Page 97 of Sleeping with the Enemy

They stood for another moment, neither moving to leave. Astoria wanted to reach out and touch her, to close the distance between them and stop pretending she didn't ache with how much she'd missed her. But they were standing in public, infront of reporters, in the aftermath of a verdict that had made headlines. Some things would have to wait.

“Miller.” She said the name just to feel it in her mouth. “What you did on Monday, testifying like that.”

“Yeah?”

“No one's ever stood up in public and risked something real for me.”

Miller's expression softened into something that made Astoria's breath catch. “You're worth it,” she said simply. “You always were.”

“Friday,” Astoria said again, because she didn't trust herself to say anything else.

“Friday.” Miller smiled, that genuine warmth that had undone Astoria from the very beginning. “I'll see you then.”

She turned and walked away, down the courthouse steps and toward the street. Astoria watched her go—the straight line of her shoulders, the confident stride, the way she glanced back once before disappearing around the corner.

Gerald appeared at her side. “Ready?”

Astoria took a breath. The air still tasted like summer, heavy and ripe, but something had shifted. The season was ending. Something new was beginning.

“Yes,” she said. “Let's go.”

26

Chapter 26: Miller

The coffee shop on Oceanview was half-empty at almost two o'clock on a Friday afternoon. Miller had chosen a table near the back, away from the windows, and she'd already rearranged the sugar packets twice.

She was early. Fifteen minutes early, actually, which meant fifteen minutes of sitting here convincing herself not to rehearse what she wanted to say. Every version she'd practiced in her head sounded wrong—too formal, too desperate, too much like a closing argument.

The truth was simpler…but far scarier.

I love you.

Three little words that she’d been carrying around for weeks, and they still felt enormous in her chest.

The brass bell above the door chimed, and Miller's hands went still on her coffee cup. Astoria stepped inside, scanning the sparse room until her gaze landed on Miller. She wore a cream blouse and dark trousers, her hair loose around her shoulders. She was softer than Miller had ever seen her in public.

She crossed the room and slid into the chair across from Miller.

“Hi,” Astoria said.

“Hi.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Two days had passed since they had talked on the courtroom steps, and it’d been seven weeks since Miller had walked out of Astoria's house, shattering them both.

“The scones are still terrible,” Miller said. “In case you were wondering.”

Astoria’s mouth curved. “I wasn’t, but thank you for the warning.”

“I got you a coffee. Black, no sugar. I remembered.”

“You remembered.” Astoria wrapped her fingers around the cup, something shining in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Silence settled between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it felt weighted and full of everything they hadn’t yet said.

Miller took a breath. “Astoria?—”

“Miller.”