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Andrea hums lightly.
“Right… there?”
Oh.
Miranda really hopes that Andrea isn't waiting for an answer because words are beyond her reach.
Andrea's fingers scissor inside of her and it's taking every muscle in her thighs and her hands clutching the smooth skin of Andrea's back to stay upright.
Her face is buried in Andrea's neck as she sobs and gasps, Andrea has kept her dangling at the edge for so long that she's lost control of her senses.
“Oh you're so close aren't you?” Andrea breathes. Her lips graze Miranda's ear. “You're gripping me so tightly I can hardly move at all.”
Sweat is sticking Miranda's hair to her forehead, her thighs burn, her chest, her throat, her entire body is on fire. Burning alive on the pyre of Andrea Sachs.
“You’re so hot. So wet around me.” Andrea bites Miranda’s shoulder and Miranda squirms, grinding on Andrea's palm. “You feel so good, sweetheart.”
Miranda whimpers.
She hates pet names, they're overused and meaningless, more often than not they are simply a form of manipulation.
‘You wouldn't have a problem with my mother coming to stay would you, darling?’
‘It was just flirting, honey. You're overreacting.'
Yet somehow it is so very thrilling coming from Andrea.
“That's it, sweetheart. I want to feel you coming on my fingers. Come Miranda, come hard.”
She does.
______
When she eventually stops shuddering, Miranda's thighs give out and she's dimly aware of Andrea easing her backwards onto her sweaty, tangled sheets.
She flings an arm over her eyes and pants for breath.
It still amazes her the strength with which she climaxes with Andrea. It shouldn't be a surprise anymore, after all these months but it is, it knocks her off her feet every time Andrea manages to silence her tongue and halt her brain and all she can think is how and yes and please and ohmygod.
If only she had known.
She's only just stopped scrambling to cover herself with a sheet the moment that they are done but she still needs a moment to cover her eyes.
When she removes her arm and blinks away the fuzziness, she finds Andrea next to her, propped up on her elbow, unabashedly naked and with a soft smirk on her face.
“You're much less intimidating like this."
Miranda doesn't need a mirror to know what she means. Her hair is sweaty and curling in the wrong direction and her cheeks must still be pink.
Miranda glares at her.
“Yes, well. I would thank you for keeping this revelation to yourself.”
Andrea grins and Miranda's breath catches again. She's beautiful. Especially like this, free and unreserved in Miranda's bed.
“Mm hmm. Don't worry, it's my secret.”
Andrea’s smile is sweet, Miranda's is tight.
Miranda's eyes dart away. She clears her throat but before she can speak there's a buzzing sound somewhere above her head.
“Yours?”
“Anything of mine can wait.” Miranda says.
“Might be me.” Andrea says.
She rolls her naked body over Miranda's, ignoring her squawk, and reaches for the phone on the dresser.
Miranda does tug a sheet over herself then, as Andrea's fingers fly over the keyboard of her phone.
She watches for a few moments and when one minute turns into two, and then three, a remarkable show of patience in itself, she asks “something important?”
“A few of the guys are at a bar.”
Andrea's eyes don't leave the screen and she adds nothing further.
Miranda isn't sure who these particular ‘guys’ are but she refuses to ask anything else.
“They want me to join them.” She snorts. “Demanding I join them, actually.”
“You're leaving?”
Except that.
“Did you want to go again?” Andrea looks up from where she still lies on the bed to where Miranda has propped herself against the headboard, sheet tucked under her arms. “You're usually good after two.”
Miranda feels the pink tinge her cheeks again. Andrea notices.
“Sorry. You don't like that.” Miranda doesn't meet her eyes. “It's just - I've been trying to get this editor to look at my stuff for weeks. This could be my chance. You understand, right?”
Apparently it matters not as Andrea is already out of bed and tugging on her pair of jeans.
Irritation surges through Miranda's veins.
Andrea looks up and smiles. “You taught me the importance of connections after all.”
