Erin glanced back over her shoulder, smirk already forming. “Telling your mom about me already?”
Jamie’s brain short-circuited. “What? No! I mean—yes, but not like—ugh, god, not like that. I wasn’t—I didn’t—I just—” Her hands fluttered uselessly in front of her like punctuation marks with no sentence. “She asked about work and then I mentioned you and it wasn’t weird until you made it weird, which you’re very good at, by the way.”
Erin’s laugh rang out, low and rich, and Jamie wanted the cracked pavement to open up and swallow her whole.
Erin tilted her head, eyes dancing. “Relax, Garrison. I make a lot of moms proud.”
Jamie opened her mouth, but nothing coherent came out.
Erin’s smirk widened as she turned away. “You’re not the first reporter who’s gotten tongue-tied around me.”
Jamie stood frozen on the sidewalk, cheeks burning so hot she was surprised the fire trucks hadn’t doubled back.
Eleven
Erin shut the door behind her with a quiet click, leaning against it for just a moment. The apartment smelled faintly like laundry detergent and lemon cleaner, the kind of neutral she kept on purpose, easy to breathe in after days that smelled like smoke and sweat and too much city air. She slid her badge and radio onto the counter, lined her boots by the door, and gave herself exactly ten seconds to stand still.
That was all Leo allowed. His nails skittered across the floor, tail wagging like a metronome. He nosed her thigh with enough force to nearly knock her off balance.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Erin said, crouching to rub his ears. “Monday’s the worst. You don’t have to tell me.”
He huffed, leaning into her hand, then darted toward the door with a pointed look back.
“Bossy,” Erin told him, shoving her feet into a pair of worn-out tennis shoes. “Fine. You win. Walk first.”
The cool evening air slipped under her collar when she stepped outside. Leo padded along like he owned the block, nose buried in every tree and hydrant. Erin let him lead, hands sunk deep into her pockets, letting the city settle around her.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she told him as he yanked her toward a patch of grass. “I spend all day keeping rookies in line and you’re still the pushiest partner I’ve got.”
Leo gave a snorty little huff and wagged his tail harder. Erin shook her head, smiling despite herself.
“Don’t look so proud. You didn’t see me today. She was there.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She cleared her throat, tugging gently on the leash. “Jamie. The reporter.”
Leo glanced back at her like he was listening. Erin groaned. “Yeah, that one. The one I keep… I don’t know. Not avoiding, but not…” She cut herself off with a laugh that sounded too sharp in the quiet. “God, listen to me. Talking to a dog like you’re my therapist.”
They walked another block. Erin pulled her hand free to adjust the leash, catching sight of her palm. The ink was mostly gone, smudged into a faint gray shadow. She brushed her thumb across it anyway, pulse tightening.
“She’s new, she’s pushy, she doesn’t take no for an answer. And somehow…” Erin trailed off, shaking her head. “Somehow I don’t mind it as much as I should. That’s the problem.”
Leo perked his ears, tail wagging hard enough to make a soft rhythmic thump against the leash.
“Oh, don’t take her side.” Erin tugged him along again. “You’re supposed to be my guy.”
By the time they looped the block, Erin’s shoulders had loosened, the tight coil of the day easing into something manageable. She shook her head, telling herself she’d left Jamie on the street hours ago. But the thought followed her inside anyway.
* * *
Erin sat cross-legged on her couch, hair still damp from her shower, Leo’s head heavy on her knee. Her phone buzzed against the cushion.
You can’t be all soft and thoughtful one night, then strut around in uniform the next like you own the block.
Erin huffed out a laugh before she could stop herself. She rubbed Leo’s ear, shaking her head. “Own the block, huh? What do you think, do I strut?”
Leo thumped his tail once, unhelpful.
She glanced back at the message, fingers hovering. She could answer honestly, admit that sometimes the uniform felt like armor, that confidencecame easier with a badge on her chest. But honesty was riskier than banter, and Jamie had left herself wide open.
Erin let her thumbs fly.
