Page 247 of Lost Then Found
I laugh—loud and honest, the kind that only ever comes when I’m with Miller. The kind that slices through the noise and settles deep in my chest like something I forgot I needed.
Then I look over at her again. Really look.
She’s perched in the booth like it was built to hold her, back straight, legs crossed. Her lashes are so thick they cast shadows across her annoyingly perfect cheekbones, eyes lined in that way only she can pull off without looking like she tried. Her lipstick’s still flawless, even after tearing into a biscuit like it owed her money.
Living life with Miller is like stepping into technicolor. Like suddenly realizing the world isn’t just grayscale—it’s bold and messy and loud, and she’s all of it at once. She doesn’t dim, doesn’t shrink, doesn’t ask for permission. She is brightness and bite and unrelenting fire, and she does not give a single fuck what you think about it.
If there’s anyone who’s going to take down the patriarchy, it’s Miller. And she’s going to do it before lunch in a perfectly tailored Balmain blazer and Prada heels.
But more than that, more than the fire and the brilliance and the big, big dreams—is the way she loves. Fiercely. Wholeheartedly. Without conditions or caution. If she chooses you, you’re hers—relentlessly, completely. She remembers your coffee order, your childhood trauma, your dentist appointments. She makes space for all the parts of you, even the ones you’re not sure deserve it.
And somehow, she made space for me.
To be loved by Miller Jane Ashford is to be chosen, defended, and championed in ways most people only dream of. It’s not just rare. It’s everything.
When I finish the last bite of pancake, I lean back and glance at the clock. “I’ve gotta go. Hudson’s game’s in an hour.”
Miller scrunches her nose like I just told her I’m off to a war zone. “Don’t forget to reapply sunscreen every ninety minutes. Melanoma doesn’t care how cute your outfit is.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve got the spray in my bag, okay?”
“You say that every time and then come back looking like a rotisserie chicken.”
I laugh and lean down, kissing the top of her head. “Thanks, Mills. For being here. For everything.”
She tilts her head, almost rolls her eyes—but her mouth softens, just barely. “Yeah, yeah. Go be a good mom or whatever.”
I grab my purse, sling it over my shoulder, and start for the door.
“Hey, Lark,” she calls after me. I glance back.
“I’m proud of you.”
My chest tightens. “I know.”
She lifts her coffee like a farewell salute. “Go, be an inspirational badass. Strike fear into the hearts of men. And most importantly, make sure you look hotter than the opposing team’s moms.”
I laugh as I step outside, the door clattering behind me.
Miller has always been more than just sharp edges and glossy finishes. She’s loyalty wrapped in Gucci and sarcasm. If she loves you, you never have to wonder. You just know.
The car door shuts with a soft click, and for a moment, I just sit there—hands on the steering wheel, eyes closed, heart still pacing like it hasn’t caught up to the day yet. The engine’s off, but something inside me is finally on.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe. Not the kind of shallow, careful breaths I’ve gotten used to—measured, rationed, never too deep in case it tips the balance.
No. This one’s full and clean, pulled all the way down into my chest like it belongs there.
I feel…light.
Not empty, but unburdened.
It’s so strange and new and good that I almost laugh, right there in the driver’s seat. I tap the steering wheel once, shift into gear, and start toward home.
I’ve got places to be and, for the first time in a long time, no extra weight to carry.
Just a damn good view in the rearview mirror and something like freedom riding shotgun.
Chapter 28