Miranda deflates.
“Yes.”
Andrea, now dressed, hair mussed but endearing, strides to the bed.
“I had fun.”
Had she? Miranda had, at least the part where Andrea's lips had been on her skin and her brain had stopped thinking, this part leaves much to be desired. She leans forward for a kiss, closing her eyes briefly.
“See you soon,” The kiss lands on her cheek and Andrea is halfway across the room in the split second it takes to open her eyes.
Her bedroom door closes and she stares at it for a while.
The clock next to her reads 8.34pm. She sighs and swings her legs over the side of the bed, tying her robe around herself as she goes to retrieve the Book.
She takes it back to bed, feeling uncharacteristically slovenly. She eyes the set of cashmere pyjamas waiting, pressed and soft, by her side of the bed.
A perfect size six.
Huffing through her nose, she picks them up, puts them back in a drawer and pushes it closed.
________
“I was wondering if you were available this evening?”
Miranda's fingers toy with her necklace as she faces her office window, phone cradled in her neck.
“Your dinner fell through, huh?”
Miranda doesn't answer.
She hadn't had a dinner scheduled for this evening, in fact, she had wanted to make this call three days ago.
“Erm, yeah. Should be fine, I think.”
Miranda’s eyes shoot heavenward. ‘Should be fine’ is just the reception she desires when extending a dinner invitation.
“Alright. I'm here until 6, so let's say I'll be with you around 7:30, gives me time to eat first without the risk of choking.” Andrea says. There's voices in the background but Miranda can't quite make out the words. “Oh, I gotta go. See you later.”
She hangs up before Miranda can say another word and she blinks at the handset for a moment.
She resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, knowing her office isn't private.
She turns her chair and places the handset in its cradle.
She hadn't made it explicitly clear what the invitation entailed, that's all. She could phone Andrea and clarify of course. But Andrea had sounded busy.
Still, when she rises and leaves her office and she snaps “cancel the chef” , her assistant nearly leaps out of her skin.
________
Ok, so, Miranda is pretty bad at this.
She doesn't quite know how they ended up here, somewhere between running into each other at a charity event and Miranda kissing Andrea and tugging at her clothes, Andrea is muttering something about boundaries and that she “understands” and Miranda has no idea what she's talking about but her skin is so soft beneath Miranda's fingertips and there's a small cluster of freckles at her throat and every time she turns that smile on Miranda she just knows that she wants more.
Miranda is hardly a stranger to asking for, or demanding, what she wants but the words simply won't cooperate. They fly around her head, sometimes at speeds so dizzying that Miranda can do nothing but wait for them to pass, for them to tire themselves out and retreat. Sometimes they float lazily across the expanse of her busy mind, never gone, never fully adrift, just gliding along the surface and always in reach. But never do they manage to pass the threshold of her throat. They try, she tries, but they won't escape.
Sometimes it's the situation that blocks their advance, sometimes it's Andrea herself, endlessly beguiling and infuriating and intoxicating as she is. Sometimes it's simply Miranda, trying to express a sentiment that she never has, trying to convey a feeling that she doesn't fully understand and that she never, ever, expected to feel.
Either way, they dissipate to ash and mist before they are fully formed and she's watching Andrea leave again.
________
She'll show her. If words will fail her then actions will do.
She tugs at the deep green collar at her throat, it's a colour that suits her far too well, bringing her closer. She kisses Andrea.
________
Admittedly, upon reflection, that may not be the ingenious, revealing plan she had thought. But, she thinks, having somehow learned to be defensive from her own damn thoughts, it isn't like their usual kisses, the ones that are heavy and wet and hot and panting into each other's mouths, rising against each other in a prelude to what's to come.
It is soft and gentle. Miranda pulls Andrea's bottom lip into her mouth and nibbles it carefully. When she hears her sigh she is overcome with delight. This is what she wants, sweet and soft in a way that Miranda is unaccustomed to but the thought of which keeps her up at night.
