9.

"Andrea? What are you doing?"

Andy yelped in surprise and almost dropped the piping bag she was holding. She carefully placed the bag on the table and looked up.

"Umm…baking?"

"Baking? At two in the morning?"

A rather cranky looking – and sounding - Miranda Priestly, was standing in the kitchen door, hands on hips, lips pursed. She was wearing lavender silk pajamas and an almost well-worn grey robe. Her face was free of make-up, hair slightly mussed and despite her tense posture she oozed sex appeal. Their eyes met and all at once the temperature increased to a level that was almost unbearable. Breaking the connection Andy stepped to the window and cracked it open. She needed to cool down. She did not want to risk a foolish move, like grabbing Miranda and kissing the annoyance off her face. She was drawn to the editor, there was no denying that and it was also clear that whatever force laid behind that would consume them both.

"I…you left without a word and I couldn't…I mean…I just got restless and I…did I wake you up?"

Andy knew she was rambling but she couldn't help it. After her confession, their evening ended with the wordless departure of Miranda. Andy swore she saw a flash of shock on her face but she might as well have imagined it. Her tentative "Miranda, please let me explain." had bounced back after hitting the wall the older woman built, literally in seconds, in front of her eyes. Andy spent a couple hours on the couch, staring at the fireplace. The monotone dance of the yellow-orange flames were supposed to calm her but it didn't work. She heard Miranda moving around, a constant reminder of their ruined Christmas Eve and any possible relationship. All of her relaxation technics failed, so she called in the last option. Baking.

"You have a rather extensive, awesome pantry here, you know." Flattery, thought Andy. Yeah, flattery might work.

"And apparently a rather loud stand-mixer, as well, you know." came the sarcastic answer. "Also, you, smacking the trays on the table, a hundred times did not help either."

Andy winced. Oh crap. She didn't think of that.

"Macarons." She explained.

"Macarons?" repeated Miranda. She clearly didn't follow what macarons had to do with banging around the kitchen like a mad woman.

"To pop any trapped air bubbles. I have to rap the tray hard against the counter. Not the table."

"Very important detail. Now I feel much better, that you did not hit the table Andrea."

An uncomfortable silence fell on them. Andy felt tearing up and one little drop sneaked out before she could prevent it. She didn't want to cry, not in front of anyone and definitely not in front of Miranda, again. The woman already thought the worst of her, she would think that Andy was fishing for sympathy. She shut her eyes, squeezing them tightly to keep the tears at bay, but the traitors had other ideas. They were flowing freely down her face, accompanied by a pitiful sob.

"No, no. None of that, Andrea." Gentle fingers wiped the tears away and she was pulled into a hug. Miranda held the younger woman and let out a sigh. Miranda's feelings confused her, she felt out of her element. Given the circumstances, she should have been angry even furious, but oddly all she felt was concern. Concern and something else she didn't dare to name just yet, because she was Miranda Priestly. And Miranda Priestly, the Queen of Fashion, the Devil in Prada, the Ice Queen, most definitely didn't fall in love with girls half her age.

"Why don't we start over? Let's finish up here and then we talk." Miranda said.

Andrea nodded and stepped back from the embrace. She gave a weak smile to Miranda, who smiled back. That was all the encouragement Andy needed, the near future looked much brighter.

"So, macarons?" Miranda seemingly changed her mind on finishing up, she sat down instead and eyed the confection.

"I remembered that you were fond of them. I was lucky, most people don't have extra fine almond flour in their pantry."

"Cassidy is gluten sensitive. She loves baking though. Hence we have every imaginable substitute for wheat flour. I believe in her itinerary she dedicated a whole day to baking cookies."

Miranda picked up a macaron and took a small bite. She groaned in pleasure, when the unique flavors burst in her mouth.

"This is delightful Andrea. Coffee mousse?

"Yes. White chocolate, cardamom macaron, filled with expresso mousse and raspberry-basil jam."

Miranda took another bite and then another. The macaron was out of this world. Andrea managed to marry all her favorites into one extraordinary flavor bomb. No doubt these macarons were made with one purpose, to make her happy.

"Thank you Andrea."

"Sometimes I'm not good with words, Miranda. This is my way to show you, that I care. I created something for you. Just for you. I want you to know that I have nothing to do with Edna, her business or the scandal."

"I know."

"You know? How?"

Miranda popped another macaron and gave Andy a wistful look.

"You, darling do not have a malicious bone in your body. I don't believe that you are capable of hurting others intentionally. However," Miranda grabbed another macaron, "we still have to talk. I don't want secrets or misunderstandings between us."

"Just like that? I mean I dropped a really explosive bomb on you…"

"No, it's not just like that, Andrea. Maybe it's the sugar rush. Or maybe I am the biggest fool of all and making a huge mistake in trusting you. Don't you see? I'm scared. I don't remember being this frightened before. Ever!"