Chapter Text
The sounds of soft panting brushed against Miranda’s ears.
She gasped softly.
She felt lips pressing to the crook of her neck.
Miranda had always dismissed this sort of thing as… undisciplined. Beneath her. And yet—this woman. With her charming personality and gentle touches… this was an anomaly. Nothing more. But even then… the flutter in her lower stomach grew stronger.
Earlier that evening—long before this moment—Miranda had decided she needed space. From what, exactly? In short, from everything. Her clingy husband, her demanding job, her two children whom she loved dearly—but who could also be frustrating at times.
So, she took a much-needed break and headed into her favorite bar—one she hadn’t visited in quite some time.
She chose the loneliest corner, avoiding any unwanted attention.
Miranda wanted to feel tranquil. Runway had been relentless lately. Meetings that ran over time. Decisions that should not have required discussion. People who mistook urgency for importance. At this rate, something would have to give. So—here she was. Thursday night, at a high-end bar, drinking only the most expensive wine.
She lifted her glass, swirling the contents inside.
She felt herself settle into something that resembled calm.
To be fair, it was working.
Until someone sat next to her.
She wasn’t loud or careless. Just… there.
Miranda hadn’t looked up immediately. She rarely—if ever—rewarded unnecessary intrusion with attention. Yet, without glancing up once, she could sense the woman beside her was tense.
She swirled her glass again, lifting it to her lips.
Instead of a sigh, she took a sip.
She looked up for a mere second.
The woman beside her had ordered a drink. She didn’t quite hear what exactly it was, but she could tell it was dark and strong.
She was wearing a rather mediocre outfit: a leather jacket, black slacks, and a white button-up. Basic—but basic isn’t always unpleasant.
She was… mysterious. At first, she hadn’t meant to stare. It seemed she simply couldn’t stop. It was her job, after all, to analyze everything.
As though sensing she was being watched, the woman looked up from her drink.
Their eyes met.
Both gazes held—seconds stretching longer than they should—until the woman looked away first.
She seemed flushed.
Was she a lightweight? Miranda thought to herself.
It hit her then.
She recognized the look. Still, it hadn’t occurred to her that women might find her attractive. So when she looked over again—with that obvious expression—she allowed a subtle smirk.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the woman’s gaze return, then drop to her drink. She finished it quickly and turned fully toward Miranda.
A beat.
Miranda raised an eyebrow.
The woman cleared her throat.
“May I buy you a drink?”
Miranda paused, then tilted her head slightly. The smirk deepened just enough to be noticeable.
She nodded.
The woman failed to hide her reaction before standing. She moved to the seat beside Miranda’s, calling the waiter over and ordering two of what Miranda was drinking.
The bartender brought the drinks.
The woman took a sip first, as if testing it.
She hummed.
“You have excellent taste in drinks.”
Miranda side-eyed her glass.
“Obviously.”
Silence settled for a moment.
“I, uh—never asked for your name…”
She looked at her through the rim of her glass, taking a slow sip.
“Miranda.”
“Oh—uhm, nice to meet you. I’m Andrea, but my friends call me Andy.” She offered her hand.
Miranda glanced at it, then took it—measured, brief.
“Andrea.”
Andrea realized she held on a second too long and withdrew her hand.
Andrea cleared her throat.
“Do you… come here often?”
“Not often, no…” she said. “Do you?”
There was a change in Andrea’s energy—subtle, but noticeable.
“First time, actually.”
The air between them settled into silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavier.
“What do you do?” Andrea asked, steadier now.
So much for a quiet night…
Miranda didn’t answer immediately. She studied her instead.
“A bit of… everything.”
Andrea exhaled softly, amused.
“Sounds mysterious.”
“Does it?”
Another beat.
Andrea held her gaze.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “It does.”
Miranda’s gaze didn’t move.
Andrea leaned in slightly. Her knee brushed Miranda’s.
“Do you care to elaborate?”
Miranda internally snorted.
A faint smirk. Quickly hidden.
“Some things are better left to be discovered slowly,” Miranda said evenly.
Andrea’s fingers tightened around her glass.
“Slowly, huh? I suppose I can be patient… if you are.”
She leaned back slightly, color rising to her cheeks.
Miranda leaned in just enough that her breath brushed Andrea’s ear.
“I’m not a very patient woman.”
She withdrew as if nothing had happened.
A beat.
Andrea exhaled, looking anywhere but at her.
Miranda noticed the tremor in her grip.
Amusing.
More than it should have been.
Silence stretched—thick, but not uncomfortable.
“So, what brought you here tonight? Isn’t it a little late to be out for drinks?” Andrea asked lightly.
Miranda’s expression cooled slightly.
“No one dictates what I can and cannot do, Andrea.”
“N-no, that’s not what I meant—”
Right.
“I needed time alone.”
Miranda cleared her throat.
“My personal and professional life have been rather… hectic—unpredictable.”
Andrea took a sip of her wine.
“Your… job, the mysterious one?”
“That would be the one.”
“I suppose drinks—wine—does ease tension.”
“You… suppose?”
“I’m more of a beer girl myself,” Andrea chuckled lightly.
“I see.”
She glanced toward Andrea.
“Yet, earlier tonight, you drank something off the rocks.”
Andrea’s eyes widened.
“Oh, uhm—you noticed that?” she replied sheepishly.
“I did. So?”
“I’ve had a stressful evening as well,” Andrea said, looking at her drink.
“You know—job searching, bill paying…”
Miranda, surprising herself, let out a short breathy laugh.
“God, do I know that.”
Andrea’s face lit up and she laughed softly.
“And you usually cope by indulging in a drink?” Miranda asked, her gaze now fixed on Andrea.
