiosity.
Andy huffs out a small breath, slightly embarrassed. “Cramps.”
Miranda’s expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker of understanding. “Hm. Drawer. Right side,” she says simply.
Andy nods quickly, moving around the desk and opening it carefully. She finds a small, neatly organized section--medication included--and pulls out what she needs.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. She takes the pills dry, putting the container back, then pauses, her hand still resting lightly on the edge of the desk.
Miranda watches her. “You look uncomfortable,” she notes.
Andy doesn’t move to leave. Her brown eyes lock in on a chair across Miranda’s desk--eyes snapping down to Miranda seconds later.
Miranda notices. “Yes?” she prompts.
Andy hesitates, her fingers curling slightly against the desk as she looks down at them, gathering the thought.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, quieter now.
Miranda leans back slightly in her chair, studying her. “If you must.”
Andy lets out a faint, nervous huff. “It’s just—” she pauses, then tries again, “it’s not exactly about work.”
Miranda’s brow lifts almost imperceptibly. “Go on.”
Andy swallows. “I was thinking about… actually unfreezing some of my eggs.” She lets out a small, nervous laugh that doesn’t quite land. She takes her weight off the desk and awkwardly stands in front of the older woman. “I mean, I’m not getting any younger, and I’m happy… comfortable with where I’m at right now. I can’t really think of a better time.” She hesitates, then adds more quietly, “It can’t hurt to try, right?”
Miranda doesn’t respond immediately. She studies Andy for a moment, then leans back fully in her chair now, her expression unreadable.
“A baby?” she repeats, slower this time, as if weighing the word.
Andy shifts in place, shoulders drawing in just a fraction.
“Yes…?” The uncertainty creeps in almost instantly.
Miranda’s gaze drifts away for a brief moment, her fingers resting lightly against the arm of her chair. The pause stretches just a second too long.
Andy exhales, nerves getting the better of her. “You think it’s a bad idea. I can already tell. I was saying the same thing a few weeks ago--why disrupt something that’s already working? My career, everything I’ve built and am still building--I don’t want to jeopardize that, so maybe I should just—”
“Stop it,” Miranda cuts in, her tone controlled but firm. “Just stop.” She fixes her with a steady look. “All I did was clarify if I heard you correctly. I did not say it was a bad idea.”
“I’m sorry—”
“And stop apologizing,” Miranda adds, harsher now. “I’m quite tired of every conversation including one when you haven’t done a single thing wrong.”
Andy straightens at that, her jaw tightening as she reins herself back in. “You don’t think it’s a bad idea?” she asks, more carefully this time. Her gaze drops to her shoes.
“Why would I?” Miranda replies evenly. Her brows furrow as she watches Andy sway and fidget with her fingers nervously. Andy doesn’t answer.
After a moment, her eyes looking anywhere but Miranda’s, she asks, “Do you think I’d be a good mom?” There’s a slight hitch in her voice. “Do you think I can actually do this--this job and… that? Do you really think I’d have enough time for it? I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to look back and realize I wasn’t as present as I should’ve been.” Miranda flinches ever so slightly. Andy hesitates, then adds, more vulnerable now, “How did you even begin to manage it when your girls were growing up?”
Miranda opens her mouth, then closes it--deciding how to phrase her response.
“I don’t think you’d be a good mother, Andréa,” she says.
Andy’s head snaps up, eyes widening in panic. Miranda continues quickly, her voice softening just slightly, “I think you would be fantastic.”
The words land all at once. Andy blinks quickly, her composure slipping as emotion rises faster than she can contain it.
“I have never met someone so consistently attentive to the needs of others,” Miranda goes on, measured but sincere. “You anticipate, you adapt, you endure far more than is asked of you without complaint. Those are not insignificant qualities.” A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips. “You would be a remarkable mother.”
Andy bites her lip, her eyes glassy now. “Thank you,” she says softly, her thumb brushing beneath her eye to catch a tear before it can roll any further. “I… I think I really needed to hear that.” She exhales, trying to calm herself. “Even with this job… you think I’ll have enough time? What if I can’t keep up? What if—”
“No,” Miranda interrupts, firm but not unkind. “No ‘what ifs.’”
Andy stills.
“You will manage it,” Miranda continues. “And you will not be doing so alone.” She leans forward now attempting to meet Andy’s eyes, her tone more deliberate. “I will ensure your schedule allows for this--as will Nigel. And please know that you can come bother me at any point, I’m only a room away,” her lips curving slightly in the corners for a moment.
Andy looks up at her, surprised.
“You have an entire support system here,” Miranda adds. “Whether you’ve chosen to recognize it or not.” There’s a brief pause before she continues, quieter now.
