"I..." Lena started, then stopped. The honest answer was yes. She wanted definitions, labels, and clear boundaries that told her what to expect. But she also knew that pushing for clarity might shatter whatever fragile thing they'd built. "I'm scared I'll mess this up if I think about it too hard."
The admission surprised them both. Lena felt Erin's fingers still against her back.
"What if we just...see what happens?" Erin's voice was careful, testing. "No pressure to define anything. Just...this."
Lena lifted her head to look at Erin, finding patience and something that looked dangerously like affection reflected in her eyes. "You're okay with this being undefined?"
"I'm okay with whatever this is, as long as it keeps happening." Erin's honesty was disarming. "Are you?"
The question deserved a real answer, not a quick deflection. Lena thought about her empty apartment, about checking her phone for texts that hadn't arrived yet, about the way her chest tightened every time she thought about the case ending and losing this.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I'm okay with this."
"Good." Erin's smile was soft, relieved. "Because I was hoping you'd say that."
They lay there for another hour, neither moving, neither willing to break the spell of Sunday afternoon contentment. When Lena finally did leave, it was with the understanding that this—whatever this was—wasn't ending with the weekend.
Monday morning arrived gray and insistent, pulling Lena back to reality with the demanding ring of her alarm clock. Her apartment now felt hollow after two days of Erin's presence, too quiet and carefully organized. Even her coffee tasted wrong—toobitter and lacking the warmth that came from shared mornings and sleepy conversations.
She found Erin's hair tie on her bathroom counter, a small elastic band that shouldn't have meant anything but somehow felt significant. Evidence of someone making themselves at home in her space.
The bite mark on her collarbone had faded to a faint shadow, but it still sent heat through her when her shirt brushed against it. It was a territorial claim that should have felt presumptuous but instead made her touch the spot absently, remembering the moment of possession that had drawn it from Erin's teeth.
This wasn't simple anymore. Maybe it never had been.
Standing in her shower, washing away the last traces of Erin's perfume, Lena realized the admission she'd made yesterday terrified her more than any case she'd ever worked. She'd told Erin she was okay with "this"—whatever this was—but in the harsh light of Monday morning, the implications of that decision felt overwhelming.
She was supposed to be an expert at keeping work and personal life separate, but Erin had scrambled every system she’d relied on.
And as she dressed for another day of pretending this was manageable, Lena caught herself checking her phone for messages that hadn't arrived yet, already anticipating the moment when she'd see Erin again.
8
Erin pushed through the glass doors of Phoenix Ridge Police Department at 9 a.m. sharp, her fire marshal credentials clipped to her jacket and Tuesday night's memory at Lena’s house still warm in her chest: coffee shared over case files, Lena's laugh when Erin had pointed out a suspect's ridiculous alibi, the way they'd moved around each other in the space like they'd been doing it for years.
Four nights out of the past five days. She wasn't supposed to be counting, but the number sat in her mind anyway, stubborn and undeniable.
The bullpen buzzed with Wednesday morning energy as detectives reviewed overnight reports, phones rang, and the steady hum of a department already deep into its day filled the air. Erin spotted Lena at her desk, her dark hair pulled back in its usual ponytail, reading something on her computer screen with the focused intensity that made Erin's pulse quicken.
"Fire Marshal Vance?"
Erin turned to find Captain Julia Scott approaching, coffee mug in hand and an expression that managed to be both friendly and knowing.
"Captain," Erin replied.
"Got a minute?" Julia's eyes flicked toward Lena, then back to Erin with unmistakable awareness. "Detective Soto, you too. My office."
The words were casual, but Erin's stomach dropped. Julia knew. She had to. The way she'd said Lena's name, the careful neutrality of her tone—this wasn't about a case update.
Lena looked up from her computer, meeting Erin's eyes across the bullpen. Even from twenty feet away, Erin could see the tension that immediately tightened Lena's shoulders.
"Now?" Lena asked, already standing.
"Now."
Julia's office was cramped but private, with case files stacked on every surface and a Phoenix Ridge city map pinned to one wall. Julia settled behind her desk, gesturing for them to sit in the two chairs across from her.
"Close the door, Detective."
