* * *
That night, Erin stood in front of her open closet, arms folded tight across her chest, staring down a row of choices that all suddenly felt wrong.
Her work clothes were lined up in orderly fashion: pressed blazers and dark slacks in a row, the kind of professional armor that had carried her through hundreds of press briefings. There were a few button-downs she wore on quieter days, a couple of sweaters, and one leather jacket shoved to the side that had not seen daylight in months. Nothing looked right. Nothing looked like it could hold the weight of what tonight meant.
On the bed behind her, Leo sprawled out as if he were the one waiting for her to get ready. His head rested on his paws, eyes half-closed, the picture of patient interest. His tail thumped once against the blanket when she glanced at him, as if to remind her he was listening.
“This is your fault,” Erin told him, pulling a navy blazer off its hanger. The fabric creased in her grip. “You wagged your tail at her like she belonged here, and now I’m standing here wondering if a tie makes me look like her date or her arresting officer.”
Leo huffed, the sound halfway between a sigh and a snort. Erin held the blazer against her shoulder in the mirror, tilting her head. It was clean, sharp, masculine in the way she usually liked. On anyone else, she might have admired it. On her, right now, it looked like she was about to step behind a podium.
She frowned. “It’s too much like me at work. Too much like the uniform Jamie already sees me in every day. She doesn’t need dinner with the public information officer. She deserves dinner with me.”
The thought carried a sting of panic and a flush of warmth all at once. She had never cared this much about what someone might think of her outside of work. She had spent years wearing the same lines, the same clipped tone, the same clothes until they felt like another layer of skin. Now she wanted to shed that.
She turned to Leo again, blazer still draped over her shoulder. “What do you think? Blazer, no tie? Or do we go all in?” She lifted a slim black tie from the drawer and looped it around her neck, not bothering to knot it yet. “It could look good. Sharp. She’d look incredible tugging me closer by it.”
Her reflection betrayed the grin that slipped across her face at that thought. For a second she could see it, the way Jamie might lean forward, fingers curled in the tie, pulling her down for a kiss that could undo every careful edge she carried. The mental image made her pulse trip, her mouth go dry.
“But…” Erin shook her head, dropping the tie onto the dresser. “It’s a risk. Too stiff. That’s not what she deserves. She deserves something that feels like I’m meeting her halfway, not hiding behind starch and clean lines.”
She tossed the blazer onto the bed beside Leo, who sniffed at it once before ignoring it completely. Digging deeper into her closet, she pulled out a softer button-down in pale gray, the fabric light against her fingers. It was still neat, still her, but it didn’t scream briefing room. Paired with dark jeans and polished shoes, it would feel intentional without being a uniform.
She laid the shirt over the back of a chair and considered it. Casual enough to sayI’m here because I want to be, but put together enough to remind Jamie this was a date. Erin caught her own reflection again, tried to picture Jamie’s face when she saw her like this. The image sent another flush of nervous heat to her chest.
The reservation was at a place she knew well, a restaurant that was nice without being extravagant. White tablecloths, soft lighting, a menu that felt special but not intimidating. The kind of place where you could sit for hours and talk without a waiter trying to rush you out. Erin had chosen it becauseshe wanted the evening to be about Jamie, about the quiet space between them, about proving this wasn’t just adrenaline and apology.
She wanted to show Jamie off, to walk in with her and not care who noticed. She wanted people to look and think,They look good together.That thought alone made her feel nineteen again, flushed with nerves before her first real date, checking the mirror three times to make sure her collar was even.
Her fingers tapped restlessly against the dresser. She glanced back at Leo. “What if she thinks it’s too much? Flowers at work and then a restaurant that’s more than takeout? What if she thinks I’m trying too hard?”
Leo yawned, long and careless, as if to remind her she was spiraling. Erin grabbed a sock from the floor and tossed it at him. He caught it clumsily, tail thumping against the bedspread.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, voice softening as her hand dropped to the shirt waiting on the chair. “I know she already said yes. I just want to get this right. I don’t want her to think she’s another case I’m managing. I want her to see that I can be careful and still be hers, even if we’re figuring out what that means.”
The words sat heavy in the quiet room, truth she had not said aloud to anyone but Leo.
Erin pressed the shirt to her chest, squared her shoulders, and studied her reflection one last time. No blazer. No tie. Just her, polished but softer, intentional but not stiff.
“Whatever I wear,” she murmured to Leo, “she’ll see me. That’s what matters.”
Leo blinked at her with slow, steady calm, then thumped his tail again as if to agree.
Erin exhaled, a shaky laugh slipping out at herself. She gathered the rest of her clothes, set them on the bed, and began to get ready.
Tonight, it wouldn’t be about uniforms or press briefings or apologies. Tonight, it would be about showing Jamie that the woman who kissed her in the rain wanted to be seen, not hidden.
And for the first time in years, Erin was ready to let someone look.
Twenty Two
Jamie had been smiling to herself for so long her cheeks actually hurt. She told herself she wasn’t nervous, and she wasn’t, but her body still hummed with an energy she couldn’t sit still against. It wasn’t the jitter of live shots or the churn of chasing a lead. This was lighter. Almost giddy.
Her closet floor looked like a small-scale clothing explosion. Two different blouses were tossed over the arm of a chair. A pair of heels she’d tried and immediately rejected sat near her bed like abandoned soldiers. She finally pulled on a sweater that was soft and flattering without being too much. It made her feel like herself.
As she stood in the bathroom, curling the front sections of her hair, she pressed her mom’s contact on her phone. The screen lit up, and after two rings, the voice she knew better than her own answered.
“Jamie?”