When the tips of Andrea's fingers trace the shell of Miranda's ear, she huffs a breath through her nose. They glide up and down the length of her neck and settle in her hair, fingertips holding onto silver hair and cradling the back of Miranda's head like she's something precious. Miranda's breath stutters and a shiver runs down her spine, filling her with warmth.
Perfect.
Andrea's sweet, full lips slip to her jaw and nip her ear and oh god there's that fire again, flaring under her skin and threatening to consume her, that flame that's always there between them, even when it shouldn't be.
Miranda gasps, her body jerking slightly into Andrea's and she grasps her head to tug her back to her, because they aren't doing this this time, that's not what this is. She brings their lips back together but it isn't sweet anymore, it isn't particularly soft either, but it is very stirring. She sweeps into Miranda's mouth and her nails scratch her scalp and she groans like Miranda is a bad habit that she just can't break.
It seems to careen out of control quicker than Miranda can make sense of it, and she curses and screams at herself for being so pliable in Andrea's hands.
When Andrea sucks the place under her ear, making her tremble, and she pants “I need to fuck you, Miranda” all she can do is moan a little helplessly and nod a little frantically and tug Andrea on top of her.
________
Miranda sighs when the call ends and she places her phone onto the table in front of her.
It's not really within her rights to complain about Andrea's working on a Friday night. That's not to say she doesn't do so anyway but when Andrea's arched brow had almost rivalled her own she had pursed her lips and kept her thoughts to herself.
She removes her earrings. Runs her hands through what was carefully teased and sculpted hair.
As she stands she blows out the candles on the neatly set table in front of her. She slams the door behind her in exactly the way that lands the twins in hot water, except that when she does it there is no one there to berate her, there is only silence, save for the clack of her heels and the rattle of the hinges.
________
Miranda watches Andrea pull her shirt over her head and tug her hair out of the collar, it's a ritual they've perfected somehow, Andrea rising and dressing quickly and Miranda pretending not to watch from the bed.
Watching her reach for her pants, Miranda's patience with herself finally vanishes.
“Must you be up early in the morning?”
Andrea's hands falter. “Er, sort of. I have a breakfast meeting at 9 in Soho.”
Miranda hums. They both know the townhouse is much closer than Andrea's apartment.
“You could stay, you know.” She says lightly, after a moment.
Andrea's spine stiffens slightly. “I, um, thank you. But I don't have a change of clothes or anything.” She shrugs in a way that is a shade too relaxed to be believable.
“There are plenty of clothes available here.” Miranda has made sure of it. “I'm sure you could manage to find something in here or the guest room closet that will suit -”
“Miranda.” Andrea fiddles with a stray thread and watches her fingers as she does. “I, er, I don't think that's a good idea. I mean, that's not what we're doing, right?”
Miranda's eyes slowly close. No, clearly it is not.
“Of course.”
When Andrea leaves Miranda's bedroom, with a promise to text her during the week, Miranda offers a tight smile and ignores Andrea's shifting gaze.
She rubs her cheek angrily when a tear falls.
________
Miranda doesn't end it straight away. She probably should, she considers it, but she doesn't.
She tells herself that this arrangement, for lack of a better word, may be for the best. It's not as if her past forays into romantic relationships have left her anything but alone and bitter. Maybe now that she knows what this is, and where it shall remain, that she'll be able to accept what she can have.
She's wrong.
________
It's funny, how things change. A few weeks ago Miranda couldn't find the words to say that she wanted more, and now she can't find the ones to end it.
This time, however, Miranda is determined. She cannot do this anymore. She wants and she wants and she thinks it may be killing her. Perhaps that is melodramatic, she thinks, as she ponders the spread in front of her and finds no joy in its beauty.
She can accept ‘melodramatic’. She cannot abide ‘pathetic’.
