They finished documenting the scene as the sun finished setting outside, and by the time they walked out onto Grove Street, the emergency vehicles were packing up and the crowd of displaced theater kids had mostly dispersed.
"I'll get the timing device to the forensics lab tonight and see if they can rush the results," Lena said, loading the evidence bags into her car. "DNA results on the cap should be back by tomorrow afternoon, fingers crossed."
"I'll have my combustion analysis ready by morning," Erin replied, surprised by how natural the coordination felt, like they'd been working together for years instead of days.
Lena paused beside her car door, looking back at Erin as twilight surrounded them. "This morning, at your apartment..."
"I know," Erin said softly. "We should talk."
"We should." Lena's voice was rough. "But not here."
Erin looked around at the scene they'd just processed, at the evidence of someone's hatred. "Your place or mine?"
The question hung in the crisp evening air, loaded with possibility and risk in equal measure.
"Mine," Lena said finally, her voice decisive. "Twenty minutes."
She drove away, leaving Erin standing on the sidewalk with her heart racing and the smell of smoke in her nose.
Erin sat in her truck for a full minute long after Lena drove away, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she tried to process what was about to happen. Twenty minutes. She was going to Lena's house in twenty minutes, and they both knew it wasn't really about talking. She inhaled deeply and exhaled before turning the key in the ignition.
The drive to Golden Dragon took five minutes. She ordered enough Chinese food for two, then sat in the restaurant’s parking lot with warm cartons of lo mein and orange chicken in the passenger seat while she tried to convince herself this was just a practical decision.
They needed to debrief the case together and piece together the details to predict the arsonist’s next moves. And they needed to eat. Why not do both at the same time?
None of those explanations accounted for the way her pulse was racing or the nervous energy thrumming through her veins, though.
Lena's house was in a quiet neighborhood fifteen minutes from downtown, a craftsman bungalow with a tidy front yard and porch lights that created warm pools of yellow against the darkness. Erin parked behind Lena's car and grabbed the bag of takeout, grateful for something to carry to steel her nerves.
She knocked, and Lena answered almost immediately, like she'd been waiting by the door. She'd changed out of her blazer into dark jeans and a soft gray sweater that made her look younger, more vulnerable and almost…human.
"I brought dinner," Erin said, holding up the bag. "I figured we'd both be hungry after the day we've had."
Something shifted in Lena's expression—surprise, maybe, or appreciation for her thoughtfulness. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to." The honesty slipped out before Erin could stop it.
Lena stepped aside to let her in, and Erin found herself in a living room that was distinctly, unmistakably Lena's. It was full of clean lines and neutral colors, but it was warmed by books stacked on every surface and framed photographs of people who were clearly family, a wine-colored throw draped over the back of a leather couch, and plants thriving in the window that faced west toward the ocean.
"Your place is beautiful," Erin said, meaning it.
"Thanks." Lena took the bag of food, leading her toward the kitchen. "I'll get us some plates."
The kitchen was small but efficient, with granite counters and copper pots hanging from a rack above the stove. Lena confidently moved around the space, pulling out plates and silverware while Erin tried not to notice how natural and easy this felt.
Lena set the plates and silverware on the small dining table, then began pulling containers from the bag. But before she could start dividing the food, she paused and looked at Erin.
"You know," Lena said, "you're welcome to use the shower first if you want to wash off the smoke. I can lend you something clean to wear."
Erin looked down at her fire department uniform, suddenly aware of how she must smell after hours at the scene. "That's really kind of you. I probably reek of smoke."
"We both do." Lena's smile was soft and genuine. "Occupational hazard."
“You know,” Erin said, her heart fluttering behind her ribs, “you could join me if you want.”
Lena stood up straighter. "Are you sure?"
Instead of answering with words, Erin stepped closer and kissed her—soft but certain, nothing like the desperate collision in Lavender's Cafe.
