They both knew it was an excuse. The background checks could wait until Monday, and any findings significant enough to matter wouldn't be discussed over takeout and wine. But Lena typed back“on my way”before she could overthink it.
Erin's apartment felt different this time, not like neutral territory for a professional meeting but like somewhere Lena was welcome. Erin was wearing a green sweater that matched her eyes over black leggings, and she'd set out actual plates instead of eating straight from the containers.
"So about those background checks," Lena said, settling onto the couch with Thai takeout balanced on her knees.
"Right." Erin pulled out her tablet, her fingers swiping across the screen. "Todd Varo's employment history is clean, but Nicole Hopson had some interesting connections."
But as Erin explained the database searches, Lena found herself watching the way Erin's hands moved when she talked and how her voice dropped slightly when she was concentrating.The background checks were thorough and well-researched, but they weren't earth-shattering. This could have been a phone call, email, or even text.
Lena stared at the tablet, saying nothing at first as she processed the new information. "This isn’t anything that changes our approach," Lena concluded after she'd done another once-over.
"No," Erin agreed, not quite meeting her eyes. "But I thought maybe we missed something."
Lena recognized the excuse for what it was. It was the same kind of rationalization she'd used when texting Erin back immediately instead of suggesting they meet at the station tomorrow to go through everything.
"We probably covered everything," Lena said, but made no move to pack up the files or head home.
Instead, they found themselves talking about other things. Erin showed her photos from a hiking trip with friends in the Pacific Northwest last spring that were full of different trails and wildflowers. Lena found herself mentioning how she secretly loved her neighbor's late-night music practice and the way Phoenix Ridge looked different when the autumn fog rolled in from the ocean.
"You grew up here?" Erin asked, refilling their wine glasses.
"Born and raised. My parents still live in the same house where I learned to ride a bike." Lena accepted the wine, fingers brushing Erin's briefly. "What about you?"
"I’m from Portland originally, but I moved here for the job about three years ago." Erin settled back onto the couch, closer than before. "My parents weren't thrilled about me moving so far away, but the fire department here is innovative and very progressive."
"Progressive is one way to put it," Lena said. "An all-female fire department isn't exactly traditional."
"That's what I liked about it. It’s a chance to prove that women could excel in emergency response without having to constantly justify our competence." Erin's voice carried passion, the same intensity Lena had heard during their professional arguments. "Your police department too. It sends a message about what Phoenix Ridge values."
"Visibility matters," Lena agreed, thinking of the LGBTQ+ community spaces the arsonist had targeted. "So does representation in authority positions."
They talked until the takeout containers were empty and the wine bottle was significantly lighter. Somewhere between Erin's story about her first fire call and Lena's complaint about slogging through Phoenix Ridge's city council meetings, Lena noticed that the conversation had shifted from careful to comfortable. She caught herself laughing at Erin's impression of a particularly pompous fire safety inspector, the sound surprising her with its genuine warmth.
“It’s getting late,” Erin said quietly, but it sounded more like an observation than a suggestion that Lena should leave.
“Yes, it is.” Lena’s voice was equally soft. Outside, Phoenix Ridge had settled into its familiar evening quietude, the streetlights casting halos of gold on empty sidewalks.
“You could…” Erin started, then stopped, as if the invitation was too presumptuous to voice.
But Lena understood what was in Erin’s pause. She’d been hoping for it, if she was being honest with herself.
“I could stay,” she supplied, the words coming out easier than she’d expected. “If, you know, that’s what you want.”
“Yes.” Erin’s response was immediate and certain. “I’ve wanted you to stay every time.”
The admission hung between them, more intimate than the physical encounters they’d shared before. This wasn’t about convenience or avoiding the drive home. This was aboutchoosing to wake up together, about crossing yet another line into territory that felt dangerously close to a relationship rather than an arrangement.
Lena stood first, gathering the empty containers with movements that felt both nervous and inevitable. “We should probably clean up first, though.”
“Probably,” Erin said, but she was watching her with an expression that had nothing to do with dishes and everything to do with the way Lena was moving around her kitchen like she belonged there.
They cleaned up together in comfortable synchronization—Erin rinsing plates while Lena found spots in the fridge for leftovers, and Lena felt increasingly aware of the domestic intimacy of the routine. When Erin’s hand brushed hers while reaching for the same glass, the contact sent pulses of electricity up Lena’s arm.
“Lena.” Erin’s voice was lower now, rougher.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re staying.”