When she makes her way to Andrea's apartment, she climbs the beaten stairs and thinks yet again that she really ought to call the building’s landlord and have him look at the elevator. Although, if she's no longer to visit then perhaps there's no point. She is petty enough to enjoy the small imposition on Andrea's day-to-day while she nurses a bruised and beaten heart.
When Andrea opens the door she is dressed in exquisitely tight jeans and a blouse that cuts just below her collarbones and she looks a little weary, but beautiful.
“Oh, Miranda.” Andrea smiles at Miranda and the weariness seems to abate a little. “Come in.”
Andrea closes the door behind them. Miranda eyes the space, it is truly tiny. Not so much an apartment as a room with a kitchen; living area; and bedroom that happens to have a bathroom attached to it, a couple of nearly-dead houseplants and a sheet to separate the space. She would be crazy to miss it.
“I wasn't expecting you until later.”
Miranda clears her throat.
“Yes, my schedule changed.”
It had changed because she had changed it, much to Emily's chagrin, who had paled significantly when she had been told to.
“You'll have to excuse the mess then.” Andrea chuckles. It's difficult to tell the difference between Andrea's apartment being messy or tidy.
Andrea's fingers run through her hair and Miranda spots the bandage on her upper arm.
“What is this?” She steps forward and her fingers run over the gauze.
“Oh, um it's nothing.”
“It's a bandage.”
“Yes but it's nothing, really. A stupid accident.”
“Andrea.”
Andrea rolls her eyes. “The guy I was interviewing got a little spooked. It's barely a graze, the bandage is an overreaction.”
“An overreaction by whom?”
Andrea sighs. “The paramedic.”
Miranda's pulse accelerates. Hundreds of images pouring into her mind, knife-wielding lunatics rushing at Andrea, hooded ghouls following her in the night. Shouts and cries and screams and tears and blood.
“Well, paramedics are known for that. Their tendency to panic is what endears them to the role.” Miranda snipes acidly, snatching her hand back. “You're reckless.”
“I'm careful. The job has risks -”
“Which you take no care to mitigate.” Miranda hisses.
She turns away and clenches her jaw. She hates this, the thought of Andrea in danger. She could protect her. Shelter her, if allowed. She would relish it.
Arms wrap around her waist. Miranda remains stiff as a board.
“I am fine.” A kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be careful.” Andrea nuzzles into her neck. “I'll be so very careful…” She dots light kisses up and down Miranda's neck who can't help but arch into it.
Belatedly, Miranda remembers why she has come.
She pulls out of Andrea's hold, steps away and turns around, clearing her throat.
“I'm glad you're here.” Andrea murmurs and begins unbuttoning her shirt, slowly, while looking at Miranda.
Lace.
Deep grey lace and pale flesh spilling over the top.
That smile that's warm but cheeky, a hint of mischief and power in it. The one that got under Miranda's skin long before she ever acknowledged what this longing was.
Miranda swallows.
“Andrea, we -”
Andrea's mouth descends on hers before she manages another word. She tugs at the belt loops of Miranda's suit and slides her hands over Miranda's ass.
“You're all I thought about all day.”
Andrea kisses the dip of Miranda's collarbone.
“I - we shouldn’t-” Miranda croaks.
Andrea's hand cups Miranda's neck and she presses their foreheads together.
“I want to feel you.” Andrea breathes. "I need this."
Miranda inhales sharply and Andrea kisses her cheeks, her nose, the lines around her eyes that she hates to look at, then captures her lips again.
“Do you want to know what I was thinking about?”
Andrea palms her breast and her thumb brushes over her nipple.
“I - y-yes.”
God help her, she does. She wants to know what Andrea needs. She wants to be what Andrea needs. Even if she hates her a little bit for it all the same.
“I think I should show you.”
She turns Miranda around and gently pushes her to lean forward on the kitchen counter. Her fingers find the fastening of her pants, undoing them and pushing down.
