Before she could stop herself, Jamie was leaning in and found her hand on Erin’s upper arm. “Do you maybe want to get coffee again?”
Erin’s cheeks flushed pink, and her mouth opened and closed several times but no sound came out. Jamie laughed, dropping her hand from Erin’s arm.
“Relax, I’m not asking you out. I just thought maybe we could hang out since I’m still so new in town.”
Erin’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she nodded. “I didn’t think… Yeah, coffee would be good. Can I get your number, or am I stuck with emailing you whenever I want to talk to you?”
Jamie smiled and snagged the pen from behind her ear. She grabbed Erin’s hand and pulled it in between them before carefully writing the ten-digit number on Erin’s palm. “There,” she said, holding onto Erin’s hand a beat longer to admire her work.
Erin looked down at the numbers on her hand and smiled. “I’ll text you,” she said before taking another step back.
“Be sure that you do,” Jamie said, lifting her hand in a small wave, only to realize she was still smiling long after Erin had gone. It surprised her how good it felt to have something to look forward to again, even with the sting of smoke in her eyes.
Nine
Erin shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a long moment, letting the quiet of her apartment settle around her. The smell of smoke still clung faintly to her clothes, woven into her hair, even though the fire was already hours behind her. Leo padded over from the living room, tail thumping against the floor as he sat and pressed his nose into her hand.
“Hey, buddy.” She scratched behind his ears with her clean palm, then looked down at the other. Jamie’s number was still there, smudged along the edges but clear enough to read. Erin should’ve transferred it into her phone the second she got back. That would’ve been the responsible thing, the professional thing. Instead, she’d walked Leo, showered, reheated leftovers, and every time she’d caught sight of the ink, she’d found an excuse not to.
Now, with Leo sprawled against her leg on the couch, she turned her hand in the lamplight like she wasn’t sure whether to preserve it or wash it away. It had been a long time since someone had written their number on her skin. A long time since she’d let anyone.
“Get a grip,” she muttered under her breath, pulling her phone closer. Her thumb hovered over the messages app. A dozen openings flashed through her mind, each discarded as quickly as it came. Anything she typed felt either too casual or too obvious.
Finally, she settled on the safest option:
Thanks for sharing your number, let me know if you need a PIO statement for follow-up.
Her stomach twisted even as she hit send. It didn’t take long for the three dots to appear.
That’s the most boring text I’ve ever gotten. Try again.
Erin’s mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, and Leo thumped his tail like he agreed. She tapped out a response, then deleted it. Tried again. Deleted that one, too. Finally, she settled on:
It’s professional. I’m a professional.
Jamie’s reply came quickly.
Funny. Didn’t feel very professional when you let me write on your hand like a high schooler.
Erin glanced at the remnants of ink on her palm, and despite herself, she smiled.
…Point taken.
Better! Keep going, you’re warming up.
Erin laughed out loud, and Leo’s head popped up, making direct eye contact with her.
“What? She’s funny.”
Erin rolled her eyes, fully aware she was defending herself to the dog. The phone screen went dim in her hand, and she tapped it to keep it awake. She wasn’t really sure how else to respond to Jamie now; she’d never really been a big texter.
Anyway, great job with the Medford story.
You already told me that… ya know, in person at the house fire you just “showed up” to?
Erin’s cheeks flushed with heat as she dropped her head back against the couch, muttering a choice four-letter word. Her phone buzzed again in her hand, and she shot upright to look at it.
Erin?
