No Other Silly Girl Need Apply

By Gun Brooke

Part Eight

If I had somehow entertained the idea that the next morning would be all lovey-dovey, I was sorely mistaken. I'm not saying there wasn't a subtle difference in how Miranda behaved, but she did act as if last night's soaring passion hadn't happen. Then again, she did make me toast and brought me a steaming, center-of-the-sun hot mug of coffee—then she stopped, tilted her head as if chasing some distant memory and then turned to fetch some milk and sugar.

"You take two lumps, don't you, Andrea?" she asked, her voice, well, not soft, exactly, but very kind.

"I do," I replied and tried to sound casual. I failed miserably of course as a huge grin split my face. She had noticed that I don't like my coffee quite that hot, and she remembered the sugar.

"You are aware that processed sugar goes straight to your hips, don't you?" Miranda asked, pulling me down to earth with a thud.

"I do." Glowering, I decided to retaliate. "The very same hips you worshiped intently last night, if I recall."

She stopped with the morning paper half open, her lips parted and her cheeks turning a lovely pink. I felt victorious and idly chewed on my toast, which of course held more processed sugar in the form of apricot marmalade.

"I worship them the way they look now. I do not wish for you to eat unhealthily, Andrea." Miranda whipped the paper fully open and emerged herself in the news.

Of course, now it was I who became flustered and at a loss for words. In two sentences Miranda had acknowledged that she worshipped my hips—and hopefully more of me—and that it mattered to her how healthy I was. This made me think of the damn birthmark and I put down the rest of the toast. I suddenly had no appetite.

"I didn't mean for you to stop eating altogether," Miranda said and turned a page.

"I—I'm okay. Not so hungry." I could feel the tug of the stitches with every breath and found it amazing that I hadn't felt them while making love with Miranda last night. Now they stung and I just wanted to rip them out and forget about the whole biopsy.

"Andrea?" Miranda put the paper down. "What is the matter?" She frowned and pushed back her stool from the kitchen counter.

"Nothing." I could hear how unconvincing that sounded and winced at the sight of Miranda's darkening eyes.

"Clearly there's something." Miranda stood and moved to my side. She smelled so good and I wished I could bury myself in her and not care about anything else for a very long time. "Talk to me."

"The stiches hurt," I said, my throat aching. "It reminded me about the biopsy. It's hard to wait. I mean, I'm probably blowing this totally out of proportion and it's going to make me look so ridiculous when it turns out to be just a silly mold. Right?" I blinked hard several times to get a grip before I looked at her.

She was pale and her ice blue eyes were not icy, but a dark and stormy turquoise. "I'm worried to, Andrea." She spoke quietly, her voice sounding like it might break. "I do think it will turn out to be just a 'silly mold', but I too fear that it might be something worse." She cupped my shoulders. "Even if the risk of that is miniscule, I want you to know that there is no way I'm letting you go. I will move heaven and earth to find you the best doctors if need be. I will not abandon your and you will not, as some sort of heroic gesture, leave me to save me grief in advance." She kissed me, a hard, short kiss, as if to mark me rather than console me. "I finally have you here, in my home, in my bed, and I—I can't be expected to just let you go. You understand this, yes?"

I did. In the strangest of ways, I really did. I nodded. "I don't want to go. I don't want to be heroic. I also believe, because I have to, that the biopsy will show it's just an infection or something, and…I need you when I have doubts, like now." I confessed to myself that I hadn't been sure just how much I could trust and depend on Miranda. She wasn't the touchy-feely type, nor was she very selfless, or openly caring. I had thought. Looking at her now, I saw a deeply concerned woman who was actually trembling.

"You will be able to count on me." Miranda traced my lower lip with her index finger. The same finger she usually tapped her own lower lip with while contemplating world domination. "I don't say that easily or flippantly. You can depend on me to care and to act with your best in mind."

I needed to know. Suddenly I needed to know more than anything else. "Why?" I slipped my arms around her waist.

"Why?" She looked like she meant to say 'are you stupid or something', but merely closed her eyes for a moment. "Do you think I take just anyone to bed, night after night, if I don't care about them?"

"No. I still need to know. I need you to say it, Miranda." I knew I was pushing and part of me regretted instantly, but another part had reached a point, and a pivotal at that.

"I care about you." Miranda looked furious as she spoke. "I care more about you than I've cared for another person, barring my girls, of course, which is a very different feeling."

I just stared. She hadn't said she loved me, and still, that's exactly what she meant. The woman had been married twice, dated several men in between, according to Page Six, and now she said she cared more about me than any of them.

"Well?" she said, practically shaking my shoulders from sheer impatience.

"What?" Oh. Oh! I needed to reciprocate and be just as honest. This was scary and I could totally understand now why she'd glowered at me for putting her on the spot. I wrapped my arms tighter around her waist and buried my face against her neck. Inhaling her perfume, reveling in the soft and silky skin just below her jawline, I gathered my courage. "I love you, Miranda." Relief, so overwhelming, I could taste it, ran through my system, making me slump against her.

Strong arms circled my shoulders and held me tight. She tipped my head back with a hand under my chin. "Silly girl," she said with such tenderness it nearly made me whimper.