“That was not something I had.” A beat. “It was… significantly more difficult to manage than I think I allowed myself to admit at the time.” Her gaze steadies. “I missed things. More than I should have.” Another pause. “I— I worked constantly, and I didn’t have anyone I trusted enough to step in when I needed them to. I had built everything myself, and I didn’t know how to relinquish it.” Her lips purse as she shakes her head.
The admission settles heavily between them and Andy’s expression softens.
Miranda straightens again, composure returning, though something lingers beneath it.
“You are… in a far better position than you think, Andréa. It would be wise to take advantage of that.”
Andy nods slowly, absorbing every word.
“Okay,” she says, barely above a whisper.
Miranda studies her for a moment longer, then reaches out to Andy only a couple of feet away. Her hand briefly closed around Andy’s. The gesture is small, but grounding.
“You will be fine,” she says with a nod. “Now grab some water and come tell me a bit about this ‘unfreezing eggs’ situation.”
Andy laughs, a wide smile replaces any remnants of anxiety on her face.
++++
The rest of the day passes without issue. Andy finds herself catching small moments where her mind drifts back to the conversation in Miranda’s office: the reassurance in her voice, the way she hadn’t dismissed the idea outright, the startling sincerity behind you will be fine.
She gathers her things slowly as the office begins to clear out, phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she waits for the line to connect.
Emily answers after the third ring.
“‘Lo?”
There’s noise in the background--cabinet doors, muffled voices, one of the kids laughing somewhere farther away.
Andy smiles instinctively at the sound. “Hey.”
“Andy?” Emily’s voice softens immediately, though distracted. “Give me one second--Bronwyn, darling, absolutely not.”
Andy laughs under her breath, leaning against her desk.
“Sounds serious.”
“You have no idea.” There’s a brief pause, followed by quieter movement. “Alright. Slightly less catastrophic now. What happened?”
“I talked to her,” Andy says quietly. She crosses her arms, her free hand coming up to tink with her gold earrings nervously.
Emily goes quiet for half a second. “And?”
“And…” Andy exhales, still sounding faintly disbelieving. “It went well.”
“How well?”
“She actually comforted me instead of psychologically dismantling me, so honestly? Better than expected.”
Emily snorts softly. “Strong start.”
Andy grins to herself. “No, really. She actually listened. Like--really listened. We talked about… everything, kind of.” She shakes her head slightly. “I don’t know. I just expected it to be harder.”
Emily hums thoughtfully on the other end. “I told you she might surprise you.”
“You also told me not to be shocked if I ended up back at square one,” Andy deadpans.
“Well, I like to cover all possibilities.”
Andy laughs again, softer this time. She can hear Emily moving around her kitchen now, pots lightly clinking together.
“You sound busy,” Andy says.
“I am busy,” Emily replies bluntly, though there’s amusement beneath it. “I’m currently making dinner while Roark explains Pokémon lore to me as though I’m being examined on it later.”
“That sounds intense,” Andy chuckles, rubbing the ends of several strands of hair along her bottom lip as she smiles.
“It’s harrowing.” Emily pauses. “Come over.”
Andy blinks, dropping the hair between her fingers. “What?”
“Come over for dinner,” Emily repeats simply. “I don’t want any excuses like work or whatnot. You’re clearly still processing and I’d rather not have this conversation over the phone while Bronwyn attempts arson in the background. Plus I have more questions. Just— come over,” she drags.
Andy smiles despite herself, though hesitation slips in automatically. “Em, you don’t have to do that. You already had me over yesterday.”
“And?”
“And I don’t want to intrude.”
Emily scoffs lightly. “Please. I’m asking you. My children adore you, and you look like you survive purely on caffeine and stress nowadays.”
Andy gasps quietly. “That’s not true.”
“Andy, I’ve seen what you call lunch.” Emily rolls her eyes as she stirs an eclectic pot of noodles.
“It was once…”
“It was almonds, Andy.”
“There were several almonds. With raisins, might I add.”
Emily laughs properly now, warm and bright through the speaker.
“Still. Exactly my point. Come have actual food. Carbs, preferably. You’re beginning to look tragically editorial.”
Andy rolls her eyes, smiling so hard it almost hurts. “Emily Charlton asking me to eat carbs? Am I ill? Also, are you always this rude when inviting people over? I may have to rethink our agreement…”
“Shut up. You’re ridiculous.” The words land softer than Emily probably intended. Or maybe exactly as intended.
Andy’s cheeks warm faintly as she looks down at the mat beneath her office chair.
“…You sure?” she asks quietly.
Emily doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Come over.”
A small smile pulls at Andy’s mouth.
“Okay,” she says. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten.”
++++
By the time Andy arrives, the apartment already smells warm—garlic, oregano, something simmering on the stove... It hits her the second Emily opens the door, sleeves rolled up and hair loosely pulled back with strands coming loose in the front—a hairstyle that looks far softer than anything Andy had ever associated with her.
