Erin’s pulse kicked. She typed back before she could stop herself:
Goodnight, reporter. Stay dry.
She slid the phone face down again, shut her eyes, and let the smile win, even as the fear pressed just as tightly at the edges.
* * *
Erin was at her desk before most of the squad had clocked in, coffee cooling at her elbow and a stack of half-finished reports spread in front of her. She didn’t need to be here this early. Nothing on her desk was urgent. But the quiet hum of the office and the steady scratch of her pen were easier to face than the thoughts she had tried to leave behind in her apartment.
She told herself she was focused, reviewing phrasing for a routine update and stripping details that should never leave a page. But her mind kept circling back to a single line on her phone screen.
Goodnight, reporter. Stay dry.
She pressed the pen down harder, ink blotting into the margin. This was supposed to be simple. She knew how to want without letting it matter. A drink. A night. Nothing that lingered. That had been safe, and she had convinced herself it was enough.
But Jamie was not safe. Erin found herself wanting more than the easy distraction. She wanted to know her laugh, the way her voice softened when it was not aimed at a camera, the things she cared about when the notebook was put away. That kind of want scared her. It hadn’t happened in years, and it left scars she still carried.
A voice pulled her back. “Damn, Calhoun, you’re locked in.”
Erin blinked, lifting her head to find Detective Wilson leaning against the doorway, paper cup in hand, his tie already loosened like it always was before nine. He had that easy grin, the one that made it look like nothing ever rattled him.
“You’ve been scribbling since I walked in. What did that report ever do to you?”
She capped her pen and sat back, managing a small smile. “Just trying to stay ahead. How was Mia’s game yesterday? She score?”
Wilson’s grin faltered into surprise. “Yeah. She did, actually. How’d you…”
“You mentioned it at briefing last week,” Erin said with a shrug. “I listen.”
For a beat he just stared at her, then laughed. “Mia was over the moon. Kept talking about how she wants to play varsity someday.”
Erin nodded. “She’s got the drive. You should be proud.”
Something flickered across his face, softer than his usual grin. People never quite knew what to do when she showed them she had been paying attention. After a pause he tipped his cup in a half-salute. “You’re something else, Calhoun.”
He pushed off the doorway and started down the hall, still smiling.
Erin let out a slow breath and glanced down at the blot of ink spreading across the page. Stark, heavy, and far too much like the feelings she was trying to deny.
Sixteen
Jamie tugged her scarf tighter as the bell over the café door jingled behind her. The place smelled like nutmeg and espresso, the kind of cozy heat that fogged her glasses on the walk in. She saw Erin at once, tucked into a corner table, badge and phone set neatly beside her cup, the arrangement saying this wasn’t exactly off duty.
For Jamie, it didn’t feel off duty either. The newsroom hummed across town and Henry would want updates on the Dorchester crash. Still, when Erin had invited her the night before, Jamie had not hesitated. She had told herself this was professional, that keeping the line open with the BPD public information officer was smart reporting. Now, walking up, her pulse had another plan.
“Thought you would bail,” Erin said, smiling when Jamie slid into the chair across from her. Her voice had a warmth that didn’t match the uniform professionalism Jamie heard at press briefings.
“On free caffeine? No way.” Jamie set her notebook on the table out of habit, then shoved it aside. “Besides, I figured you would be the one to cancel. Do you ever get tired of having to be on all the time?”
Erin’s smile wavered for a second. “You get used to it. Or you tell yourself you do.”
A server arrived and Jamie ordered a latte, leaning her elbows on the table while Erin wrapped both hands around her cup. “So what’s the excuse today? You didn’t invite me out here just to gossip about the weather.”
“Maybe I like decent company.” Erin looked at Jamie, then looked down again. “And maybe I figured you deserved better than shouting questionsover sirens in the rain.”
Jamie grinned. “I’m still drying out from that night. My boots may never forgive me.”
“Martyr,” Erin teased, but the easy ribbing sat oddly in Jamie’s chest. She laughed it off. The espresso machine hissed and the café fell into that comfortable din of other people’s lives. Then Erin said something that made Jamie pause.