"I'm not silly." I had to object. "I'm not a girl."

"I know." She brushed over my lips with her thumb. "You're an amazing young woman and you've come so far." She smiled suddenly, a real, wide smile. "And just so you know—no other silly girl need apply anyway."

"You mean that position has been filled?" I returned her smile, my heart so much lighter now.

"It certainly has." Miranda slid her hands down and in under my Tommy Hilfiger cardigan. "I wish we could stay home. You distract me to no end, but I have to go into work today." She purse her lips, but not in the 'you're screwed' way, but more in a 'wish I could think of something' way.

"I could come home earlier if we allowed them to send you the Book electronically." I knew it was a longshot as this only happened when Miranda was out of town on business.

"Brilliant idea." Miranda looked pleased. "I knew there's a reason for keeping you around."

"Wow. Thanks." I pouted, but had to giggle.

"And we're back to silly again." Miranda rolled her eyes in the way only she could do.

"Ah. Come here." I still hadn't wrapped my brain around the fact that I could touch this amazing woman without actually asking. Now I cupped her cheeks and pulled her in for a soul-searing, mind-numbing kiss. I did my best to devour her mouth and massaged her breasts through the dark-mauve blouse, mindful not to wrinkle the fabric, or she'd shoot me.

Miranda gasped and gulped for air when I finally let her go. She clung to me as if her knees had lost cohesion and she couldn't remember how to remain on her feet. "You're—you can't…you can't just do that when we have to leave in two minutes." She stared at me with eyes so dark, they looked almost purple.

"I know. I'll suffer too, if it helps."

"Marginally."

"You look fantastic." I grinned. And she did. Flustered, eyes glazed over, and her mouth without lipstick and with lips fuller than usual, she looked younger and—happier. "We both need to replace our lipsticks."

"In the car." Miranda stood, slightly unsteady, but with her head held high. "Let's go, Andrea."

"Yes, Miranda." I stood too and though we went through the normal routine of me helping her with her coat and handing her the purse, it was very different. Our fingers kept touching and our eyes kept roaming the other's form and getting stuck in the other's gaze. It was going to be difficult to hide this at work.

xxxXXXxxx

"Hey, Six, how's it going?" Nigel asked, making me jump. "You're having salad? What happened to the girl who loved corn chowder?"

"I still do. Trying to eat healthy, unlike some of the girls here who doesn't eat anything but cheese cubes or their daily dosage of almonds." I wrinkled my nose at him.

"Fair enough. You've actually lost some weight the last week or so. I think you can indulge in a large bowl of chowder." He actually looked concerned. "Six?"

"Nah, maybe tomorrow." I gave what I hoped was a convincing smile.

"Hm. If you say so." Nigel motioned toward a table. "Have time to join me here or are you eating at your desk."

It was tempting to say I was having a working lunch, just to stop him from asking questions, but this was Nigel, my friend who really cared about me. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to be more open, as long as he didn't realize the nature of my relationship with Miranda. "Grab a table. I'm just getting something to drink."

We ate in silence for a while. The salad was okay, but not more and I kind of regretted not having the chowder. "I've had a procedure done the other day. That's why my appetite hasn't been its usual feisty self." I spoke quietly and regarded him with caution.

"Procedure?" He blinked. "Six? You all right?"

"I'm fine. Just removed a birthmark that is being tested as we speak. A little nerve-wracking, but the doctor said I shouldn't worry." That wasn't entirely true. The prick of a doctor had more or less ridiculed my concern until Miranda had virtually shoved him against the wall and made him take notice.

"God, you have to let me know as soon as they call you." Nigel placed his hand over mine. "Do you have someone else to talk to? I'd hate for you to go through this alone. I'm always here, you know."

"I know. And no, I'm not alone. I've—I have a friend who really cares and is very supportive." I blushed and hoped Nigel would chalk that up to the topic at hand.

"I had the same thing done a few years ago—turned out to be nothing. Let's just decide here and now that the same will be the case for you." He squeezed my hand gently. "And tomorrow, corn chowder, right?"

"Promise." I actually felt better and wished I'd confided in Nigel sooner. Then again, if I had, perhaps Miranda wouldn't have noticed my distress and wouldn't have opened up about how she felt. "Time to get back and relieve Moira. She's been on her feet a lot the last few days. She can use the chowder too, I think." I giggled as we both placed our trays in the wrack by the door.

"That girl is almost worse than Emily," Nigel huffed. "I keep telling Emily if I don't see her eating carbs at least once a day, my mentoring days are over."

"Wow, really?"

"She knows I'm mentoring her to take over after me one day. Miranda told me in no uncertain terms this was her wishes. That doesn't mean Emily can be sure I won't hold back unless she takes care of herself too. Serena and I made a pact."

"Please tell me Emily is melting a bit when it comes to Serena." I walked into the elevator and pressed the button for our floor."

"She is. A little."

We rode in silence and just before we reached our floor, Nigel tilted his head and looked at me with kind eyes. "Tell me—are you melting our intrepid boss yet?"

TBC