“Hey,” she said. “I’ve been calling.”
Erin didn’t answer. Her gaze traveled over Jamie, taking in the wet hair, the jacket that wasn’t doing its job, the way Jamie couldn’t keep from shaking. She stepped aside a fraction. It was enough. Jamie crossed the threshold and nudged the door shut with her heel.
Leo padded over, nails clicking against the hardwood, and pressed his nose to Jamie’s shin. She blinked, then crouched right down in the doorway, rain dripping off her jacket onto the mat.
“So you’re Leo,” she whispered, holding out a hand. He sniffed once, then leaned in with a happy thump of his tail. Jamie smiled, small and aching, as she scratched behind his ears. “I’ve heard about you.”
When she looked up, Erin was staring, caught between surprise and something Jamie couldn’t name. Jamie slid her dripping jacket off and left it on the chair by the door. Her fingers felt slow and clumsy.
“I shouldn’t have just shown up,” Jamie said. “But the silence was worse. I kept replaying Friday until I wanted to crawl out of my skin. If I waited one more day we were both going to decide it was easier to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Erin’s face flickered small, then shuttered. “It didn’t happen,” she said fast, like a cut. “It was nothing. I’m sorry I made it a thing. I shouldn’t have. I know why you can’t. I get it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Jamie took an automatic step, then stopped when Erin jolted back like she’d been shocked. That flinch landed like a bruise over a bruise.
“I’m not here to push you,” Jamie said, palms up. “I just need to talk.”
Erin’s mouth opened, but what came out wasn’t an answer. It was the apology again, spilling over itself. “I know why you can’t. We work together. You’re a reporter, I’m supposed to keep things clean. I shouldn’t have reached for you. I knew better. I’m sorry.”
“Erin…”
“I’m sorry,” she said, softer now, words fraying on the edges. “I know why you can’t.”
It was like watching someone sink and keep apologizing for the water. Jamie felt something in her chest go tight and dangerous. If she let Erin keep talking, this would calcify into a version they’d never escape.
“Stop,” Jamie said, and when Erin didn’t, Jamie moved.
Two steps. Her fingers caught the front of Erin’s hoodie and bunched it tight in both hands. Erin gasped, startled, a tiny sound against the blank quiet of the room. Jamie didn’t give the retreat time to settle. She pulled her in and kissed her.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t neat. Rain still clung to Jamie’s hair and slid down her temple. Her mouth landed on Erin’s and the world narrowed to heat and breath and the way Erin’s lips were cool, then warmer. For a heartbeat Erin was very still. The bottom fell out of Jamie’s stomach. Then she felt Erin inhale against her and not pull away.
Jamie loosened just enough to angle closer. The kiss shifted, found a slow, hungry rhythm that felt like relief and a plea at the same time. She could taste a hint of sugar, maybe the Monday cannoli, and something that was just Erin. Her hands loosened in the cotton, then tightened again because she needed the anchor.
Erin’s fingers rose like surfacing. One closed around Jamie’s wrist, light and unsure. The other hovered, then traced a cautious line up the side of Jamie’s neck to the curve of her jaw. The touch set off a quiet spark that ran through Jamie’s shoulders.
Jamie made a sound she didn’t plan and let the kiss deepen. Not wild. Not rough. Just open and honest in a way that felt like stepping over a line she’d stared at too long. Erin answered, tentative at first, then with a press that said she was done apologizing for wanting. Jamie’s whole body lit with it. She moved them without thinking, easing Erin back until her calves bumped the edge of the couch. Erin’s hand slid into Jamie’s hair and held there, careful and sure.
Jamie pulled back for air by inches, mouths still close enough that each breath brushed the other’s lips.
“I didn’t pull away because I didn’t want you,” she said. The words shook. She didn’t try to hide it. “I pulled away because I do. I panicked. I told myself if I kissed you and it went wrong I’d lose you, so I chose the version that hurt and called it safe. I’ve been sick over it ever since.”
Erin’s eyes were glossy and bright, hurt and heat in the same look. Her fingers tightened on Jamie’s wrist. “You grabbed me,” she said, like she needed to hear it out loud.
“I did,” Jamie said. “If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”
Erin glanced down at Jamie’s hands fisted in her hoodie. She swallowed. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
“Me either,” Jamie said. “We can figure it out slow. Or we can decide not to. But I needed you to hear this from me, not from the space where I was too scared to show up.”
Erin blinked hard, then let out a small sound that wasn’t a laugh. “You say slow and then you kiss me like that.”
Jamie’s mouth tilted. “You were drowning in sorry and I couldn’t watch it. I had to cut through.”
Erin’s gaze dropped to Jamie’s mouth and held there. “You did.”
They were still standing very close. Jamie could feel the short hitch of Erin’s breaths against her own chest. The urge to lean in and take more tugged at her like a tide. She stayed where she was, close but not stealing, and let Erin choose.
Erin closed the space herself. She kissed Jamie again, deeper now, no hesitation. It went from warm to hot in a breath. Erin’s mouth parted and Jamie met her, a quiet slide that made both of them exhale. Jamie chased her, lips coaxing, tongue brushing just enough to ask for more. Erin gave it. The room tilted. Jamie’s hand slipped from the hoodie to Erin’s waist, fingers finding the edge of soft cotton and the heat beneath. Erin shivered hard and pulled Jamie closer by the hair at the nape of her neck.