Andrea kneels behind her. Kisses her thighs and nudges her legs wider. The nip to her inner thigh makes her gasp and lean forward, her stomach biting into the surface edge.
“I thought about having you just like this.” She licks Miranda's sticky thighs. “I thought about how good you would look, spread open and waiting.” Andrea pulls down Miranda's damp underwear.
Andrea parts her and breathes into her flesh and Miranda bites her lip to trap the whimper in her throat.
She senses Andrea sitting back and tries to squirm around, to hide, but her pants are around her legs and she's trapped by Andrea's hands on her thighs.
“I thought about this, Miranda.” Her fingers glide up her thighs and down again. “I thought all day long about how pretty your pussy is.”
Miranda blushes furiously but there's a rush of moisture between her legs.
“So pretty and pink for me.” A finger runs over her folds and she trembles. “Swollen and needing me.”
Miranda aches.
Andrea's tongue plunges inside of her and she cries out.
“Oh!”
Andrea sweeps and circles, devouring her and Miranda writhes and shudders, clutching the edge of the kitchen counter.
“Oh, Andrea…”
The tongue eventually retreats and two fingers slide in, Miranda clenching around them as she moans.
“You needed this too, didn't you?”
Her tongue swipes through her again as her fingers twist.
“Oh, god… I, please -”
She's heaving and groaning, her breasts pressed painfully onto the surface.
“Does your pussy need me?”
“Oh, oh. I can't - oh, god”
“Tell me, beautiful. Tell me.”
Miranda sobs and gasps, trembling against the counter.
“Y-yes… please!”
It's a high-pitched whine, alarming her with its volume and Miranda presses her forehead to the smooth surface, a softer chant of “please, please, please” falling from her lips.
She isn't sure what she's begging for anymore.
_________
She does manage to break it off, eventually. Looking back, she isn't even sure how. She doesn't recall the words she used or how she began or even the circumstance that led to it.
But she recalls Andrea's nod. And that, as they say, is that.
She returns to her life as it was previous to Andrea, previous to hot kisses and really good sex and a low beat heartache, although that last one is still sort of there.
_________
She sees her again four months later, across the room and chatting to a group of people Miranda doesn't know.
Wasn't the guest list supposed to be extremely limited? Nevermind that this is the busiest city on Earth. It shouldn't be difficult to avoid a single person. She almost laughs when she realises that there is, in fact, someone she'd like to run into less than Stephen.
She will learn later that their crossing of paths is not a coincidence.
She watches her, surreptitiously from across the large function room, not for long enough for those surrounding her to notice but enough for it ache a little to see a wide smile, in full burgundy lips aimed at her companion, to see her toss back her head and laugh.
She notes Andrea's eyes surveying the room and averts her gaze when she senses they may meet. She turns away, and refocuses on the gentleman in front of her whose name she has quite forgotten but who has a faint prickly aroma that claws its way up her nostrils. She senses that her 30 minutes here are swiftly drawing to a close.
When she hears a gentle throat-clearing behind her, her spine stiffens.
“Good evening, Miranda.”
She turns slowly, her I-have-to-be-nice-in-public smile firmly in place.
“Andrea.”
She makes sure her voice is friendly enough, although far from inviting. It's harder than she thought it would be.
“I, um, I just wanted to say hi.” Andrea says.
“Hm. And now you have.” Miranda says.
She spots a woman over Andrea's shoulder who is trying, and failing, to subtly gain Miranda's attention. Miranda knows her to be a vacuous bore. She moves to meet her anyway.
“You look beautiful.”
Her eyes slide back to Andrea, nostrils flaring, who seems to realise that this was the wrong thing to say.
“Thank you." She murmurs coolly and moves past.
“Wait-”
A hand circles Miranda's wrist as she goes to pass, hidden from view but only if it ends soon.
“What are you doing?” Miranda hisses and it's impressive really, how she can keep her face immobile yet fill the words with enough scorn to burn.
“I need to speak with you.”
“No, thank you.”
