Chapter 26
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.”
They both stopped. Miller gestured for Astoria to go first, but Astoria shook her head.
“You,” Astoria said. “Please.”
Miller looked down at her hands, then back up. No more hiding, no more running.
“I need to tell you something I should have said before I walked out of your house.” She kept her voice steady, even though her pulse was racing. “I'm in love with you, Astoria. I have been since…I don't even know when. The night you told me about Valerie. Maybe before that.”
Astoria went very still as the coffee shop sounds faded to nothing.
“I know I hurt you,” Miller said. “I know walking away made you think Valerie was right about you. That you're too difficult, too much, impossible to love.” She shook her head. “But you're not. You're the easiest person I've ever loved. The hard part was staying away.”
Astoria's eyes were bright. Her throat moved as she swallowed.
“I love you too,” she said, her voice rough.
Miller's breath caught. The words she'd needed to hear, spoken plainly, without hesitation.
“I should have said it then,” Astoria continued. “I should have fought harder when you left. I was too scared.”
“We were both scared.”
“I don't want to be scared anymore.”
Miller turned her hand over, lacing their fingers together. “Then don't be. I'm not going anywhere.”
Neither of them moved to pull away. Miller's thumb found the ridge of Astoria's knuckle, traced it absently.
“What do we do now?” Miller asked.
Astoria’s mouth curved into a small smile. “I don't want to sit in a coffee shop anymore.”
Miller’s eyebrows raised slightly. “What do you want?”
Astoria’s thumb traced a slow circle against Miller’s palm. “I want to take you home. I want to kiss you without worrying who's watching. I want to start this the right way.”
Miller’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Then take me home.”
Astoria stood, still holding Miller's hand. She left a twenty on the table—far too much for two coffees and a modest tip—and led Miller toward the door.
Outside, the August sun was warm on Miller's face. Astoria's hand stayed wrapped around hers as they walked to the parking lot.
“Follow me?” Astoria said, her voice lilting up.
Miller nodded. “Always.”
Astoria’s smile reached her eyes, and Miller slid into her car and followed her home.
The drive to Cliffside wound along the coastal road, leaving the main parts of Phoenix Ridge behind. Miller kept Astoria’s silver Audi in sight, her hands steady on the wheel, even as her pulse refused to settle.
The last time she’d made this drive, she’d been rehearsing how to end things and walk away when every part of her wanted to stay.
Today was different. Today, she was choosing to stay.
Astoria's house emerged from the coastal pines like something out of an architectural magazine. It was all clean lines and glass, perched on the cliff's edge as if daring the ocean to challenge it. Miller pulled in behind Astoria and cut the engine, taking a moment to breathe.
Astoria was already stepping out of her car and waiting for her. The afternoon wind caught her hair, and she tucked it behind her ear, a small, human gesture that made her breath catch.
“Are you okay?” Astoria asked as Miller approached.
“Yeah.” Miller looked up at the house. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s big.” Astoria’s mouth twisted slightly. “Too big for one person, probably.”
Astoria unlocked the front door and led Miller inside.
She’d been here once before, but she hadn’t taken the time to soak up the space and really look at it.
This time, she slowly drank in the space.
It was exactly what Miller had expected, yet also, simultaneously, nothing like it at all.
There were high ceilings, pale wooden floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the ocean like a living painting.
Everything was immaculate and expensive.
And it was utterly empty.
It had furniture, of course. There was a long sectional in cream linen, a glass coffee table, and a dining table set that looked like it had never been used.
It was just…empty of life. There were no photographs on the walls or books stacked on any surfaces.
It reminded Miller of a showroom, not a home, like no one actually lived here, just passed through occasionally on their way to somewhere else.
Miller thought of her own apartment in the Heights with its cluttered bookshelves and mismatched mugs and the quilt her grandmother had hand-stitched draped over the couch. This house had none of that. Everywhere she looked, there was no warmth, no history, no evidence of the woman who lived here.
“Can I get you something?” Astoria asked. “Water, wine…?”
“I’m fine.” Miller turned slowly. “Astoria, this place is…”
“Soulless?” Astoria offered, a dry edge to her voice. “You can say it.”
“I was going to say muted.”
“That too.” Astoria set her keys on the counter. “I bought it right after I filed for divorce to get a fresh start.” She looked around as if seeing it through Miller's eyes. “I kept meaning to make it feel like mine, but”—she shrugged—"it never seemed worth the effort.”
Miller wandered toward the living room, her eyes moving across the sparse walls, and then she stopped.
Above the fireplace, there was a painting.
It was the only real color in the space: vibrant blues and greens that seemed to pulse with life against the more subdued background.
In the painting were water lilies in a blue and violet pond, framed by what looked like trailing willow branches.
It was gentle, dreamy, and expressive, the epitome of Impressionist art.
There was something intimate and private about it, despite it hanging so prominently on the wall.
“That’s stunning,” Miller said.
Astoria came to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “It’s called L’amour en Silence by Lélia Pissarro.”
“Love in Silence,” Miller translated quietly.
“I bought it eight years ago at a fine art auction in Paris.” Astoria’s voice had shifted into something softer now.
“Valerie thought it was too bright and gaudy. She wanted me to put it in storage and hang up something more sophisticated.” She paused.
“But I refused. It was the only thing I refused her on for a long time.”
Miller looked at the painting, then at Astoria. “Why this one?”
Astoria was quiet for a moment. Her eyes stayed on the canvas, tracing the blues and violets and greens like she was reading something written there.
“Because it’s how I felt,” she said finally. “For years, I loved in silence, wanting things I couldn’t say out loud. Keeping everything”—she pressed her hand flat against her sternum—”here, where no one could see it.”
Miller’s throat tightened.
“I used to stand in front of it at night, after Valerie was asleep, just looking at it,” Astoria continued.
“I had to remind myself that I still felt, even if I couldn’t show those feelings.
I needed to remind myself that there was still color somewhere, even if the rest of my life was”—she gestured vaguely—”this. ”
Miller reached out and took Astoria’s hand. Astoria’s fingers curled around hers, holding tight.
“You don’t have to love in silence anymore,” Miller said.
Astoria turned to face her. This close, Miller could see the faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the slight tremble in her breath. The ice queen was nowhere to be found. There was just Astoria, open and vulnerable, more beautiful than Miller had ever seen her.
“I know,” Astoria whispered. “That’s the terrifying part.”
Miller closed the distance between them.
The kiss was slow and intentional, nothing like the desperate, stolen moments in five-star hotel rooms, the collision of two hungry people who knew they were running out of time. This was something else entirely: a new beginning.
Astoria’s hands came up to frame Miller’s face, and Miller’s fingers slid into Astoria’s hair. Miller let her eyes fall closed and sink into the warmth of Astoria’s mouth and the soft sound she made when Miller’s fingers found the curve of her waist.
When they finally broke apart, their foreheads touching, Miller’s skin was buzzing and she was breathing hard.
“Hi,” she managed.
Astoria laughed. “Hi.”
“I’ve missed you.”