“You made it,” Emily says, stepping aside to let her in.
“I said ten minutes.” Andy starts slipping off her shoes near the door. “You sound surprised.”
“You also once got lost trying to find the Dior offices,” Emily’s voice falls flat like the expression on her face.
“That happened one time,” Andy rolls her eyes playfully.
“Mm.” Emily closes the door behind her. “And yet I remember it vividly.”
Andy shakes her head, smiling to herself as she follows her into the kitchen area. Roark and Bronwyn are seated at the island coloring, both looking up immediately when Andy enters.
“Andy!” The two kids smile as the woman walks closer to them.
Andy laughs warmly at their greeting. “Hi, you two.”
Emily passes behind her to get to the other side of the kitchen. Her hand brushing lightly against Andy’s lower back as she moves by. A casual and brief touch. Yet, Andy notices it immediately.
“So,” Emily says, rearranging vegetables on the counter, “tell me everything.”
Andy leans against the island with a small exhale. “Miranda was… weirdly nice.”
Emily raises a brow. “Miranda Priestly and ‘weirdly nice’ in the same sentence. Fascinating.”
“I’m serious.” Andy laughs softly. “I was panicking for no reason.”
“You were absolutely panicking for a reason.” Emily points the knife at her briefly before continuing to chop.
Andy watches her for a second before smiling faintly. “Okay...” she replies lamely.
Bronwyn tugs lightly on Andy’s sleeve. “Can you draw a horse?”
“A horse?” Andy gasps quietly. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
Emily snorts under her breath as Andy takes the crayon anyway, bending beside Bronwyn’s stool. She rests her chin on her palm. A few strands of hair fall from behind her shoulders into her face as she focuses dramatically on the drawing.
Emily catches herself staring for a moment longer than necessary.
Andy glances up suddenly, feeling eyes watch her, and catches Emily looking. The woman quickly turns toward the stove to avoid Andy’s gaze.
“How’d the conversation actually start?” she asks, a little too quickly.
Andy quickly finishes the horse drawing and straightens again, moving back toward the counter across from the island. “I was having cramps… no one seemed to have ibuprofen, so I asked her.” Andy waves her hand dismissively. “Anyway, eventually I just… said it.” Her expression relaxes slightly at the memory. “I told her I was thinking about maybe unfreezing some of my eggs.”
Emily looks over at her carefully while stirring the pan. “And?”
“And she didn’t judge me.” Andy still sounds mildly shocked by it. “Not even a little.”
Emily hums in acknowledgment, honing in on the last bits of cooking while Bronwyn continues pestering Andy for more animals drawn on her paper.
Eventually, the kids scatter toward the living room once their smaller plates are finished, leaving the kitchen quieter than before. Emily starts plating dinner for herself and Andy.
Andy automatically moves to help set things down despite Emily insisting she doesn’t have to. Their hands bump while reaching for the same silverware.
“Sorry,” Andy murmurs.
Emily’s fingers linger for half a second before pulling away. “You’re fine.”
They settle on stools beside each other at the island to eat, knees occasionally brushing beneath the overhang of marble.
“She told me I was in a better position than I thought I was,” Andy says after a moment, picking absentmindedly at the edge of her napkin. “That I should take advantage of it.”
Emily hums softly. “That sounds like her version of encouragement.”
“It was.” Andy smiles into her glass. “She even held my hand for a second.”
Emily pauses mid-chew, her mouthful of pasta.
“She what?”
Andy laughs at her expression. “I know.”
“That’s…” Emily shakes her head as if she just saw the most disgusting thing ever. “Deeply unsettling.”
Andy nearly chokes, laughing at her expression. “Em—”
She swallows. “What? I’m happy for you, but if Miranda Priestly starts becoming emotionally available, I’m concerned society may collapse.” She quickly takes another bite in an attempt to hide her growing smile.
Andy cackles—her head dipping backwards. Emily smiles and without thinking about it, her hand comes to rest lightly between Andy’s shoulder blades, rubbing small circles in the space.
The touch quiets Andy almost instantly. She blushes furiously at the warmth of Emily’s palm against her back.
Emily realizes then that her hand is still there. Slowly, she lets it fall away.
“…I’m glad it went well,” she says more quietly, picking up her knife to uselessly scoop noodles onto her fork. “Really.”
Andy’s expression softens.
“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”
Thankfully, they quietly finished their meal before Bronwyn yells something incomprehensible from the other room, followed by Roark shouting back. Emily sighs dramatically, standing from her seat. “And there goes my peaceful evening.”
Andy laughs warmly. “Need help?”
Emily glances at her, smiling despite herself.
“Always,” she sighs dramatically.