She tugs her hand free but Andrea's eyes find hers and they are full of things Miranda hasn't seen there before.
“Please. Give me 10 minutes. Just 10 minutes. Then you'll never see me again.”
She's not sure which of those things is worse.
Against her better judgement, against the screaming in her head, she wilts.
“Fine. The townhouse. Do not be late.”
She glides away without looking back.
________
She stays later than intended. Partly out of trepidation of the conversation coming and partly because she wants to keep Andrea waiting.
When she arrives home she spots Andrea loitering awkwardly on her street corner as Roy pulls up. She ushers her inside without a word, turning to hang her shawl in the foyer closet.
She walks into her kitchen, trusting Andrea to follow.
When she turns she sees Andrea shuffling her feet from side to side and suddenly it's unbearable, even though the silence has lasted only a moment.
“You wished to speak with me. So speak.”
“Right, yes, I, um, I suppose I don't know where to start.” She lets out half a laugh, one without an ounce of humour in it.
Miranda simply stares.
Andrea's eyes close in resignation and Miranda, who cannot understand why, scowls.
“Ok. I’ve been a complete asshat and I'm sorry.”
Miranda's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Excuse me?”
Andrea takes a shallow breath and runs a hand through her hair. “I didn't see it at the time - I do now - I was such an ass. And, I , um, I thought it was just sex. I-I thought that's what we were doing, what we were supposed to be doing, what we had agreed on. So, I didn't let myself go any further than that, because I couldn't. And I think I hurt you. And I'm sorry.”
There is a pause while Miranda unravels and digests the words. Andrea's eyes meet hers and they are huge and beautiful and sad.
Miranda looks away. She will not be pitied.
“Your apology is unnecessary, Andrea.” Miranda sniffs. “It was just sex.”
“Please - I mean it - I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for how I treated you.”
Miranda's hands clench into fists. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want Andrea's apologies, they hurt nearly as much as her apathy.
“I didn't think you wanted more. I swear, I didn't know.” Andrea pleads.
She wants to feign indifference. She wants to tell Andrea that she is imagining things, that she is deluded and obnoxious for thinking Miranda cares, for believing she has the power to wound her.
Miranda is so tired of telling Andrea things she doesn't mean.
Instead, she purses her lips, opens her eyes, and mutters, “are you some kind of idiot?”
She expects anger, wants it really, but Andrea just nods sadly, huffs a less than halfhearted laugh. “Yes. I would have to be. An utter moron.”
It dawns on Miranda then and her eyes narrow “and how exactly did you come to this epiphany, Andrea?”
Miranda watches as she looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Um. It may have been a somewhat guided epiphany.”
There's a pause, then,
“I will murder Nigel.” Miranda says flatly.
“What? No, not Nigel,” Andrea pauses. “Although… that would explain the last time I spoke to him"
“Then who -?” Her eyes close as she realises.
“She didn't say anything really, she just -”
Miranda waves a hand and cuts her off. She absolutely refuses to think about what exactly Emily has managed to piece together. She didn't think it possible to be any more humiliated by Andrea Sachs.
Silence descends on them and Miranda finds that she has no idea what to say. She wasn't expecting this, she has no idea what to do with it or even if she should.
“I was an ass.”
“Yes.”
“Miranda -”
“What is it you would like me to say?” Miranda snaps.
“I don't know.” Andrea sighs.
“Why are you here?”
Andrea swallows. “I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I wanted you to know.”
“You wanted to clear your conscience.”
“No! Well, maybe a little.” She runs another hand through her hair which now looks completely unkempt. “God, I didn't think it could possibly be anything other than sex for you. I thought it's what you wanted.”
Miranda looks at her, entirely confused, and afraid she's showing it.
“I didn't dare dream that you could want more. I, I thought that with our history, the divorce, your girls, your whole damn life, that that was all you would ever want from me.”
Miranda begins walking back to the front door. Andrea trails behind, still speaking.
