Page 103 of Sleeping with the Enemy

Astoria looked up from her coffee to find Miller standing in the bedroom doorway, one bare foot raised, pointing accusingly at the Australian Shepherd sprawled on the living room rug. Willow’s tail thumped once, the stolen sock dangling from her mouth like a trophy.

“She knows what she did,” Miller said.

“She has no remorse.”

“None whatsoever.” Miller crossed to Willow and crouched down. “Give.”

Willow’s tail thumped faster. The sock stayed exactly where it was.

Astoria hid her smile behind her mug. Sunday morning in late August, and they were negotiating with a dog who was convinced sock theft was her calling.

Five years ago, Astoria couldn’t have imagined this life: the warmth, the ease, the ridiculous normalcy of it.

“Fine,” Miller told Willow. “Keep it. But when you need me to open the treat jar later, remember this moment.”

Willow celebrated her victory by racing three circles around the coffee table before flopping dramatically at Astoria’s feet.

“She’s shameless,” Astoria said.

“She learned from the best.” Miller dropped a kiss on Astoria’s head as she passed, heading for the kitchen. “More coffee?”

“Please.”

The house smelled like the ocean and the lavender soap Miller insisted on buying, even though Astoria had pointed out, repeatedly, that there were more sophisticated options. But Miller liked it, so there was lavender soap in every bathroom, and Astoria had stopped pretending that she minded.

Through the windows, the deck stretched toward the water, and Astoria could see the two chairs they had sat in last night and the wine glasses still waiting to be brought inside. They’d stayed out there until nearly midnight, talking about nothing important, and she’d fallen asleep on Miller’s shoulder while the waves broke against the rocks below.

She woke up happy most days; it still surprised her.

They separated, and Astoria headed upstairs while Miller started gathering the wine. In the closet, Astoria pulled out the blue cashmere sweater, then paused. She looked at the cream one with the cowl neck and charcoal cable knit.

“Blue,” Miller called from downstairs, like she could read Astoria’s mind through the walls and floorboards.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“You’re holding the blue one differently. I can tell from here.”

Astoria looked down. Shewasholding it differently, like it was delicate. “We’re telling them about the Green Future Foundation benefit on Friday,” she said, pulling the sweater over her head. “The art exhibition opening.”

Miller appeared in the doorway, car keys in hand. “And you’re worried they’ll feel out of place.”

“It’s a big event. People?—”

“People who are much less interesting than my moms,” Miller finished. She crossed the room and tipped Astoria’s chin up. “They’re going to be so proud of you. That’s it. That’s all they care about.”

The words landed somewhere tender. Five years, and Astoria still needed the reminder sometimes that love wasn’t conditional, that family didn’t require you to perform.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“Okay.” Miller kissed her once, quick and certain. “Now come on. We’re already going to be ten minutes late, and Harper will never let us hear the end of it.”

Downstairs, Willow was waiting by the door with her leash in her mouth, because somehow she knew it was Sunday and Sunday meant a car ride to Miller’s moms’ house to get treats.

“Yes, you’re coming,” Miller told her, clipping on the leash. “We’re all coming for family dinner.”

Astoria grabbed the wine from the counter, a pinot noir that Harper would pretend not to care about while secretly approving of it, and followed them to the car.

The house looked different in the rearview mirror. No longer was it the empty fortress she had bought five years ago. It was a home in every sense of the word.