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Andy darted inside and shut the front door behind herself with a groan, closing her eyes and slumping back against the reassuringly solid timber. It had been almost three weeks now since their relationship had become public and despite Miranda’s repeated assurances that the tabloid news would quickly lose interest, the frenzy outside the townhouse showed no signs of abating. The last thing she needed after a day as long as the one she’d just had was to fight her way through a crowd of cameras and intrusive questions.
The slight scuff of feet across tiles startled her out of her thoughts and she opened her eyes to find Miranda watching her from the kitchen doorway, looking almost guilty. The look disappeared as soon as she’d seen it, replaced by a smile which was just a fraction too wide for a Friday evening at the end of another trying week. She didn’t have a chance to question it, however, as Miranda stepped forward and leant in for a soft kiss, one hand smoothing Andy’s shirt in the same unconscious gesture with which she habitually fiddled with her necklace.
“Honey, I’m home,” Andy quipped, feeling some of the tension finally leave her shoulders.
Miranda seemed to hide a wince at the comment, though, and Andy grew more concerned. Had she overstepped? They hadn’t really talked about the possibility of her moving into the townhouse officially, but she already spent most of her time here and kept enough of her belongings here that she more than had a foot in the door—since the news had broken, she hadn’t even been back to her own flat once, and neither Miranda nor the girls had shown any sign that she was intruding. Had she missed something, or was it the pet name Miranda had objected to, even if it hadn’t been serious?
“You’re timing is perfect, dinner is just ready to serve,” said Miranda a little brusquely, leading the way back towards the kitchen. “I’ll make you a plate.”
“Be right there,” Andy called after her, making short work of unloading her jacket and satchel. She was absolutely starving, but resolved to talk to Miranda properly later; something was clearly bothering the editor.
“Hi Andy,” Caroline said from her seat at the island they ate at most nights. Beside her, Cassidy waved in greeting, seemingly determined to down her juice in one.
“Hi guys. Thanks for waiting for me, this smells amazing.” She’d quickly come to appreciate Cara’s cooking, and this marinated chicken dish was one of her favourites.
“So, how did the math test go?” she asked after her first couple of bites.
“Fine, I think,” said Cassidy around a mouthful of broccoli. Andy saw Miranda roll her eyes slightly but she didn’t comment.
Caroline just shrugged, looking uncertain—she wasn’t as confident at math, but usually ended up doing almost as well as Cassidy anyway. The twins didn’t need any prompting to keep the conversation flowing—they quickly moved on from school work (boring) to the complicated social politics which governed their classmates at Dalton. Andy quickly lost track of the names involved in the latest drama and just focused on making supportive and dismayed noises at the appropriate times, leaving it to Miranda to ask the follow-up questions.
By the time they’d finished eating, Andy was fighting back yawns and Miranda seemed to be watching her more often than not with an indescribable look in her eyes, though she never managed to catch her in the act. The older woman sent the twins upstairs with the promise that they could play a couple of rounds of their favourite video game before bedtime, then set about collecting the dishes. Andy stretched and then stood to help, but Miranda tried to wave her away.
“You’re clearly tired, just go and relax. This won’t take long, I’ll be up in a minute.”
“We’ll get it done faster together,” Andy countered, beginning to load the dishwasher.
“You really don’t have to do that,” Miranda said, sounding too agitated to be talking merely about the dishes. Andy looked up to find Miranda standing still, a white-knuckled grasp on the chopping board in her hands.
“Hey, hey, hey,” she said, moving closer and gently prying the board out of Miranda’s grip then taking her hands in her own. “I don’t mind, really.”
“I can do it without you,” Miranda insisted, avoiding her gaze.
“You don’t have to.” Andy craned her neck, trying to meet Miranda’s eyes. “What’s this really about, huh?”
“I just…” Miranda pulled away, straightening into the intimidating posture she usually employed at Runway, a protective reflex when she was feeling vulnerable. “I would understand if you wanted to return to your flat for a while.”
“Oh.” Whatever Andy had expected, that wasn’t it. “Is that what you want?”
Miranda blinked and frowned as if she’d said something absurd. “No.”
“Then I won’t.”
“I would understand if you wanted to,” Miranda repeated.
“Why would I want to, why would you think that?” Andy asked, worried about what she’d done to give Miranda that impression.
“I know it’s… a lot to deal with, having the press outside every day. You didn’t sign up for this, and it’s lasting much longer than I’d expected.” That guilty look had returned, and Miranda was wringing her hands together in an uncharacteristic gesture.
“You’re right, I didn’t choose to be mobbed by the paparazzi every morning and night, but nor did you. Nobody who had any idea what it’s actually like would ever choose that, it sucks.” Andy wrapped Miranda’s hands in her own, stilling their nervous movement. “I chose to be here, though. I chose you. The girls as well, I choose all of you. I’ll keep on choosing you even if the vultures outside never leave, okay?”
Miranda didn’t reply, searching Andy’s face for something. After a long moment, she let out a soft sigh and slumped forward against Andy’s chest, trapping their arms between them in an awkward almost-hug.
“Okay,” she mumbled, muffled against Andy’s shirt.
“It’ll take more than a few reporters to get rid of me, you know.” Andy extricated her arms with some difficulty and wrapped them firmly around Miranda.
“Okay,” Miranda said, then she added more forcefully, “calling them reporters is an insult to the profession in general and to you in particular.”
“Okay,” Andy laughed, relieved the editor was back to her usual sharp self. She held Miranda for a moment longer, then gently stepped back. “Come on, the rest of this can wait until the morning. There’s still time for me to let the girls win at Mario Kart.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “We all know you couldn’t beat them even if you wanted to.”
“I could if I wanted to,” Andy argued with a grin. “I choose to lose.”
“You do say the most ridiculous things, darling,” Miranda said dryly. She made no attempt to hide her smile though, and didn’t say anything when Andy finished the race in last place once again.