“So I did everything I could to keep the distinction. I thought it was for the best. I, um..”
Andrea breaks off and Miranda braces herself for something she suspects may just finish her.
“I thought it would make the moment that you walked away easier… and I was wrong.”
She whispers the last part, as they reach the foyer, her eyes wide and Miranda feels like she cannot breathe.
“It still hurt like hell.” Andrea says quietly, shaking her head. “I miss you.”
No.
No.
She will not be this person.
“You should go, now.” Miranda gestures to the door, ignoring the catch in her voice.
“I'll never stop being sorry, Miranda.”
“I'd like you to leave.” Miranda says, a little urgently.
Her heart is thundering in her chest, her hands shaking. She needs to go, right now.
Before Miranda can do something foolish. She has been the fool too many times.
Andrea ignores her and steps forward. “I'll never deserve a second chance with you, I know that, but if for some insane reason you think you could give me one anyway I swear it'll be different.” Andrea's eyes plead with Miranda’s and she cannot bear it, her eyes dart around the foyer wildly. “I'll do everything differently. I'll do it the way I should have.”
Andrea's eyes are lined with silver and Miranda is furious. It's everything she had wanted, these words from Andrea. She's waited months to hear them.
But it's too late.
She's moved on. She isn't doing this again.
Miranda swallows, shaking her head ever so softly but enough for her traitorous forelock to fall over her eye.
Andrea nods, utterly dejected. She wipes her eyes and Miranda squeezes her own shut.
She hears Andrea fumble with the door, then stop.
Suddenly Miranda's hand is clasped in Andrea's and they are cheek to cheek, Andrea's hair tickles Miranda's skin and the scent of her fills her lungs.
It would be so easy to fall into her again.
Andrea presses their cheeks together and even though she's being more gentle than Miranda ever remembers, she can feel the heave of her chest and the way her fingers cling to Miranda's.
“I can't believe I lost the chance to love you before I even knew I had it.” Andrea whispers, voice filled with sorrow, with the same deep wanting that has tortured Miranda for longer than she'd like to say.
Miranda rasps, “Andrea.”
Her fingers twitch with the desire to grab her and cling on and then she is alone.
_________
She isn't going to do it.
She will not contact Andrea Sachs.
_________
When they finally go on a date, after coffee and texting and lunch, Andrea won't tell her where they are going but she tells Miranda to wear something warm and comfortable. Miranda raises an eyebrow and Andrea grins cheekily “I'd recommend flat shoes.”
A picnic.
It takes her a second to realise that the, highly stereotypical, red checkered blanket under a copse of trees, is for them but Andrea's anxious, hopeful smile is clearer than the candles.
Miranda could complain about being forced to eat dinner on the ground of all places but Andrea keeps looking at her with a nervous, tremulous kind of hope, and she has laid out blankets and cushions and wine. There are battery powered fairy lights in the trees and Roy is carefully standing guard somewhere behind them to make sure they remain completely alone.
When Miranda shivers Andrea fishes a scarf from her purse and ties it around her neck, fingers brushing her jaw and it's ludicrous that she can still make her blush.
“I'm so glad we're doing this.” says Andrea.
“I, yes. As am I.” The light from the candles and the trees pick up the flecks of auburn in her hair and the flush of her cheeks.
"You're staring at me.”
“Yes. I mean, you've seen you, right?”
Absurd, given Miranda's current attire. Miranda fights a smile.
“And-and, now I'm talking and I'm saying words that are smooth and endearing and not clumsy at all.”
“Hmm. You need to work on that.”
She doesn't have to make it too easy for Andrea after all.
“Sure thing.” Andrea nods and leans forward, although there was very little space left between them already. “I'll get right on that.” She whispers onto Miranda's lips, and her heart stops beating altogether.
This time, when Andrea cups her cheek and smooths over Miranda's cheekbone, and their lips brush, it isn't a prelude at all, it is a symphony.