“No, I don’t usually—but tonight is… different.”
A beat.
“Oh?”
“I met someone… new.”
“…Is that so?” Miranda locked eyes with Andy.
“Yeah.”
“Ahem.”
They turned to look at the unwanted interruption.
“It’s final call. Any last orders?”
Only then did they both realize what time it was.
“No,” Miranda glanced at Andrea. “We’re fine.”
Andrea stood first and offered her hand.
Miranda took it.
Their hands lingered longer than they should have.
The night air met them as they stepped outside.
They walked the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. Lights stretched across the water.
Andrea’s pinky brushed Miranda’s. Then again—less accidental.
She didn’t correct it.
“Tonight was definitely unexpected but…” Andrea said softly.
“Pleasant?”
“Very much so.”
Miranda’s gaze dropped. Andy’s pinky drifted outward.
Miranda noticed.
After a beat, they interlocked.
Miranda stilled, but neither moved.
Andrea had stepped closer.
Miranda allowed it.
The night air had grown colder. Miranda felt a slight shiver run through her. A moment later, warmth settled over her shoulders—Andy’s jacket, placed there without a word.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.”
Miranda’s gaze flicked down to their joined pinkies again as they walked, her expression unreadable.
Andrea opened her mouth as if about to say something—then she closed it. A soft sigh escaped her before finally,
“My apartment is nearby…”
A pause.
“Would you like a nightcap?”
“That would be… fine.”
A small squeeze to her pinky.
Miranda didn’t let go.
The walk was quiet.
Miranda was aware of it. More than she intended.
There was a faint anticipation she chose not to examine too closely.
Soon, they stepped into Andrea’s apartment.
Miranda’s gaze adjusted to the space slowly.
Homey was her first thought. Her second, sharper and unfiltered, lingered on the couch.
Horrible.
With the warm lighting of Andrea’s home, she could now clearly see what she wore under that clunky jacket of hers. A white buttoned-up shirt, the first few buttons undone. The shirt fit her in a way that made Miranda’s gaze pause before she could stop herself.
She did not allow it to linger.
She sat down on the couch, begrudgingly, before Andrea handed her a cup of wine.
“Sorry… I wasn’t expecting any visitors,” Andrea said, something nervous in her tone.
Miranda hummed softly in response, taking it.
Silence settled—different here. Closer than it should have felt.
Miranda’s attention drifted back anyway.
“You’re wearing…” she began, moving slightly closer before she finished the thought. Her fingers brushed the collar of Andrea’s shirt. “Armani?”
Andrea let out a short laugh.
“God, I wish. Macy’s.”
Something faintly amused flickered in Miranda’s expression.
Her hand hadn’t left the fabric.
She rubbed it between her fingers absentmindedly, as though confirming something she had no reason to be concerned with.
Her hand stayed at the collar longer than necessary.
Andrea’s gaze dropped to her hand. She moved closer, gently taking Miranda’s wrist.
Miranda looked up.
The warmth between them registered immediately—too close, too noticeable to ignore.
Without breaking eye contact, Andrea’s hand brushed Miranda’s knee.
Miranda didn’t move.
She should have.
Instead, she shifted closer.
Andrea’s hand rose slightly, causing Miranda to exhale—controlled, but not steady.
The space between them disappeared in stages.
Andrea’s gaze flickered lower. Miranda’s followed.
Her hand overlapped Andrea’s.
She leaned in.
Andrea met her halfway.
The kiss was not sudden. It built slowly—careful at first, then warmer, deeper, as if neither of them wanted to acknowledge the moment it became something more.
Neither of them cared to slow down once they started.
The world narrowed into their unsteady breaths, and the sound of Miranda gripping Andrea’s shirt.
Miranda inhaled sharply. Her hands reached to grip Andrea’s hair.
Andrea broke first, not fully away, just enough to shift.
Andrea leaned close—
The sounds of soft panting brushed against Miranda’s ears.
She gasped softly.
She felt Andrea’s lips brush her jaw… then lower—
A soft kiss at the crook of her neck.
Oh.
Her fingers tightened in Andrea’s hair.
“Ah,” Andrea breathed near her ear.
And then—
ring ring
They didn’t separate immediately, but as the ringing persisted, a curse flickered through her mind. She pulled back just enough to reach into her pocket.
Her daughters.
Her expression faltered.
“I have to take this…” she said softly.
Andrea was still close. She hummed softly, stepping back just enough without creating distance.
On the phone, her daughters’ voices filled the space—concerned, questioning, scolding her for working too much. Miranda listened, eyes focusing on her lap for a moment.
Hanging up, finally—
“I have to go…”
Their gazes locked.
“It’s okay, I understand.” Andrea gave a small smile.
Miranda went to stand, but Andrea—quick as ever—stood first, holding her hand out. Miranda took it gently.
Andrea walked her to the door, and just as Miranda touched the doorknob—
“Wait—uhm…”
Andrea put her hand to the crook of her neck and looked away, suddenly shy.
“Could I, uhm—get your number? U-unless you don’t want to—which is totally fine—”
Miranda raised a cool eyebrow.
She pulled a piece of card stock and a pen from her purse. She wrote something down and handed it to Andy.
Miranda turned the doorknob, opening the door.
She paused—unable to help it—and looked back slightly.
Andrea stood there, almost expectant.
Miranda turned back toward the door and left.
The door clicked shut.
Now, only the sound of her heels echoed down the hallway.
She pressed the button for the first floor.
The elevator did not come quickly enough.
Miranda exhaled slowly, the quiet settling back into place around her—but not quite the same as before.
Unexpected, she thought.
Pleasant.
The realization lingered longer than she allowed herself to acknowledge.