Page 108 of Sleeping with the Enemy

“Think you can stand another fifty years of this?” Astoria asked.

“Of Sunday dinners and Willow stealing my socks?”

“And me.”

Miller cupped Astoria’s face, brushing her thumb across her cheekbone that wasn’t as sharp as five years ago. “Especially you.”

They stood there on the deck overlooking the ocean, the same ocean that had witnessed everything: the walls Astoria had built, the person Miller had discovered herself to be, the love they'd fought for and almost lost and chose again every single day.

Crickets sang and waves broke against the shore. Above them, the stars twinkled in the velvet sky. And in the house behind them, Willow was already snoring on the couch, no doubt dreaming of tomorrow's stolen socks, completely certain of her place in this home, this family, this life they'd built together.

“Come on,” Miller said, reaching for Astoria’s hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

They walked inside together, and Miller flipped off the porch light, leaving just the moonlight streaming through the windows. Astoria’s hand was warm and familiar in hers.

In the bedroom, they undressed without urgency, falling into bed together. Astoria tucked herself against Miller’s side, her breath evening out almost immediately. Miller lay awake a little longer, feeling the weight of Astoria’s arm across her waist.

Five years ago, she’d walked into a mediation expecting to meet a villain. Now, she got to spend the rest of her life with the woman of her dreams.

Miller pressed a kiss to Astoria’s hair and closed her eyes.

Tomorrow, they’d wake up and do it all over again: the coffee, the dog, the ordinary magic of their shared life together.

She couldn’t wait.