Chapter Text
Andy doesn’t expect to see Emily Charlton again. Not like this, at least. There had been a time when “seeing Emily” meant proximity—shared space, overlapping schedules, the kind of constant friction that comes from working too closely for too long. After Paris, after leaving Runway, after everything that had once felt immediate and consuming and now sits somewhere further away, Andy had assumed that part of her life had closed in a way that didn’t require revisiting. She isn’t sure when she started believing that distance meant resolution, but it had been easier to treat it like fact.
The invitation arrives on heavy cardstock, embossed in a way that feels unnecessary and entirely expected at the same time. Andy recognizes the tone before she even reads the name, because Runway doesn’t ask; it arranges. She turns it over once, more out of habit than curiosity, then opens it and scans quickly at first, slower the second time through.
A feature. A series… Weddings framed as something curated and strategic rather than personal. There’s a list of names attached—designers, editors, people who exist comfortably within this world—and then, near the bottom, a name she doesn’t expect to see written so plainly: Emily Charlton.
Andy pauses, rereads the line, and then lets her gaze drift back up the page, as if context might soften it, but it doesn’t.
“Is that good or bad?” Peter asks from the couch, glancing up just long enough to catch her expression.
“It’s… unexpected,” she says, which feels closer to the truth.
“That sounds worse," he says chuckling.
“It’s not bad,” she adds after a moment. “Just unexpected."
He nods, satisfied with that, and goes back to what he was reading. Andy folds the invitation carefully and sets it down on the table more deliberately than necessary.
She tells herself it’s just an event. The kind she still gets invited to, even now—close enough to the world she used to move through to feel familiar but distant enough that she doesn’t have to belong to it anymore. Her name still circulates in certain rooms, attached to bylines people recognize, to pieces that have landed well enough to keep her visible without tying her to any one place.
That’s all this is. At least that's what she decides she’s actually going.
The event is exactly what she expects when it comes to Runway, but somehow, it still manages to feel slightly unreal once she’s there. The room is controlled without looking staged, filled with people who understand how to exist in these spaces without ever appearing uncertain. Conversation stays at a steady, practiced level, never too loud, never too personal. Andy recognizes more faces than she expects, and with that recognition comes a feeling she can’t entirely place, something caught somewhere between familiarity and discomfort.
She is aware, as she steps further into the room, that she is being recognized in return. Not in a way that draws attention, but in the small shifts of eye contact; the brief pauses before someone places her. She’s used to that now. It comes with the work, with the kind of pieces that circulate widely enough to stick. It doesn’t feel like belonging. It feels like being noted.
Nigel finds her first, as if he had anticipated exactly where she would be standing. “Six…” he says, a note of familiarity in his voice that hasn’t faded with time. “You’ve been difficult to track down.”
“I haven’t been hiding,” she replies, smiling despite herself. “Just busy.”
“Everyone is busy,” he says, dismissing the idea easily. “That’s never stopped anyone before.” His gaze flicks over her briefly, observant but not critical. “You look good.”
“Thank you.”
“You look like you know that,” he adds, the small smile never leaving his face.
She lets out a small laugh. “I’m getting there.”
He nods once, as if that answer satisfies something unspoken, then gestures lightly toward the rest of the room. “Miranda will be pleased you came.”
“That sounds like a warning.”
“It usually is,” he says.
Andy follows his line of sight without meaning to, and it doesn’t take long to find Miranda. Some things don’t need to be announced to be felt. Conversations shift subtly around her, attention redirecting in ways that don’t draw notice unless you’re already looking for them. Miranda stands near the center of the room, composed as ever, every detail exactly where it should be. Nothing about her seems out of place. Nothing ever does.
“Andy.”
The voice is familiar enough that Andy doesn’t turn immediately, which is the closest she gets to hesitation. When she does, Emily is already there, standing a few steps away as if she had always intended to be.
There is no visible surprise in her expression, no awkwardness in her posture. If anything, she looks prepared, like this moment fits into a sequence she’s already accounted for. Andy isn’t sure if that makes it easier or not.
“Emily,” she says, matching the tone, keeping it even.
They hold eye contact for a second longer than necessary. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to register.
“You came,” Emily says.
“So did you,” Andy replies.
“That wasn’t in question.”
“Wasn’t it?”
There’s the smallest shift in Emily’s expression, something that almost reads as amusement before it settles back into something more neutral. “No,” she says simply.
There are a dozen ways this conversation could go. Andy is aware of all of them at once and of how little she wants to choose any of them outright.
Instead, she asks, “You’re involved in the feature, right?”
Emily nods. “I’m overseeing parts of it.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is.”
Andy almost smiles at that. Some things don’t change. Or maybe they do, just not in the ways that matter here.
Miranda joins them without warning, her presence registering before her voice does. “Andréa,” she says, her tone measured, her attention already divided. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“It’s good to see you,” Andy replies, because it is, in a way that feels complicated but not unwelcome.
Miranda’s gaze lingers on her for a moment longer than expected. Not warm, not cold—assessing. “You’ve been writing,” she says.
“Yes.”
“I’ve noticed.”
There’s no approval in it, but there is attention. The kind that suggests she’s placing Andy somewhere new, adjusting an understanding rather than reaffirming an old one.
“We’re developing a series,” Miranda continues. “Weddings. Influence. Visibility. It will require coordination.”
Andy nods, listening, but not stepping into it. Not yet.
“That sounds complicated.”
“It is,” Miranda says. “Which is why it will be handled correctly.”
There’s a brief pause, deliberate enough to signal that the conversation is still moving toward something.
“There is a limitation,” Miranda adds, turning to Emily. “The Plaza has availability for one weekend in June. It is non-negotiable.”
Andy frowns slightly. “One weekend?”
Emily speaks at the same time. “That’s not possible.”
Miranda looks between them, entirely composed. “It is already arranged.”
The implication settles in slowly, not because it’s unclear, but because it’s too precise to ignore. Andy glances at Emily, who is already looking at her, and this time neither of them looks away.
“Which weekend?” Andy asks.
“June 6th," Miranda says stoically.
Andy feels the answer click into place before she fully processes it. Of course it’s that one.
“That’s my date,” she says.
Emily doesn’t hesitate. “No,” she replies. “It isn’t.”
The room continues around them as if nothing has changed, conversations carrying on, glasses clinking softly in the background. But the space between them has shifted in a way that feels immediate and undeniable.
“I booked it months ago,” Andy says, keeping her voice level.
“So did I.”
“That’s not possible.”
“And yet.”
Miranda watches them for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then her gaze shifts slowly between them, thoughtful more than surprised, as if she’s already considering the implications. .
“I trust you’ll find a solution,” she says at last, already turning away. “Preferably an efficient one.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
Andy and Emily remain where they are, the conversation left unfinished but no less defined because of it. Neither speaks right away. There’s nothing to clarify.
Finally, Emily tilts her head slightly, her tone steady. “I’m not changing it.”
Andy nods once. “Neither am I.”
The words are quiet, but the certainty behind them settles into the room immediately.
Across the room, Nigel watches them over the rim of his glass, his expression somewhere between interest and quiet inevitability.
And as the conversation around them resumes, as the room settles back into its careful rhythm, Andy has the distinct, unavoidable sense that something has just shifted—not back toward the world she left, but toward something that hasn’t fully taken shape yet.